Chapter 12
TWELVE
brIAR
My stomach twists, and I curse myself for getting lost in those gorgeous brown eyes of his.
But when he goes to draw me away from the door, reaches for the knob, I grab his wrist. “No,” I say, bile burning the back of my throat. “Don’t open it.”
The Lyons will have followed me here.
They must have.
If I were thinking clearly, I might have realized that’s dumb, that of course they won’t come here.
That they won’t strike out now.
No. They’ll wait until the precise moment to do the most damage with the least risk of exposure.
Brooks stills and I can see in his eyes that I’ve revealed too much.
“Yo!” I hear bellowed through the wood. “You’d better not be eating all the pizza without me.”
Brooks curses.
“What?”
“It’s Jace.”
Jace.
Jace?
This cannot be happening.
I shake my head, lips parting to tell Brooks that under no circumstance should he open the freaking door, but he’s already pulling me behind him and turning the handle and—
“What the fuck were you doing in here—?”
It would be funny—the comical way Jace’s mouth drops open when he spots me standing behind Brooks—except that he’s here.
And I’m here.
And Brooks is here.
Fuck, I really need to go.
“I’ll let you two catch up,” I say, slipping out from behind Brooks and making a beeline for the open door.
Jace blocks me, stepping forward at the same time. “Holy shit, Briar. Is that you?” He moves close, as though he’s going to hug me, and…
I flinch.
Fucking flinch.
Too fast. Too big.
Too many times I’ve been hurt.
He halts almost immediately, gaze flicking toward Brooks, something unreadable crossing his face.
Then he closes the door. “What the fuck is going on?”
This is my nightmare.
My literal nightmare.
“I need to go.”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
Brooks and I speak at the same time and Jace’s gaze flicks between us, as though trying to decide which of us to address.
He seems to settle on Brooks. “What are you talking about?” he asks.
“She’s lost weight, eats like she hasn’t had a full meal in far too long, hits hard enough to leave fucking bruises”—Jace’s eyes widen—“and carries air freshener like it could be a fucking weapon—”
“It can,” I blurt.
I have no freaking idea why I interject.
I need them to be distracted by each other so I can get the hell out.
Now they’re both looking at me.
And I find myself repeating, “It can.”
Brooks just looks at Jace.
No, he glares at Jace.
Who just looks at me. “How?”
“How what?”
“How can it be used as a weapon?”
I nibble at the inside of my mouth then mentally shrug, figure there’s no harm in telling him. “Spray it in someone’s eyes and it works fine.”
Jace looks at Brooks.
I look at Brooks…and see his jaw is clenched so tightly a muscle begins to flicker in his cheek.
The silence stretches, growing so taut it threatens to snap. Then he grits out, “So, Jace—my best fucking friend—want to tell me why in the hell she looks the way she looks and acts the way she acts and is thinking about how to use air freshener as a fucking weapon?”
My surprise has morphed back into anger. “Why do you care? You’re the one that walked away.”
He glares down at me. “Then you reappear five years later, helping yourself to my safe and leaving me unconscious when I try to stop you.”
That anger shatters, consumed by guilt. “I’m sorry. I…” A dozen explanations cross my mind, and I can’t share any of them. “I’m just…sorry.”
His glare softens. “Why did you steal it?”
I close my eyes. “I need to go.”
“And I need that flash drive,” he says and my lids fly open.
“But I’m pretty sure that neither of us are going to get what we want tonight.
Now”—he glances back at Jace and the sudden tension in the room has me holding my breath—“do you want to explain why in the fuck she was in a place to miss meals and learn how to use air freshener as a weapon?”
Jace’s eyes drift back to mine and I know what he’s going to say…
And what he’s not going to say in order to protect me.
I settle my hand on Brooks’s arm. “I didn’t touch the money.”
Slowly, he turns to face me. “Excuse me?”
“Jace gave me the information for the account. I refused to touch it.” I take a breath. “When he insisted, I emptied the account and donated the money.”
Brooks slowly turns back to Jace.
But when I go to lift my hand from his arm, his palm covers my fingers, holds it in place.
And despite how mad I am, how hurt, how much guilt I have for hurting him, warmth blooms in my chest.
Jace sighs and rubs his forehead. “I think we all need pizza and bourbon.”
I’m not hungry.
I just had two giant omelets.
But my stomach doesn’t get the message.
It rumbles loudly at the mention of pizza.
And God? When was the last time I had a glass of bourbon?
I can’t even remember.
But it was probably with these same two men.
Jace’s mouth quirks up. “I’ll order the pizza and booze. Maybe get the woman a snack.”
They break away as one, the fluid movements showcasing a friendship that’s been built and strengthened over the years—Brooks moving to the fridge, pulling it open, and perusing the contents while Jace flicks the lock on the door, reaches into his pocket, and tugs out his phone.
But before he starts tapping on the screen, he lifts his free hand.
Slowly, like I’m a cornered animal, he cups my jaw. “It’s good to see you, kid,” he says gently.
I bite the inside of my cheek, blink back the burn of tears. “It’s good to see you too.”
He smiles and it’s sad. “I just—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head.
“You just…what?”
A sigh and he drops his hand.
“I just wish you’d taken the money, kid.”