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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

My belly is full and my heart is so happy it hurts when Gunnar and I climb the steps to the apartment.

There’s a light on inside.

Silly, but that little fact makes my chest constrict. Brock left the light on for me when he closed up. The man thinks of everything.

As I unlock the door, I make a joke. “Drumroll.”

I push open the door and let my brother walk in. A flutter of nerves fill my throat as I watch him look around. “Wow. Sick pad.” Gunnar tosses his backpack on one of the kitchen chairs and strolls into the living room. “Whoever this guy is, he’s got some seriously dope rental property. ”

“Dope? I don’t ever remember you saying that before.”

He chuckles. “I’ll spare you from the other things I picked up.”

I stand pensively in the kitchen as he strolls through the whole apartment. He whistles when he sees the bed in my room. “Mr. Bankroll is serious about you, chica.”

“Whatever.”

He opens the fridge, grabs a beer that I didn’t know was in there. Brock. Again . He thought of everything.

Gunnar twists the cap and flicks it toward the trash can. “Fuck. It feels good to be able to drink whatever I want.”

He passes one to me. When he holds his beer toward me, we clink our bottles. His eyes are tired, but dancing when he says, “To new beginnings and getting laid, which obviously, you’re doing. And maybe I’ll be able to do before long.”

“Guess you’ve had a dry spell,” I say apologetically.

He smirks, takes a slug off his beer, then eyes me. “Shit, remember that girl I was dating when I got arrested? Dating is a loose term, of course.”

I search for a polite term and fail. “She was?—”

“A fucking basketcase.”

I make a frumpy sound. “She was a uniform chaser…”

There’s bitterness in his voice when he says, “Well, I guess I don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Sipping my beer, I look closely at my brother. He’s changed so much physically. He was always an outstanding athlete, top at everything he did. Now he looks mean and hard. There’s an edge to him that’s difficult to put words around.

“I think I’ll turn in,” Gunnar says suddenly, “I can’t wait to get in a good bed."

“Oh. Okay. The hallway to the left, that’s your room. ”

Grinning, he says, “I figured, no girly shit in there.”

He tips up the beer, finishes it, and places the empty in the sink. When he turns, he meets my eyes. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Of course. I’m so glad that nightmare is over.”

The muscle in his jaw ticks. “I’d do it all over again. I’ll always do what needs to be done to take up for you, Pipsqueak.”

Emotion fills my throat as I rub the cold bottle between my hands. “Thank you. I forever owe you. The good news is that I’m not a schoolgirl anymore and you don’t have to worry about protecting me from bullies and their entitled fathers now. I’m safe. Things are good here.”

He lets out a rough sigh. “I feel a lot better being out so I can see that with my own eyes.”

Making a dismissive motion with my hand, I smile. “As you can see, I’m all good.”

He studies me for a long minute. “You look happy. This guy must be doing something right.”

“I am happy. He’s good to me. But you being home is also a huge part of this overcoming need I have to sing show tunes.”

I hop up from the table and hug him for the tenth time today. I still can’t believe he’s been locked away for five years. In an emotional voice, I say, “Why don’t you have another beer while I make sure your room is all set. I’ll put some towels out for you too.”

He eyes the fridge. “You know, that sounds really good. You want another?”

I’m already halfway down the hallway, but yell back toward him, “No. I’m set.”

With a stack of fresh towels in my arms, I hurry through the second bedroom, flipping on the light and turning down the bed. I stocked his room with toiletries and some creature comforts. If I’d have thought of it, I’d have bought him new clothes. But we can go shopping tomorrow. One of the benefits of being on restricted duty is a nine to five schedule so I have my evening free right now.

When everything is perfect in Gunnar’s wing of the apartment, I start back toward the kitchen. “Okay, you’re good to go, your room?—”

When I round the corner, I skid to a stop. My brain can’t compute what I’m seeing. The words I had on my tongue vanish.

“Brock,” I say instead, with shock in my voice. “What’s going on here?”

Gunnar and Brock are standing inches from one another, faced off like two prizefighters about to go rounds against one another. Murderous light is sparking in both their eyes.

Terror grips me, making me quake instantly. I’ve never seen the look they have on their faces.

My brother is snorting mad. “What the fuck, Mitchell?”

I don’t know whether to jump between them or run. Stammering, I try to butt in on the glaring contest. “You two know each other?”

Neither one of them answers me. I’m not sure they even know I exist.

Hello! The voice of reason is calling but no one is listening.

Brock seems to grow even taller as his anger flares. “I’ll be damned. It’s a ghost. I never thought I’d see the infamous G.S. Ellis again. I knew you were doing time for beating some rich guy up, but I just never guessed I’d cross paths with you again.”

Gunnar’s jaw tics. “Why are you here, asshole? ”

Brock’s mouth tips into a wry grin. “Because I’m going to marry your sister.”

Oh, what?

“Over my dead body,” growls my brother.

A wheezing gasp is all that I can get out of my voice box before I drop into the kitchen chair. That peace I was enjoying must have been thin air.