Page 20 of Craving Consequences

But I nod to appease him.

He’s smiling when he lifts his face. “Good, because I have an idea that will set us up.” He steps back, beaming with that boyish charm that got me in the beginning. “You’re going to buy a house.”

I blink. “I have a house.”

His grin wavers but sticks with less shine.

“I fucking ... I know, babe.” He forces a chuckle.

The effort looks painful. “There’s this thing at work.

It’s between me and Abram since we’re both junior associates.

One of us has to sell a house. The first one who does, gets a full-time position and a listing on Silver Pines.

” He takes a step back, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Can you imagine how awesome our lives would be?”

I get his enthusiasm, but the logic isn’t making sense.

“You want me to buy a house from you?”

He nods. “Once I make the sale, I can finally pay you back, isn’t that great? You won’t have to wait for me to get my inheritance.”

Trying to keep my voice calm and even, I reply, “You’re going to pay me back with the money I give you?”

The smile vanishes. “How are you not seeing the bigger picture? I sell this house, I get a bigger, better listing. It’s a good house, Everly. Old school with good bones and—”

“The MacAllister house, right? It’s a wash, Bron. No one here is going to buy it. You’re better off tearing it down and selling the property.”

He goes very still. The kind of calm before a storm. All the happiness vanishes into the cyclone of barely suppressed fury.

“So, you’re not going to help me.”

Seeing the implosion building behind his eyes, I tread lightly. “I would if I could but you already used a lot of my parent’s life insurance money. I don’t have enough to—”

“Are you calling me a freeloader, is that it? I told you I was going to pay you back as soon as I get my inheritance in a few months. I would have already if my dad wasn’t the trustees on the account and keeping it for himself.

” He turns and stalks several feet. Stops.

Pivots back. “You’re being a bitch right now, you know that?

I ... this is so fucking important to my entire career.

” All ten fingers shove back through his hair.

“You just want to see me fail. You don’t give a shit about me.

You probably think you could do better, but here’s a reality check, Everly.

No one fucking wants you. No one. You’re weak and pathetic.

Boohoo, my parents died. No one fucking cares, Everly.

Look at everything they left you. You don’t have to worry about anything. Not all of us have that luxury—”

“You think losing my parents was a luxury?”

He ignores me, lost in his own outrage. “—some of us have to work our asses off. I have to fight every day at work just to be told Abram is better because he’s got roots in this useless town.

” He’s breathing hard. Spittle clings to his lips and chin but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“You know what? Fuck you. I’ll do it on my own and you better not ask me for anything. ”

I watch him storm off. The thunder of his feet echo through the house. Rattle across the walls. Each stomp up the stairs rings like bombs exploding. His bedroom door cracks shut and then there is silence.

Semi silence.

My heart is an unsteady tempo between my ears. A frantic bird begging for escape. I stand rooted to the plastic, clammy and cold despite the heat. My brain fluctuates between going after him and giving him the money I don’t have and just leaving.

It’s three feet between the door and the stairs.

A fork in the road. If I give in, I’ll have Bron.

If I leave, I’ll have nothing. I’ll lose everything.

Not just Bron, but Lachlan. I’ll lose the thousands of dollars he owes me, which I’m beginning to accept I will never see anyway, but I’m still hoping.

“Want me to beat his ass?”

I jump at the quiet murmur from behind me. I spin to find Van in the patio doorway, eyes fixed on my face. My tear-stained face that I’m not quick enough to wipe.

I force a chuckle. “Not today. It’s too hot.”

The cold silver softens, but barely. “Raincheck, then.” He takes a small step closer. “You okay, baby?”

I reach for an abandoned dish towel on the island and busy my hands shaking it out and folding it.

“Yeah, just a disagreement.” I tuck the edges into the oven handlebar. “I should go home.”

“You should stay,” he counters smoothly. He takes another step. “I need you to stay.”

I lift my face to find him a foot away. A towering force consuming every drop of air. It’s taking everything in me not to close the distance and step right into his chest.

“I don’t want to bring the party down,” I joke.

The pad of his thumb lifts and brushes a stray tear. The calluses scratch my cheek.

“Then I’ll come with you.”

I chuckle. “To my house? ”

He shrugs a massive shoulder. “Wherever you go.” He searches my eyes with the magnitude of his words. “You’re not allowed to go alone.”

Something in that statement breaks me. My ears ring even as the sight of him vanishes behind a blur of tears. I try to turn away only to have my arm captured and my entire body pulled into his arms. Caged in his warmth and strength.

He holds me through the waves. Through the sobs I try to muffle in his taut skin. He says nothing, not even when I stop and he lightly wipes my face with his knuckles. Not when he walks me to the bathroom and waits outside for me to clean up.

It’s only when I finally emerge with my face scrubbed and my emotions in check that he brushes a damp strand of hair off my cheek and says, “The next time he makes you cry, I won’t ask for your permission. I’ll fucking kill him.”

“Lachlan—”

“Will understand.” My fingers are lifted to his lips and the warmth of his mouth sends fire up my arms. “He’ll help me bury the body.”

Not waiting for me to gather my thoughts, he tugs me back through the patio doors to face the two remaining people in my life.

Lauren immediately bounds into my arms. She squeezes me close. Too close.

“Can’t breathe,” I squeak, patting her arm .

“I’m just so happy you stayed.” She pulls back with her hands on my shoulders to peer into my face. Hers assessing. “I’m going to figure this out.”

I’m not given a chance to prod for context when Lachlan calls us over to the pit. Bron’s chair is folded up and tossed to one side. The four remaining seats sit in a perfect circle around the pit.

“Right here, sweetheart.” Lachlan pats the chair between him and Van. “Got to keep an eye on you when the fire starts.”

Despite the rock in my gut, I laugh at his teasing and accept the offering. I’m surprised when Lauren doesn’t argue about not getting to sit next to me, but she skips to hers across from mine and plops into it.

In the years after losing my parents, Van and Lachlan have made it a point to include me in every family activity.

They insist I join them even if it is just Lachlan and Bron, or Lauren and Van.

I’m grateful for their kindness. I know they feel bad for me, a lonely orphan with no family, but even if it is out of pity or obligation to my dad, I’m okay with it.

I’ll do anything to keep having moments like this with them.

Anything.

But the fact that I get to watch Van and Lachlan do manly things is just an added bonus.

Like building a fire. Doesn’t sound impressive, but anything those two do gets my blood going.

Like the way Lachlan’s shirt tightens over his back and across his shoulders as he aligns the logs in the pit.

The way his big hands close around the wood with authority and purpose.

The way the veins on his arms flex. The way Van moves to replace his friend.

Folds all those muscles and swipes the matchstick across the box with a fluid motion.

The way he pauses with the lit flame between his fingers. Light and shadows paint the rugged lines of his face. Illuminates the fire in his eyes when they lift over the pit to pin me to my seat.

Air escapes my lungs with the force of that single glance before the stick is chucked into the nest of twigs at the bottom.

It’s all so masculine and precise. How can anyone resist? It certainly gets my brain — and other parts — revving. Parts that need things only my hand has been providing.

I tried with Bron in the months we initially started dating. I did everything including stripping down and he refused to touch me. The sneer of disgust as he physically threw himself off the sofa killed any confidence I may have had as I scrambled to gather my clothes together.

His, “What the fuck are you doing? Put your clothes on.” Lives in my head.

It’s why his performance earlier baffled me. He made such a big show about taking me to bed and yet, in the past, the thought turned him a violent shade of green .

All for Lachlan, the voice in my head states. It was all to goad Lachlan.

Which is crazy because why would Lachlan care? His son’s personal relationship can’t be that high on his list.

I steal a glance in the man’s direction to find him studying the fledgling flames lapping at the logs. The orange hue dances along the lines and contours of his beautiful face.

He seems so deep in thought. Lost to the voices. Part of me thinks he’s contemplating the events of tonight, but I could be wrong and he’s wondering what to make for dinner tomorrow.

Still, I feel the nagging need to apologize. He’d been so kind inviting me to his home and I caused such a mess. Maybe I should give us all some space. It won’t be easy but I’ll decline the next invitation. Give him and Van a drama free evening.

I toy with a loose piece of thread on my jeans and sigh. Not very loud. A tiny exhale, yet Lachlan’s head lifts in my direction. Gaze assessing.

“Okay?” he asks.

I will a smile. “Just thinking what a risk you’re taking. No extinguishers in sight.”

The corner of his mouth tilts. “Notice no marshmallows? I think we’re okay.”

I snort a laugh and turn to find Van watching me. No smiles. No softness in sight. Every line is taut. Hard. Cut with an anger he’s channeling into the bottle between his fingers .

Guilt sizzles in my belly and I have to look away. Ashamed. The need to speak, to explain gnaws at my gut, but all I can do is sit and stare at the fire and wish I’d gone home.