Page 60

Taking a few steps forward, I stop to stand at the top of the stairs, grip tightened around the banister in an effort to keep myself from pitching forward. “I’m right here, Mom.” Looking down, I can see my mother standing at the foot of the stairs, Brock is standing behind her. His mouth is split open at the corner and there’s a long, ugly wound gashed into his forehead, held together by what look like staples. Went was right—he’s in absolutely no condition to cause anything even vaguely resembling trouble.
But that doesn’t mean he won’t try.
When he sees me watching him from the top of the stairs, his hazel eyes narrow slightly while my mother lets out an audible gasp.
“The flu.” She aims a look down the hallway that connects the foyer to the living room where Abbey is undoubtedly still watching. “Abigail Maureen you said your sister had the—”
“I asked her to cover for me.” I say it without thinking, my only thought to protect Abbey from any further trouble, because spoiled brat or not, she came to my rescue when she could’ve sold me out and I owe her for that. “Don’t blame her.”
My mother’s eyes widen in surprise. “Why on earth would you do something like that?” She shakes her head, probably wondering how she’s managed to lose control of her household less than forty-eight hours after her husband left town on family business.
“I asked her to.”
I look up and my mother turns, both of us looking at Brock in stunned silence. Before my mother can repeat her question, Brock gives her a sheepish smile. “The truth is, we hit a deer last night, coming home from the Saddle.” When he says it, my mother makes a soft, fluttering sound in the back of her throat and she sways on her feet, her gaze flying up to meet mine, Eyes round and suddenly slick with tears.
I’ve never hated Brock Morris more than I do right now.
My mother reaches out to grip the banister, trying desperately to keep herself upright. “Kaity…”
“It’s okay, Mom.” Ignoring the caustic smirk Brock is giving me over her head, I practically tumble down the stairs in my rush to get to her before her legs give out. “I’m okay,” I tell her, gripping her elbow before gently guiding her to the bench at the foot of the stairs. “It wasn’t as bad as Brock’s making it out to be.” Kneeling down in front of her, I wrap my hands around hers and shake my head. “The deer actually hit us—clipped the tailgate on its way across the road.” Remembering what Went told me about what happened last night, I try to make the story sound as plausible as possible. “I was asleep and hit my head on the passenger side window—that’s all.” Reaching up, I brush the hair away from my face with a shaky hand. “See—just a bump.” Looking up at the man grinning down at me, I give him a sharp smile. “Brock got it much worse than I did.”
I’ll probably pay for it later, in one way or another, but I don’t care. It was worth it to see that snide grin of his slide right off his face. Before my mother can ask, I do my best to minimize the damage Brock caused with his well-placed lie. “Brock asked me not to say anything before we had a chance to tell you, together.” Reaching for her hands again, I give them a squeeze. “He knew how upset you’d be and he wanted to make sure you could see with your own two eyes that we’re both okay.” I give Brock another sharp look. “Isn’t that right, Brock?”
“It sure is.” Gaze slightly narrowed, his expression shifts seamlessly into one of compassionate concern when my mother looks in his direction. “I know after what happened to Luke, you’d have been unnecessarily worried—” He places a hand on her shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze while flicking a quick look in my direction. “especially without Mr. Barrett here to look after things.”
There’s a threat in there somewhere. I can hear it, clear as day. A reminder that my mother, sister, and I are all but alone here. Before I can process it, Brock lifts his hand from my mother’s shoulder and offers it to me. “I should get home—I’ve got quite the insurance mess to untangle. Walk me to my truck, Kaitydid?”
Even though I’d rather walk into a burning building, I slip my hand into his while fighting the urge to rip myself from his grip. Looking over my shoulder, I find Abbey hovering in the hallway. “Take mom into the kitchen and make her some tea—I’ll be right back.” Standing slowly, I force myself to let Brock keep ahold of my hand while he leads me through the open front door and down the front porch steps.
As soon as we’re no longer in view of the house, I yank my hand out of his. “A deer?” I hiss it at him, my fists clenched so tight my fingers start to ache. “You had to tell her we hit a deer?”
“I suppose I could’ve told her I found you in a bathroom stall at the Saddle, sucking Damien Bravebird’s dick instead,” he says with a shrug that tells me that the thought more than crossed his mind. “That the two of us fought over you and that, unfortunately, you got a little banged up in the scuffle.” His expression hardens. “I even have witnesses.” Witnesses. Undoubtedly nothing but his friends, willing to corroborate whatever story he decides to throw out there. “What do you think your father—or the rest of this town for that matter—would do to him if they knew what’s been going on between the two of you?”
I don’t have to guess.
I know.
I know exactly what would happen if Brock were to tell people that Damien and I are involved and the thought of it tightens my throat in an instant.
“That’s a lie,” I tell him, fighting the urge to scream it in his face. “There’s nothing going on between Damien and me.”
“I thought you’d understand by now, Kaitydid.” Brock cocks his head to the side, the corner of his mouth lifted in a shitty smirk. “It doesn’t matter if it’s the truth—all that matters is if your father will believe it. I think we both know that when it comes to you, your father will believe anything I tell him.”
He's right.
That’s how much my father hates me.
How much he wants to punish me.
So much that he’ll do everything in his power to make sure that I’m miserable for the rest of my life.
“What do you want, Brock?” I ask, silently conceding because I’m suddenly tired of fighting. Just want to go back to my room and hide for as long as I can. Pretend none of this is happening.
“I’m picking you up for church tomorrow morning.” Moving away from me, he opens the drivers’ side door on his truck and slowly maneuvers himself into the seat—a reminder that Went broke at least a couple of his ribs last night. When I see it, I can’t help but feel a savage sort of satisfaction to know that as banged up as I am from last night’s episode, Brock really did get the worst of it.
Seeing my smile, Brock slams his truck door closed to glare down at me through the open window. “I’ll be proposing to you after service, in front of the whole town and you’re going to say yes. I’m sure Mrs. McCaffery will want to take a picture for the town paper, so make sure you wear something nice.”
Brock made good on his threat—he proposed after this morning’s service while the church ladies battled the warm, late spring air with their paper fans and young kids, who couldn’t give a damn about grown folk business chased each other in circles around the base of the statue of my far-flung grandfather.