Page 26 of The Bad Brother

S LOANE TOLD RIVER THE TRUTH.

She really is a doctor—and not just a doctor. She’s an attending surgeon at Barrett County’s trauma center and, according to Colt, her boyfriend really did dump her for her best friend.

From what I gathered, she caught them hooking up at a dinner party or something. He kicked her out and moved the best friend in.

When Colt walked into the bar about five minutes after I opened the door, I was sure that was it.

That, finally done torturing me with the unknown, Sloane called him and made the accusations I knew were coming about what happened between us last week.

That without proof that what happened between us was consensual, I’d be hauled into the station.

Put through the ringer by my own cousin and even if I somehow managed to wiggle my way out of legal trouble, I’d be run out of Barrett just like I was run out of Clearwater as a kid and the family that took me in and made me one of their own would abandon me, just like the one I was born into.

Instead of pulling out his handcuffs, Colt pulled up a stool, sat at the bar and ordered a double cheeseburger with fries.

I’d barely been able to coax my heart out of stroke territory before Sloane came downstairs and pushed it right back in.

Standing here, waiting for her to start pointing fingers and wailing tearful accusations, I nearly swallowed my own tongue when Colt made it obvious that he knew her by calling her by name.

Dr. Merrick.

To top it off, when Colt asked her if she was living here, she lied for me.

River told him about my predicament and Jensen was nice enough to give me a break on the rent until I find my feet.

I haven’t been nice about shit. I called her an outright liar and that was before I pinned her against a wall and coaxed her into rubbing her pussy on my leg.

It took me a few minutes to realize that Cade and River were right.

Sloane wasn’t sent here to ruin me. She didn’t fuck me as a part of some evil plot to destroy what little reputation I have and get me run out of town.

Sloane is exactly what she says she is—nothing more.

Surgical Chief of Staff called me into her office a few weeks ago while I was there serving the warrant for blood work on the truck driver who crashed into that bus.

Sloane’s mother was there, kickin’ up dust because she wouldn’t take her calls after everything that happened.

Even went so far as to accuse Dr. Ragnar of holding her at the hospital against her will.

Wouldn’t leave until she put eyes on Sloane.

Every time Colt says her name, I want to punch him in the throat.

Why’s that? Because it reminds you of the flirty little smile she gave him when she said only if you call me Sloane?

Or maybe it’s because while you’re out here trying to push her out while simultaneously trying to figure out a way to fuck her again that won’t land you in jail, your straight arrow cousin is over here flirting back and offering her a place to live that doesn’t include cold showers and flat tires.

Fuck.

Somehow, I managed to make it through without killing my cousin until Cade rolled in for his shift. When he sees his brother sitting at the bar, he flicks me a quick what the fuck? look because it’s Thursday which means it’s fight night. Colt wandering in for lunch on a Thursday can’t be random.

Giving him a bland, hey how’s it going smile, I nod.

“I’ve got some shit to take care of upstairs,” I say, tossing the bar towel in my hand in the bin before leaving Cade to figure out why his brother is here.

Walking away before either of them can ask me what crawled up my ass, I take the stairs, two at a time.

Not giving myself a chance to talk myself out of what I’m about to do, I try the door to the loft.

It’s locked.

Digging my own set of keys out, I find the one that’ll open the door and jam it into the lock.

First you torture this woman, trying to force her out of the loft, and then when that didn’t work, you started driving all over creation, looking for her car at night so you could…

do wh at, exactly? Confront her? Prove to River and Cade that she’s not who she says she is?

Prove to yourself that you’re catching feelings for the wrong woman— again?

And now that you know Sloane was telling the truth and that she’s nothing more than what she claims to be, you apologize by breaking into her place—are you okay?

I turn the key in the lock and open the door because no, I’m not okay.

Just because I know who she isn’t , that doesn’t mean I know who Sloane is .

Not really. So, she really is a doctor who just got dumped by her cheating asshole boyfriend.

That doesn’t tell me where she came from.

Doesn’t explain how she knew Hanna’s name.

Closing the front door, I lock it and pocket my keys, my gaze instantly drawn to the dining room table. The sweatshirt I folded is still where I left it but the stun gun is gone.

Turning away from the dining room table, I make my way to the kitchen.

Opening random cabinets and drawers, all I see is the stuff I left behind when I moved out.

Closing the cabinet above the coffee maker, I open the fridge, my face folding into a frown.

Aside from a few cartons of yogurt and a bunch of wilted grapes in a clear plastic to-go container with the hospital’s logo on it, it’s empty.

Closing it, I move on to the pantry. It’s even emptier than the fridge, the canned goods I left behind are missing and so is the box of fancy crackers Hanna used to like.

All I see are a few cellophane-wrapped packages of cheap peanut butter crackers, a cup o’noodles, and a tuna salad kit—all items that can be bought at the hospital cafeteria.

She can’t leave Jen. She doesn’t have any money and she doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Her asshole ex cleaned out their bank account when he kicked her out .

That’s what River said to me when I told her to get Sloane out of my loft. Like everything else about her, I thought it was a lie.

Leaving the kitchen, I take the spiral staircase to the sleep loft and am immediately greeted by the bed I used to share with Hanna.

When she left, I almost dragged it downstairs to throw it over the balcony so I could set it on fire because the thought of sleeping in it after finding out what she did to me was unbearable.

Looking at it now, all I can see is Sloane.

All I want to do is fuck her in it. Laid out, hands gripped around her hips while I watch her ride my cock.

Her, sprawled out across the mattress, hands fisted in my hair and moaning my name while I eat her pussy.

Seriously? Is that all you think about? Fucking her?

I haven’t thought about sex with another person in months— years.

Not since the night my brother sent me that video of my fiancé with his dick in her mouth.

Since then, sex was a nonstarter. I wasn’t interested.

If I had an urge, I took care of it on my own.

Now, sex is pretty much all I can think about—and more specifically, sex with Sloane.

Even when I hated and thought the worst of her, I wanted her.

Now that I know the truth, it’s about a million times worse.

Opening the nightstand drawer, all I find is a tube of generic brand lotion that looks like she took it from the hospital and what must be a couple handfuls of individually wrapped Atomic Warheads.

Taking one, I unwrap it and put it in my mouth, the citric acid its coated in immediately starting to sizzle on my tongue.

Crossing the room to the chest of drawers, I look for anything personal.

Anything that will tell me who Sloane is, but aside from the Tiffany bracelet that started this whole shitshow, curled up in the tray I used to keep spare change in, there’s nothing here that belongs to her.

The drawers hold clothes I’ve seen her wear before—high end, expensive labels mixed with brands you’d find in Target.

In the closet there’s a cream-colored strapless Dior cocktail dress hanging from the rod, alongside a white, sleeveless Dolce & Gabbana with black polka dots. On the shelf above them is a single pair of black mesh Louboutins with black beading. Other than those three things, the closet is empty.

In the bathroom I find cheap shampoo and a bar of antibacterial soap. A toothbrush and toothpaste. Like the lotion, they all look like they were taken from the hospital.

Opening the medicine cabinet I find the bottle of Tylenol I left here and a pack of birth control pills.

They aren’t Hanna’s. Flipping them over, I see Sloane’s name and a fancy Clearwater address on the prescription tag.

Opening them, I see that every one of them, up to and including today, have been taken.

So, what have we learned here, Jen? That Sloane is so broke she ate the expired canned goods and stale crackers you left behind when you moved out?

That while she seems to have insanely expensive taste in clothes and jewelry, she also shops at Target.

That rather than spend what little money she might have on fancy shampoo and a decent toothbrush, she pilfered shitty hygiene products from the hospital instead?

That she’s taking her birth control regularly so when her horny landlord jumps her in the hallway, she doesn’t get pregnant.

That Sloane is going to go with her realtor to look at Colt’s rental and since he’s not the kind of asshole who would flatten her tires right before she’s getting ready to go to work saving lives , or cut her electricity and hot water, she’s going to cut her losses and move out.

Sloane will be gone and any chance you had of fixing the mess you made will be gone along with her.

Congratulations, asshole—you won.

Fuck.