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“I really hope there’s some sort of afterlife, Dad. I hope you get to spend forever with her.” I bowed my head, staring down at my lap.
An uncomfortable feeling settled over me. My dad had vowed to protect both Miranda and Rebel. I didn’t know what he was protecting them from, but it made a lot more sense now as to why his estate had been split between the two of us.
I’d failed my father in so many ways over the course of my life. Acting out at school. Taking for granted the wealth and privilege his hard work had given me. Never coming back to visit once I’d finished college. I’d been so wrapped up in me. In the things that had pushed me out of this town and made me never want to return. I’d forgotten the one man who’d always supported me.
I swallowed thickly. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could change it.”
But there was no going back now. Only going forward.
I’d accused Rebel of some awful things. I’d let my grief get the better of me, and it had come out in anger. I hated I’d done that. She was grieving too. She didn’t deserve the things I’d said when alcohol and hurt had gotten the better of me.
I choked down the lump in my throat and stared at the vows again. Rebel’s name was the only word that stayed clear, the rest of them blurring as I blinked back the moisture welling in my eyes.
“I’ll take over where you left off,” I promised him. “I’ll protect her. Make sure she’s taken care of. If it was important to you, then it’s important to me too.”
Some of the heaviness lifted off my heart. Maybe it was just the relief at admitting I’d done something wrong and was going to try to fix it. I had to sort out Brooke’s mess, and I needed money to do that. Fast. But Rebel wouldn’t go without.
“I don’t know how you became the man you are. I don’t think I can even be half as good.” I stood, gathering up my father’s things and took one last look down at him. “But I’ll try.”
18
REBEL
I woke in the morning, wrapped in blankets like a warm and toasty burrito, but the other side of the bed was cold to the touch. Instantly, panic filled me, fearing Fang had snuck out and driven himself home, or worse, gone woozily stumbling through the house with all its staircases, and was currently lying at the bottom of one with a broken neck.
But when I made it out onto the second-floor landing and peered over the railing, there was no dead body. Sounds did float up the stairs though, frypans banging and clashing together, and oddly, laughter.
I jogged down the stairs in nothing but the T-shirt I liked to sleep in, the hem brushing my upper thighs. In the doorway to the kitchen, I leaned on the doorframe, smiling at the sight before me. “Wouldn’t have picked you for an apron sorta guy, Kian.”
Both he and Fang, who was sitting at the kitchen bench chopping vegetables, lifted their heads.
Kian groaned, his gaze sweeping my body. “Don’t wear that in front of me! I don’t need big boy over there starting round two because I looked at his girl.”
I glanced at Fang.
He was holding the knife a little too tightly.
I put my hand on his back as I slid onto the stool beside him. “Settle.”
His hand instantly went to my thigh, clamping down on it, holding me in place. But he spoke to Kian. “I’m not starting anything with anyone she wants looking at her. Only those she doesn’t. She can tell me if I need to kill you.”
Kian chuckled. “Righto. Remember who won that fight last night.”
“You know I let you.”
I clapped my hands together. “Okay, okay. We’re not getting into that again. You both have very big muscles and you’re both headed for the MMA. Good for you. Moving on, I’m starving, and that smells great. What are we having?”
“Omelets.”
“I’m drooling already.”
Fang’s thumb rubbed absently over my skin.
I liked it more than I should have and was a bit miffed when he moved his hand away to continue cutting up onions.
“So, Fang and I were talking before you came downstairs, and he tells me we’re going after this Caleb guy and his friends who attacked you.” Kian tapped an egg swiftly to the edge of a mixing bowl. The eggshell split down the middle, and he pried it apart, letting the insides drip down.
“We’re?” I asked. “No, not we’re. I am. Fang is backing me up.”