Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
YOU MADE HER CRY, FUCKER!
“ C rap! Jackson,” I yelp, jumping to my feet.
“Who’s Jackson? Uncle? Cousin? No…” Head shaking, Lars sniffs the air. “Brother.”
“Yes.” Pulse ticked up, my gaze jumps between them and the door.
How am I going to explain the appearance of these three men?
If I tell him the truth, he’ll think I’ve truly lost the plot this time.
Jackson may be the more understanding of my brothers, but he leans more into Camp Rem territory at times.
Unlike Rem, he’s actually read my books, even if he worries about my financial investment in my writing.
Lying is always an option. Merely smile and say, “These are old friends that you’ve never met nor heard about” or “Hey, you’re super worried about me having a date for our cousin’s wedding, well here are three contenders,” but neglect to mention they are fictional characters.
Ugh. I rub my brows at the realization that none of this will work. Jackson is a bloodhound. He may play finance bro meathead at times, but he’s the most perceptive of the Lane siblings.
“Georgia, are you okay?” Jackson knocks again.
“Totally.” I cringe at my high-pitched tone. “Hide!” I whisper-shout, making a shooing motion toward the bedroom.
“I’m not hiding like a scared pup.” An incredulous expression twists Lars’s features.
“For once, I agree with the mongrel,” Lord James drawls.
“Mongrel? I am pure red wolf,” Lars spats out, moving toward Lord James.
“Not the time.” Owen jumps between them. “We also agreed no fighting and no wolf slurs.”
“Yeah. Stop being speciesist, Lord Fuckwad.” Lars flicks Lord James’s nose, who slaps him away.
“Who are those voices? Are you okay? Do you need help? Can you open the door? I don’t have my spare key?” Concern coats Jackson’s words.
“Audiobook!” I yell and shoot a please help me look at Owen.
Shaking his head, he grabs both men’s shoulders. “We’re here to help, so let’s help.”
“Let me just turn off my audiobook,” I shout, my eyes flicking to where Owen ushers my annoyed duke and now-grumpy werewolf into the bedroom.
“Keep them quiet, and… don’t let them kill each other,” I hiss.
Once the bedroom door shuts, I stand for just a moment.
With a deep inhale, I smooth down my hair and move to the door.
On the other side, stands my younger brother.
Despite the bill of the OC Soccer Club cap shading his eyes, the annoyance in his gaze is evident in the firm line that anchors his jawline.
“You never lock the door.” It comes out as more of an accusation than a statement of fact. “You even sometimes forget to lock it when you leave. Rem checks most mornings before he heads to the office.”
A furrow lines my brow. In my defense, a six-foot-tall stone wall encircles the property, including my carriage house apartment.
“Was the door locked because you were listening to a smutty audiobook?” The corners of his mouth flex into a lascivious grin.
“If I were, that’s none of your business. Why are you here?” I sigh, moving so he can enter. “Shouldn’t you be at your intramural fight club or whatever you do on a Saturday afternoon?”
“Fight club is on Tuesdays,” he jests and strides to the sofa, picking up the baseball bat and holding it up. “Why’s Justice’s Arm out?”
“I’m rearranging things.” I stride over and yank the bat out of his hand.
His lips twitch into a cheeky grin. “What kind of audiobook are you listening to?”
Mouth tight, I just glare.
He chuckles and plops down. “I just came from pickleball with Davis.”
“Oh,” I say, ignoring the sudden queasiness in my belly, and propping the bat against the bookshelf.
No doubt Davis regaled him with me leaving mid-way through our first drink.
Even if there’s a good reason why I pulled the plug on the date, Jackson may see it as Rem does.
That this is just another example of me being picky or still being hung up on Will.
That I sabotage every potential relationship before it’s even left the ground.
“How’d it go last night?” Jackson tosses his cap onto the cushion beside him, his strawberry blond hair tousled and a little damp. From the almost dry sweat dotting his gray T-shirt, the damp hair is no doubt also part of the afterglow from his pickleball match.
“He didn’t say?”
He plucks up a muffin from the plate that rests on the coffee table beside the mug Lord James had been drinking from.
Heart racing, I scan the room for any signs that I’m not the only one here.
Anything that would catch the attention of my nosy younger brother.
Outside of the bat, it’s all textbook for my place; a laundry basket full of now folded clothes, a single mug of tea, and carbs.
“This is good,” he moans with his first bite of muffin. “Did Hope bake this?”
“New bakery.”
“And it’s gluten free? It’s too good to be.” He flashes an apologetic expression. “Sorry.”
“Back to Davis.” I gesture impatiently.
Curiosity almost pulses inside me to know what he’d told Jackson about our date. Though could the forty-ish minutes we spent together even be considered a date?
“He said you were lovely.”
“What?” I gape. “He did not.”
Lovely? None of this makes sense. Had Davis had a second date after us that he’s confusing me with? In what world would the appropriate response to last night be “she was lovely”?
He shrugs. “He did.”
Head cocked to the right, I nibble on the corner of my mouth. “What specifically did he say?”
“Other than you were lovely, nothing. The guy’s a vault?—”
“Ha!” I bark a dismissive laugh. “Surprised you’d set me up with somebody you couldn’t get all the details from.”
“Trust me, I’m as shocked.” He smirks. “Was the smutty audiobook you claim you weren’t listening to in aid of some pent-up tension after your date with Davis?”
“Gross!” My nose crinkles. “You’re my brother.”
He rolls his eyes. “Says the older sister who gave me condoms before I took Mark Soto to the prom.”
“In fairness, they were the ones you’d gifted me for my birthday.”
“We are a safety-first family.” He chuckles.
With an eyeroll, I shuffle to the kitchen and open the fridge to grab a bottle of iced tea. “Why don’t I grab us some drinks and we go sit outside?”
It’s best to get Jackson out of here. I’m not sure how long Owen can keep Lars and Lord James quiet. Not to mention, my brother’s spidey sense may go off at any point. Just like Lars, Jackson also seems to sense things others don’t.
His head tilts. “You trying to get rid of me?”
“No!” Guilt is evident in my laughing reply. “It’s just such a beautiful day.”
He arches an eyebrow.
“Why did you set me up with Davis?” I ask, hoping to deflect his curiosity and satisfy my own.
“Besides him being a snack, I thought you’d be perfect for each other,” he says through a mouthful of muffin.
“Because he’s single and breathing?” I grumble.
“It helps.”
I shoot him a death glare.
“You have things in common. He’s a big reader?—”
“Of heterosexual, white, cis, non-disabled men,” I mutter.
“Georgia…” He shakes his head.
The way my name tumbles out of him telegraphs his assessment that things didn’t work out between me and Davis.
No doubt, that’s why he’s here. Davis may be a vault, but my brother is smart enough to figure out that our date hadn’t gone well.
No giddy texts were sent post-date. Not like with past Mr. Potentials.
Back before Will, and since then, the seemingly unending train of bad luck dates.
“We’re not a good fit,” I say, my spine straight.
“Did you even give him a chance?” Brows lifted, he rises and places his hands on his hips. “Of course you didn’t. I should have listened to my gut.”
Hurt radiates in my chest. “You and Rem and this narrative.” I slam the iced tea bottle onto the counter.
“What narrative?”
“The one where Georgia is a disappointment, still hung up on Will.”
He blanches. “That’s not?—”
“You just said you should have listened to your gut about Davis!” I toss my hands into the air. “Why’d you even bother if you knew I was going to fuck it up?”
“I thought you two would be a good fit.”
“Suuuure!” I let out an incredulous laugh. “I’m a perfect fit for one of your finance bros.”
“Judgy much? Also, he’s not a finance bro. He’s…” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. He could be one of your perfect book boyfriends, and you’d still find an excuse to not date him.”
“Maybe focus on your own love life and leave mine alone. You don’t have a date for the wedding either.” Exasperation burns within me, its flames boiling my blood.
It’s not like I’m the only Lane sibling who will be single at our cousin Lena’s wedding. Jackson is just as single, but nobody worries about him. We just smile at his string of short-term relationships and friends with benefits situationships.
“It’s not my ex marrying our cousin.” His gaze meets mine, pity swimming in those brown pupils.
I know his words aren’t meant to hurt, but they are almost a kill shot.
It’s been months since my cousin Lena’s wedding invitation arrived.
An invitation for every member of the Lane family, including me, the cousin whose ex she’s marrying.
We’d always been close as we are the same age.
Sleepovers. Parties. Double dates. We shared everything, including, apparently, my boyfriend.
One month after the breakup with Will, I learned the truth that when he'd said, “I don’t want this,” what he’d meant was “I don’t want this with you .” He’d wanted it with her, and she was good with that.
“Thanks for the reminder,” I croak.
“Georgia.” He tips his head back and lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“For what? For the bad blind date? For thinking I’m a fuck up? For telling me I should have listened to your warning about Will?” I swallow back the hard lump in my throat, the sting of unshed tears building.
With his thumb always on the pulse of who people are, Jackson had raised concerns.
Concerns I brushed off. They spend a lot of time together.
They’re just friends. I don’t like the way they look at each other.
You read too much into things . I don’t know if moving in with Will is wise.
You’re acting like Rem, be my fun brother.
I swipe at my face. The battle with my tears is lost. It’s all too much to hold in. Will. Lena. My brothers. My writer’s block. The three men currently hiding in my bedroom.
He takes two steps closer, but stops, his expression weary but soft. “Georgia?—”
“Don’t you dare, fucker!”
I spin to find Lars storming from the bedroom. Despite Owen’s attempt to pull him back, he breaks free and stalks toward Jackson.
“What the…” Eyes wide, Jackson points at the beast of a man charging toward him.
“I won’t stay hidden while you hurt her. I don’t care who you are.”
“Who are you?” Jackson shouts.
“You’re worst nightmare.”
“Lars! No!” Chest heaving, I look to Owen and Lord James for help.
“Sorry, Georgia! I tried to hold them back, but…” Owen stands in the open bedroom door, his features twisted with regret.
“We’re here, my lady,” Lord James soothes, pushing past Owen and striding to me. He pulls me into his firm chest. “Lars shall dispense with that emotional ruffian.”
“At least you’re calling him Lars, now.” Owen sighs.
“My lady? What—” Jackson’s question is cut short by Lars’s large hands curled into his shirt, a menacing scowl covers his face.
“Ours,” he growls.
“Georgia, what’s happening?”