Page 33 of The Bad Brother

I WAS FEELING PRETTY GOOD.

Better than good, actually. I was feeling downright happy until Colt strolled in for lunch for the second day this week and fucked it all up.

“Her realtor called me this morning to set up an appointment for her to come look at it,” Colt says between bites of his BLT. “They scheduled a walk-through on Sunday.”

Her is Sloane and it is the vacant half of the duplex he offered her the last time he was here.

He’s not talking to me. He’s talking to his brother but that doesn’t matter. It’s taking every shred of self-control I have not to knock him off his fucking stool.

Seriously? Didn’t you decide, not more than a few hours ago, that it would be smart for her to move out, considering the fact that Ethan’s back on his bullshit ?

Smart? Probably.

Safer? Absolutely.

But it’s not what I want. I want her sleeping in my bed and watching TV on my couch. I want her brushing her teeth over my bathroom sink and drinking coffee from my cups.

I want Sloane here.

With me.

I want to take care of her.

To be the one protecting her.

Jesus Christ, what the fuck is this woman doing to me?

I picked her flowers on my run this morning.

Flowers —I’ve never done that for a woman before, not even Hanna.

Bought them? Sure, I’ve bought them plenty of times but never physically picked.

I almost chucked them a half dozen times on my way upstairs but in the end, I stuck them in a glass of water and set them on her nightstand while she slept.

I’m not even sure why I did it past the thought of her waking up to them made me happy.

There’s that word again.

Happy.

Being with Sloane—taking care of her—makes me happy.

With Hanna, it was different. It felt expected.

I was constantly anticipating her every want.

Catering to her every whim. Lavish gifts and expensive vacations, all given in the hope that they kept her satisfied.

Kept her faithful. Made me worthy, and none of it mattered.

No matter what I did, no matter how much I gave, it was never enough.

And now, here you are, falling for a woman who has Dior hanging in her closet and thinks nothing of tossing a bracelet worth twenty grand into an old change tray on your dresser and you think some weeds stuck in a drinking glass made her happy? You’re pretty fuckin’ stupid, you know that?

“Jen.”

Hearing my name, I look up from the spot on the bar I’ve been wiping down for the past five minutes to find both Cade and his brother looking at me like I have a third arm, sticking out of my ass.

“What?” It comes out harsher than I intend so I take a mental step back and force myself to relax.

“What?” This time it’s not much better but it’s the best I can do.

Cade flicks me a quick you good? look before he tips his head toward his brother. “Colt heard about what happened last night.”

“Lotta shit happens around here, every night,” I say, shifting my gaze toward Colt, I shake my head. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Colt shakes his head on a sigh that tells me he’s already sick of my shit.

“Someone sliced you up pretty good, downstairs,” he answers in a conversational tone, his gaze dipping to my split knuckles before lifting to take in the small cut above my eye.

Colt’s not stupid. He knows what goes on in the basement.

Everyone does—the bare-knuckle brawls I hold in the basement and the bets people place on them are Barrett’s worst kept secret, but he’s never asked about them.

Never even alluded to the fact that he knows about them.

Until now.

“Is that why you’re here?” Folding my arms over my chest, the move pulling at the stitches in my back, I shake my head again on a shitty laugh. “Here I was, thinking you came in because you were hoping to catch Sloane again before she left for her shift.”

Colt’s gaze narrows at my tone while Cade mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like jesus christ. “I came in for a fucking sandwich,” he tells me, his tone going hard.

While Colt might not have the life experience that his brother and I do, he’s no soft sell.

He’d rather go blind than blink. “But since I’m a two birds, one stone kinda guy, I figured I’d get your side of things—since I am the sheriff and all. ”

My side of things?

My little brother has some big feelings over the fact that our grandfather left me a considerably large trust fund and didn’t make me jump through hoops to get it. And, as usual, when Ethan has big feelings, he works them out on me.

I give Colt a shrug. “It really wasn’t that big a deal,” I tell him, careful to temper my tone because he’s family and the last thing I need is a fight on two fronts.

“I was walking through the crowd, on my way upstairs, and someone caught me with something—slid through pretty clean. Felt like a razorblade.”

Now Colt frowns while Cade looks like he might be a little sick to his stomach. “How bad?”

“Not that bad,” I tell him with another shrug. “Like I said, no big deal.”

Practically snarling at me, Colt turns his questioning look on his brother. “How bad?”

Cade hesitates but only for a moment. “Bad enough that Sloane had to stitch him up in her kitchen last night.”

Looking back at me on a sigh, Colt swipes a rough hand over his face. “Did you get a look at who did it? ”

“Since I don’t have eyes in the back of my head—” I uncross my arms and show him my hands before letting them slap against my thighs. “no. Sorry, Sheriff.”

Giving me an exasperated sigh, Colt nods. “Any thoughts on why someone would be stupid enough to attack you in your own bar?”

Yeah—see Ethan and his big feelings.

I give my cousin another shrug. “Nope.”

“Right.” Bobbing his head on a sigh, Colt divides a flat smile between his brother and me.

“So, we’re in agreement that this is another one of Ethan’s temper tantrums, then?

” When neither Cade or I answer him, Colt sighs.

“Look—I’m willing to turn a blind eye to a lot of the shit that goes down here because I know you run things with a certain amount of integrity and because everyone involved is a reasonably intelligent adult who knows what they’re getting themselves into.

” Standing from his seat, Colt reaches into the back pocket of his uniform pants and pulls out his wallet.

“What I’m not willing to turn a blind eye to is assault with a deadly weapon—especially when the victim is family.

” Opening his wallet, he tugs out a couple of bills and tosses them on the bar, next to his empty plate.

“I want you to shut it down for a couple weeks,” he says, his tone making it clear that it isn’t a request. “No more Thursday nights in the basement until I get a bead on the dickhead who attacked you.”

You won’t find him. Ethan isn’t stupid enough to use someone local. Instead of saying it out loud, I tell him the truth. “Already done.”

“Good.” Shoving his wallet back into his pocket, Colt starts to walk away, heading off to do whatever it is he does all day.

Turning to look at me in the open doorway, he gives me a long look.

“And just so we’re clear—if I wanted to see Sloane, I wouldn’t come here looking for her.

I’d just go to the hospital,” he tells me with a knowing smirk before walking out the door.