Текст книги "The End Game"

Автор книги: Kate McCarthy

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“Are you drunk?”

“Christ, Jordan,” I snap in reaction to her censure. “I fucking lost the game. Of course I’m drunk.”

Her voice softens. “And this is how you deal with losing?”

“Yes!” Frustration burns my eyes and chest, and the sound of my father’s voice reverberates in my head.

You think you can make it in football? Forget it. It’s not a career. It’s a barbaric sport that’s going to knock the last remaining brain cells from your head.

I hang my head, my chest tight from the effort of not screaming in rage. Not because of what he said, but the possibility he could be right. One loss can easily turn into two, and then three, and before you know it, you’re on a downhill slide to nowhere. Fear makes my hands shake, and I almost drop the whiskey bottle.

“It’s either drink or fuck someone. You’re supposed to be my girl, Jordan, but you’re not here for me to fuck, so getting drunk it is.”

“This pretend dating thing does not come with those kinds of benefits,” she hisses.

“Say it ain’t so, baby,” I slur before laughter erupts from inside me.

“You’re drunk, Brody, and not yourself. I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait! What did Lindsay say to you?”

There’s nothing but recriminating silence from Jordan’s end, which is followed by a heavy sigh. Intent on planting my ass on the seat behind me, I shift backwards and miss, landing on the ground with a hard thud. “Shit!” Laughter peals out of me in waves as the whiskey bottle rolls from my hand and onto the floor. “I fucking fell off my seat,” I gasp.

Jordan’s response is to hang up on me.

Huh. That’s something new.

I hold my phone up high from my prone position on the ground. “My girl just hung up on me!” I yell.

“Trouble in paradise already,” Carter yells back. “Better have another drink.”

“Roger that,” I reply, rolling to my side as I try to get my bearings. Only it’s too hard, so I lie there quietly and close my eyes, and I think about how nice it would be some days to just not wake up at all.

By Monday evening it’s clear Jordan’s avoiding me. I don’t see either her or Lindsay between classes, and my calls to Jordan are going straight to voicemail. It’s left me in a bad mood, mainly from the guilt sitting like bad Chinese food in my gut. My phone call to Jordan on Saturday night was a disgrace. I still plan on showing up to our arranged tutor session tonight after dinner with my parents. I’ll probably get the door slammed in my face, but I’m willing to risk it.

My feet drag as I walk up the path to my childhood home. It’s a grand house. All white. Impressive pillars. Lush lawns. In terms of competition, it outclasses every other house in the street—just how my father likes it.

My jaw locks tight as I jab the doorbell. I hate coming here. There’s only one person that makes it all worthwhile, and I wouldn’t give up seeing her for anything.

The faint peal echoes through the hallway. I don’t have a key. My father doesn’t like anyone walking in unannounced, not even his own son. I try not to let it bother me, but it does.

“Brody’s here!” my little sister shrieks and my heart lifts just that quickly. It follows the sound of feet stomping rapidly toward the front door. I wince, waiting for the reprimand. It doesn’t take long.

“Annabelle Madden show some decorum or you’ll be sent to your room.” A scuffling sound is heard from inside, and my father’s voice is now close to the front door. “Go sit down at the dinner table and wait like a lady.”

After a moment the door swings open, revealing my father. He’s still immaculate in the suit he’s no doubt worn all day. His brown hair has a slight curl like mine does, but it’s smoothed into submission.

I step inside the front entryway. Our family home is decorated in white and black. Checkered tiles gleam, furniture decorates strategically, and pretentious portraits adorn the walls—promoting the family values my father publicly advocates. It’s about as warm and inviting as a dip in the arctic with a pod of killer whales.

“For fuck’s sake, Dad,” I growl quietly as I brush passed him. “She’s eight years old. Let her be a kid.”

My sister is an unexpected addition to the family, her arrival messing with dad’s life plan the same way me having a learning disability did. Initially, I liked my sister because her presence shifted the negative attention off me, but it was when our dad reprimanded her for playing football with me in the yard and she flatly told him to “fuck off” that I came to adore her. I got a clip across the face for laughing so hard, but it was worth it just to see the look on his face.

“I don’t want to eat roast chicken,” comes her whine as I walk down the glossy flooring toward the dining room at the back of the house. “Have you seen chickens? They spend all day pecking at the ground and eating their own shit.”

“Annabelle! Enough!” my mother admonishes and my lips twitch. I press them together quickly.

Dinner is already laid out on the table when I appear, and my sister sits fidgeting at her place setting. Her blonde curls have loosened from the tight bun on top her of head, reminding me she went to ballet this afternoon.

“Hey, Moo Moo,” I coo, grinning at my sister as I take my seat.

“Enough with that infernal nickname,” my father mutters as he takes his seat at the head of the table.

“She likes it,” I retort. “Don’t you, Moo Moo?”

Annabelle purses her lips as if annoyed, but her eyes dance with delight. “I’m not a cow, Brody.”

I pretend to look puzzled. “But all cows are named Annabelle, and Mom said that when you came out you mooed just like a dairy cow that needed milking.”

Mom gives me a sharp look from across the table. It makes me wonder when I last saw a smile on her face. Not one of those fake ones for the media that doesn’t reach her eyes, but a real honest-to-god smile.

“I said no such thing. Now everyone eat before dinner gets cold.”

We begin filling our plates when Hattie walks into the dining room, a gravy boat in her hand. I give our housekeeper a wink. “Hey, Hattie. Thanks for dinner.”

Hattie’s lips twitch as she sets the gravy in the center of the table, but otherwise she doesn’t acknowledge me—not after seeing my father’s nostrils flare. She’s staff. I’m not supposed to thank her for something she gets paid to do.

“How was dance class?” I ask my sister as we eat.

Her bottom lip pokes out, and I know a complaint is imminent. Annabelle barely tolerates ballet. Our parents insist on it because they’re hoping it will instill some grace in her tiny, clumsy frame, but I suspect she’d rather take up weightlifting than endure another season of én pointe.

“It sucked. Emily Simpkins did a ballonné and kicked me right in the ass. I think I have a bruise.”

“So help me, Annabelle, if I hear another curse word pass your lips, you’ll be going straight to bed,” my father snaps, his face red.

The light in her eyes dims, and she hangs her head. My sister needs to stop cussing so much, but I know she does it for the attention. They don’t pay her any otherwise. It makes my chest ache because I know how she feels.

I kick Annabelle under the table and when she looks up I wink. She doesn’t giggle out loud, but I can see laughter in her eyes and that’s enough for me.

Our parents talk between themselves during dinner, at least until the inevitable question is sent my way. “How’s your school work going, Brody?”

My stomach drops instantly, and my knuckles whiten on the knife and fork in my hands. My mother’s query appears innocent, but the innuendo beneath her words is not. God. Can’t they just leave it alone? I know I’m a crushing disappointment. Do they really need me reminding them of it every time I come to dinner?

I glare at her. Don’t do it. Just let it go. Lie.

I draw in a deep breath and let it out. “Fine.”

Her brows rise and her expression is not only skeptical, it’s cold. “Fine?”

“Is that all we get from you, Brody?” My father joins in, and now I have the both of them double teaming me. Awesome. “We’re the ones sinking our hard-earned money into your education and all you can give us is fine?”

I might be attending CPU on a full sports scholarship but my father pays for the apartment, my car, and everything else. He wants to control what I drive, where I live, what I damn well wear, because the Maddens have a public image to maintain. God forbid I embarrass the family.

Annabelle sits quietly, not eating, her eyes focused on the table. My expression stony, I lift my chin, eyes shifting to my father. “What would you rather hear?”

“The truth,” he bites out.

“Come on, Dad, really?” I force a chuckle. “You’re a politician. You deal in lies, right? I’m just learning from the best.”

His face reddens. I’ve riled his temper and that’s never good. I should keep my mouth shut, but I can’t seem to help myself.

“You want to know how it’s going?” I put down my knife and fork with a clatter. What little I’ve eaten sits heavy in my gut. I won’t be eating anymore tonight. “Two weeks in and I’m already flunking out. I’m going to take a stab in the dark and guess you both had that figured out already.” With hardened eyes, I turn a glare on my father, unable to restrain the sarcasm from my voice. “But there are no expectations, right, Dad? So you could hardly be disappointed. On the plus side, Uncle Patrick arranged a tutor because he’s willing to acknowledge just how low the levels of my stupidity go, so at least he gives a shit.”

My gaze slides back to my mother. A glass of chilled white wine sits poised in her hand, and her jaw is tight. She doesn’t like the reminder of my failures, so why she asked the question in the first place is beyond me. Every time a teacher suggested outside assistance during my formative years, my father always vetoed the idea. Knowing her place, my mother agreed. I hate that she’s so weak. I hate that she doesn’t care. I swallow hard, not allowing the hot prick of tears to reach my eyes.

“So yeah, it’s going great, Mom.”

Before I can draw breath, my dad reaches across and cracks his open palm across my face. My jaw snaps sideways, and I blink back stars.

Annabelle cries out and I hear her cutlery fall to her plate.

I take a deep breath and fix steady eyes on my little sister. “Go upstairs, Moo Moo.”

Her bottom lip quivers. “Brody.”

“I’ll come see you again soon, okay? We can go out on the horses.”

She hesitates.

“Go!”

Annabelle shoves her chair back, putting her napkin on the top of her plate with shaky hands. She aims a glare at our parents before leaving the room. It’s not until I hear her footsteps reach the top of the stairs that I turned to face him.

“What the fuck, Dad!” My mom flinches as I rip the napkin from my lap and toss it on the table. “Don’t you ever do that in front of Annabelle!”

Mom’s brows draw together, her expression stern. “Brody—”

Dad cuts her off. “Your mother asked you a simple question. Don’t treat her with such disrespect again.”

“I’m sorry,” I say with quiet sincerity. I didn’t mean to lose my shit in front of my sister. “I guess I just got sick of all the crap.”

“You little sonofabitch!” Dad shoots to his feet, his chair tipping and skidding back on the timber floor with a crack. He fists my shirt in his hand and hauls me to my feet. I stumble and my elbow bangs on the table, sending my plate crashing to the floor.

“You want to go at it?” he growls. My body tenses. It’s taking all my restraint to keep from shoving him out of my face. “Is that what you want? For me to smack some manners into your sorry ass? We’ve given you everything. Everything!” he roars in my face. “And you throw it back in our face by flunking out? And don’t think I didn’t hear about your loss to UCLA over the weekend. Everyone made sure I heard about it. It just proves you won’t get anywhere if you don’t try hard enough. You’re an embarrassment, Son, not to mention a sore loser. Be a man and handle it rather than taking it out on your family.” Dad heaves air into his lungs, his eyes wild. “Fucking useless,” he snarls when I remain silent.

He shoves me away—hard. My head smacks into the wall. I suck in a breath, feeling my brow split on impact. When I touch a hand to it, it comes away covered with blood. Dizzy, I lurch backwards, planting a shaky palm on the wall. It smears blood in a long, messy arc.

“Hattie!” my dad yells as I blink blood from my eye. “Come in here and clean up this goddamn mess.”

“Fuck you!” I slur, lightheaded and sick from the white-hot pain. Straightening my shoulders, I turn and draw back a fist, slamming it in my father’s jaw. Mom screams when the impact sends him sailing into the dining table. Dishes crash to the floor and food stains his suit.

I laugh. My knuckles are throbbing and my face aches, but I don’t care. All I can do is laugh, but it’s not remotely funny because it feels like I’m losing it.

“Get out!” my mother shrieks at me. Her face is pinched and her side sweep of blonde hair has loosened to fall on her forehead. “Get out of our house!”

Jordan

Two days prior…

Fielding messages from Brody, and the subsequent riot of butterflies every time his name pops up on my phone, I cut my Saturday morning run short. I don’t want to like Brody messaging me; in fact, I don’t want to like Brody at all—but I do.

After a long hot shower, Leah suggests going out for a late breakfast. I know a short stack of gingerbread pancakes will go a long way toward making everything better so I agree. But it’s not until we’re at a table, eating, that I realize Leah’s purpose for this little breakfast outing: pumping me for any and all information Brody Madden related.

It’s only the day after the party, but I’m beginning to notice that people somehow know my name. They pass by our table, saying hello. I’m not a social butterfly. I’m the reluctant caterpillar in the corner. It’s awkward.

One girl with a group of friends actually snaps a photo of me with her phone. She’s blatant about it too. Not seeming to care that I see her do it or that I have my mouth stretched around a forkful of pancakes. Usually they taste like little round slivers of doughy heaven. This morning they sit like rocks in my stomach.

“So spill it, Elliott. Leave no stone unturned. I want to know everything.”

Of course she does. Leah’s dark brown eyes are round and eager as she eyeballs me expectantly. The only reason she didn’t get anything out of me this morning was because Leah is as dedicated to her training as I am. Or usually am, if I don’t factor this morning’s pathetic effort into the equation.

I swallow my mouthful quickly, mindful that people are watching me eat. “I bumped into him on campus.”

Leah’s eyebrows shoot skyward. “Like, literally?”

Oh God, the lies. I grimace because it’s already making me sweat. The gig will be up the moment Leah sees me leaking like a giant deceitful water fountain. Will she notice if I furtively slide a couple of napkins under my armpits? “Yes,” I answer firmly. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

She’ll believe that little white lie. My lack of direction and my inability to read maps is now a running joke in our circle.

“And then what?” she prompts, rolling her eyes. “Come on, Jordan. This is like pulling teeth.”

I put down my knife and fork to reach for my mug of tea. “And the rest is history,” I blithely reply and take a sip. It’s scalding hot and burns my tongue. In fact it burns all the way down. Karma is busy taking care of business this morning.

Leah’s eyes narrow. Perhaps I overdid the blithe. “Why did you never tell me?”

“I didn’t think—”

“That’s exactly right,” she cuts me off, jabbing her fork in my face. I flinch. “You didn’t think.”

“Hey, Jordan.” Two guys walk by our table that I don’t recognize. Both give me the once-over. I’m being appraised like a prize cow. This is the point where I realize I’ve been thrown to the wolves. I can’t even blame Brody. I agreed to this in a moronic, tequila-induced moment that now appears too late to take back.

I force a tight smile and with gritted teeth turn back to Leah. “Can we go? Please?”

“No way.” She grins as she forks up a mouthful of eggs. “I only just started eating, and this is too much fun.”

“I’ll do your laundry for an entire month,” I plead.

Leah pauses and says, “That’s pretty tempting … but no.”

“You’re a sucky friend.”

I give up on my pancakes. Wiping my mouth with my napkin, I set it on the table and reach again for my tea.

“So you bumped into him on campus and then what? You dropped all your books and he picked them up for you?”

“Yes!” I pounce on her suggestion. “That’s exactly what happened.”

“Wow.”

“I know, right?” I nod. “Wow.”

Leah sits back in her seat, coffee in hand as she eyes me shrewdly. “So then what happened? He looked into your amazing eyes, was dazzled speechless, and then it was on?”

I shake my head, pretending amazement. “How did you know? Gosh, Leah. It was like you were there.”

“Shut. Up!” she shrieks and tosses a half-eaten piece of toast at me. I’m wearing a short-sleeved blue knit top, and it attaches itself to the threads like a decorative broach.

I peel it off my chest and drop it on my plate.

“Give it back here,” she commands, stretching her arm across the table.

I hand it back over. “You’re not actually going to eat that after you threw it at me, are you?”

“Of course I am. It didn’t drop on the floor, and your shirt is clean.”

I glance down where crumbs and butter now smear the thin blue wool. “Not anymore it’s not.”

Leah takes a huge bite and waggles her eyebrows. Around a mouthful of toast, she asks, “So did you two get it on last night?”

“What? No!”

Her eyes round in genuine shock and her smile drops away. “No?”

I spend the rest of breakfast dodging Leah’s probing questions. When she finally announces she’s done, I stand and race for the door. The morning sunshine hits me right in the eyes, and I slide my sunglasses down to block the glare.

Leah catches up to me, linking her arm in mine. “What are we doing today?”

“Hibernating,” I answer quickly. This morning gave me insight on how bugs feel under a microscope. The scrutiny is wearing and my right eye has begun to twitch. I reach beneath my lens and rub it, trying to make it stop. “I have reading to do.”

“Wow. Study. You’re super fun. I’m not sure my heart can take it. Let’s go shopping first.”

I recoil. My bank account is reasonably healthy, but it needs to stretch my entire senior year. Not to mention my mode of transportation is already close to falling apart. “You’ve seen my car, right?”

“Hon, everyone has seen your car. It’s the eyesore of Texas. The CIA are tracking it on satellite, waiting for authorization to take it out.” Her eyes light up as we walk along the pavement. “Maybe Brody will buy you a new one now that you’re dating. He can’t have his girl driving a death trap, can he?”

“I’m not his girl. We haven’t even gone on a single date yet. Technically that means we aren’t really dating at all.”

That was probably my first real truth of the morning, and Leah completely ignores it. Instead, I’m dragged from shop to shop, trying on outfits I can’t afford. It’s midday when we both declare we’ve had enough. With my stomach growling, I leave Leah inside the store and order two fruit smoothies from a nearby vendor.

I turn around while I’m waiting and get shoulder-checked by a redhead with an attitude problem. “Hey!” I cry out when I stumble and land on my ass with a painful thud.

The girl beside the redhead giggles, but the glare I get from the girl who knocked me down is scalding. I remember that glare from the party last night. Lindsay, I think Jaxon said her name was.

Leah charges out before I get to my feet. “What the freaking hell is your problem?” she screeches, getting right in Lindsay’s face.

The sweet Asian man making our smoothies races around his cart toward me. He helps me stand while Leah and Lindsay yell obscenities at each other. My stomach rolls the moment I put pressure on my left leg. My ankle is beginning to twinge, sending out a mayday that something is seriously wrong.

“You don’t belong here,” Lindsay hisses at me, her nostrils flaring. I don’t doubt she means what she says. “And I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you don’t belong with Brody either. You’re just a new toy that will soon lose its shine. Just give it a few days.”

“Just like you wore off so fast he didn’t even look your way at all?” Leah interjects.

“Look,” I say, swallowing around the worrying pain shooting up my leg. Damned if I want Lindsay to know she’s done some serious damage. “Maybe I do belong with Brody, maybe I don’t. Either way, it’s none of your business.”

Lindsay scowls. “This isn’t over.” With her pleasant threat delivered, she stalks off, not even waiting for her friend to catch up.

“Wow. I was wondering if I should envy you, getting to enjoy that masterpiece of male perfection,” Leah says as she stands there, hands on her hips as she watches the two girls disappear inside a store, “but I take it back.” She turns to me, doubt in her eyes. “How does it feel to be the most hated girl on campus right now?”

“Is that a pep talk? Because you suck at it.”

“Girls,” the vendor mutters from beside me, shaking his head like we’re an alien species he’ll never figure out. “You ok?” he asks me. “You still want smoothies?”

“Yes, please,” I reply weakly. “But change the order to double chocolate.”

I shift slightly and wince. Leah glances down and her eyes widen on my ankle. “Oh no. No, no, no. Please tell me you didn’t—”

My eyes fill with tears faster then I can blink them away. “I did.”

“That bitch! I’m going to rip her apart.”

Leah whips her phone out and stabs a finger at the screen.

“What you are doing?”

“I’m calling Hayden. We need to get you home and get some ice on that ankle.” Leah presses the phone to her ear and stares down at my swelling ankle. “Maybe it’s nothing serious. Rest it a couple of days and it’ll be completely fine.”

I shift some weight on my leg to test it. An explosion of fireworks shoots up my calf. I suck in a sharp breath, wincing.

Leah tries for a reassuring smile but it looks grim. “It’s gonna be okay.”

I spend the afternoon on the couch, my ankle elevated and regularly iced. Hayden keeps me company. With a nice dose of painkillers under my belt, I thrash him at baseball on the PlayStation while Leah ducks out on a mysterious errand.

Vengeance was a fire in her eyes when she left, and it’s only when I’m distracted—worrying she’s out on some one-woman vigilante mission—that Hayden manages a win. He leaps up off the couch with a roar and the entire apartment damn near shudders.

“Enjoy the moment while it lasts, He-Man,” I tell him when he starts rolling his hips and arms in a victory dance.

Halting mid-step, Hayden points his controller at me, his excitement palpable. “Let’s go again!”

He slams back on the couch with force, and it jiggles my ankle.

“Arrghhhhh!” I shriek.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he chants, tossing the controller to the side and readjusting the ice that slid off to the floor.

Leah chooses that moment to return. Her arms are laden with glossy shopping bags, and there’s a bright, determined gleam in her eye that makes me nervous. The last time I saw that look, I was dragged to a frat party in a purple ‘fuck me’ dress and look how well that turned out.

“What’s in the bags?” I ask.

Retaking his seat beside me, Hayden eyes her loaded arms with the hopeful eyes of a kid at Christmas. “It’s bags and bags of black lacy underwear.”

Leah’s grin is smug as she dumps them on the kitchen counter. “Nope.”

His smile falters a little, but hope remains. “Red lacy underwear?”

“Nope.”

“Pink?”

“Nope.”

Hayden rattles off all the colors of the rainbow while she digs inside one of the bags.

“Nope, nope, and nope,” she replies.

All his hope slowly dies out, leaving behind the wounded expression of a kicked puppy.

What she plucks out is a stretchy black piece of fabric, and instantly I know what it is. The dress she tossed over the fitting room door when we were trying on clothes. It’s a deceptive piece of material. It looks like a bit of scrap, but after tugging it on I almost didn’t recognize my own body. It has a high neckline, but it shows a mile of leg, gives me a waist, and dips so low at the back it’s almost obscene.

“You didn’t,” I breathe.

Lean grins, victorious. “I did. I also…” she pulls out item after item after item, “…did this, and this, and this.” Out comes tiny, cuffed shorts the color of ripe lemons, two blouses, a white maxi-dress that cinches at the waist with a brown leather belt, and more.

Tears prick my eyes. She must have spent a fortune. “You can’t, Leah,” I protest while my internal voice screams at me she can, she can! “Take it all back.”

Opening the kitchen drawer, she comes out with a pair of scissors. I watch as she neatly begins snipping off tags and cutting through receipts. “Oops. I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Leah …” I trail off, speechless.

“That crazy bitch doesn’t think you belong with Brody? We’ll show her just how much you do, and then her eyes won’t be the only part of her that’s green. The second he sees you in that black dress for your date, he’s going to swallow his tongue.”

My stomach sinks like lead as she folds all the clothes in a neat pile. It doesn’t matter what I wear because I don’t belong with Brody. I never will. Not even if I wanted to. I’m only here for senior year and then I’m gone. Everything I’m making here—this little life inside an even smaller apartment, new city and soccer team, friends I’m growing to love harder than I thought possible—is all temporary.

After we have dinner, Leah helps me hobble to my room. My painkillers are wearing off, but I don’t take anymore. I just want to sleep. Stretching out on my bed, I open my laptop to check my emails first. What I find is over a hundred Facebook friend requests, emails inviting me to parties, and emails calling me a whore. With a shaky hand I slam it shut and shove it away.

It takes over an hour for me to find sleep. The moment I do, Brody wakes me with his phone call, drunk and belligerent. I want to care that they lost their game, but he’s being a dick. After the day I had, his attitude is like the cherry on top of a shit cupcake. When I hang up, I’m glad that Monday is still two days away. It will give me time to calm down.

The next two days are spent at home resting my ankle. It’s not until Monday night rolls around and Brody’s a no-show that I realize the battery on my phone is dead. After charging it up, I try calling him, but he doesn’t answer. Brody set about this whole dating farce and now what? He gives up on being tutored before we’ve even started? I’m fuming mad.

It’s not until Tuesday that I see him next. I’m seated in the quiet study section of the library. He stalks past, carrying a stack of lecture notes in his hand, noticing no one. He’s wearing a Colton Bulls cap that hides his eyes, and his skin is damp from the outside heat. For some reason my heart starts slamming in my ribs and it gets hard to breathe. Rage. It’s all that anger oozing from my pores like lava. In fact it’s an exercise in restraint not to stick my good ankle out and trip him up, or toss the heavy text on my desk at his head.

“Brody,” I hiss loudly when instead I should just let him go. If he doesn’t want to be tutored I can’t force him, but sometimes I can be a dog with a bone. Winners aren’t quitters, though I’m not sure I’d classify this as winning.

Brody halts at my voice and turns. I suck in a sharp breath. His left eye is a rainbow of purple and red and so swollen it hurts just to look at it. A split brow is held together with butterfly tape and his bottom lip looks busted.

“Oh my god, Brody.”

“Jordan,” he says quietly and presses his lips together like he has no idea what to say. The move makes him wince, and he touches a hand to his mouth before meeting my gaze.

The teasing sparkle in his eyes is missing, and my anger disappears like vapor. “What happened to your face?”

Brody shrugs. “Training.” He puts his sheaf of papers on the desk and crouches next to me, bringing me a little higher than eye level. He has to look up a little bit. “It can get a little rough.”

I don’t believe a word. I have a brother. I know the difference between training and a fistfight. My gaze drops to the knuckles on his right hand. They’re swollen and red. “Just a little rough, huh?”

Brody puts a hand on my knee. The touch is intimate and sends my pulse rocketing right through the ornate ceiling of the library. “Sorry about last night.” He waves a hand briefly at his face. “I was a bit sore. I should’ve let you know I couldn’t make it, but I thought you were avoiding me. I tried ringing you yesterday but it kept going to voicemail.”

“Oh. Well I admit I needed some time to cool off after your phone call on Saturday night, but I wasn’t avoiding you. My phone was flat.”

Brody grimaces. “Sorry about that. I was an asshole.”

“You were.”

He gives me a rueful grin. “Well at least we can agree on something. So can we reschedule the tutoring?”

I should say no, but I can’t. I’m his tutor. The whole point of this is to help Brody in any way I can. And we both need to start taking it more seriously. “Thursday night,” I tell him. “My apartment.”

Brody exhales sharply. Rescheduling was obviously a chore he’s happy to be done with. “Great. Now will you tell me what Lindsay said to you on Saturday?”

“She didn’t say anything I can’t handle.”

His jaw ticks. Obviously it’s not the answer he wants. “Tell me what she said, Jordan.”

I shift my leg from underneath his grip and his hand falls away. “Brody, you’re a popular guy. There are a lot of girls who aren’t going to be happy with the idea of you dating me. They’ll get over it, so just let it go.”

Brody stands slowly, his wide shoulders looming over me. “I’ll let it go. For now. But if anyone ever threatens you, you tell me and I’ll handle it.”

“I can handle myself. Don’t treat me like I belong to you.”

He leans over and takes my face in his hand, the other he props on the arm of my chair. His palm is calloused and scrapes my cheek, but his touch is gentle.