Page 53 of The Bad Brother

Letting out a long, slow breath, I look up from my phone. I told myself that I wasn’t going to fall for it. That I wasn’t going to let Ethan get in my head. I’m leaving. What Jensen did to get himself sent to prison became irrelevant the second my decision was made.

I barely shifted into park before I was digging my phone out of my bag and googling Lyla Strong.

Ethan wins again.

Pulling my keys from the ignition, I drop them, along with my phone into the belly of my purse before climbing out of my car to make the short trek across the parking lot.

I wasn’t bluffing when I told my mother that I receive job offers from other hospitals on a regular basis.

I’ve been turning them down almost daily since I accepted my position at Barrett County General, nearly two years ago.

As soon as I walked away, leaving Jensen in the waiting room, I went to the locker room, retrieved my phone, and checked my email.

I found three job offers floating around in my unopened emails—one from Portland, Oregon, one from Los Angeles county, and one from Miami, Florida.

The one from Los Angeles offered a ten thousand dollar signing bonus and a corporate apartment.

I took it.

I start next week .

I’ll leave in the morning—the drive will take about four or five days.

The money I have in my checking and savings will be enough to pay for gas, and I can sleep in my car if I have to.

In my resignation, I explained to Ragnar that with everything that happened with Ethan and my mother’s ridiculous sense of entitlement, I think it’s best that I just leave and start over, somewhere new.

She’ll be pissed that I’m leaving her trauma center down an experienced surgeon and no time to find a replacement but honestly, I think she’ll be glad to get rid of me and my drama.

If I were her, I would be.

The bar is dark and deserted when I let myself in.

After locking the door and resetting the alarm, I drag myself upstairs, both mentally and emotionally exhausted.

Preparing myself for another confrontation with Jensen, I open the front door of the loft to find it empty.

I expected to find him waiting for me, ready to pounce the second I walked in the door but the living room and kitchen are clear.

While there are signs that he’s been here, wherever he is, he’s not here now.

I’m alone.

For some reason, the realization makes me want to cry.

Seriously, Sloane? After what you just read? After what you just found out about him, you’re actually sad that he’s not here, waiting for you to come home?

Yes.

Which makes it glaringly obvious that leaving Barrett and Getting away from Jensen is the only option because my judgment clearly can’t be trusted.

Setting my bag and keys on the counter, I slowly trudge my way upstairs, silently thanking Amy for keeping 99% of my clothes and personal belongings. It means I can grab a few hours’ sleep, pack and still be on the road to LA before?—

Cresting the landing of the sleep loft, I feel my heart ping-pong around my chest before it’s sucked into my lungs on a soft intake of breath.

Jensen is here.

Not more than ten feet away. Sitting on the edge of the bed, in a pair of loose-fitting track pants and a T-shirt. Hair damp like he recently took a shower. Feet bare and planted on the floor, elbows resting on his knees, arms dangling between them. Head bent. Gaze aimed at the floor.

On the nightstand behind him, there’s a water glass stuffed with wildflowers—bluebonnets and black-eyed Susans.

“Did you eat?”

The question draws my gaze away from the nightstand to find him looking at me, waiting for me to answer and I feel my equilibrium start to slip.

The tightrope I’ve been balancing on for the past twelve hours starts to wobble because how can a man who picks you flowers and worries if you’ve eaten or not, also be the man who did the things Jensen was accused of doing.

No, Sloane.

Not accused.

Convicted.

He was convicted.

“River’s here—” He swallows hard, looking away for a moment because he knows he’s on borrowed time. Any second now, I’m going to start screaming at him to get out. “ She fell asleep watching TV, so I took her across the hall?—”

“I want you to leave.”

When I say it his gaze flicks away from mine. “I grilled steaks. I can?—”

“I need you to leave,” I say it louder this time, the tone and volume of my voice pushing me the rest of the way into the room, closer to him.

“I don’t want to eat and I don’t want you here.

” Something in the back of my brain is telling me I should be afraid of him.

That the Jensen I know is not the real Jensen.

That he’s dangerous. Capable of doing things I never thought possible, but I’m not.

For some reason, I’m not afraid. “After what you did, I don’t understand how you could even—” My breath hitches in my chest and that tightrope I’m balanced on starts to wobble again.

This was easier at the hospital. I was Dr. Merrick there.

I’d just finished saving a man’s life. I was cool and capable. Knew what to say.

I’m not that person anymore.

I’m just Sloane here. The woman who keeps falling for fake smiles and false promises. The woman who fell in love with someone who just wanted to use her to get even with his brother.

“You lied to me.” I hate the way I sound. Weak. Broken. Most of all, I hate him for making me feel that way. “You used me?—”

“I didn’t.” Jensen shakes his head at me, face pale, his mismatched gaze never leaving mine. “I never lied to you, Peach, and I never will. Ask me. Ask me anything. I’ll answer you. I’ll tell you the truth. I want to tell you the truth. ”

For a moment, I don’t know what to say. What to ask. Words and questions jumble inside my head, the mess of them making it impossible to speak. I don’t know where to start, so I start at the beginning.

“What was your last name before it was Barrett?” It’s the same question I asked him earlier—the question he wouldn’t answer. This time, I get the truth.

“Pryce. Before I changed it, my name was Nathaniel Jensen Pryce.” A small, bitter smile touches the corner of his mouth. “The third.”

Nathaniel.

Ethan’s father is named Nathaniel.

My stepfather and the rest of the cigar set at the club call him Nate.

Giving him a small nod, I move to the chair next to the closet. Perching myself on the edge of it, I trap my hands between my knees, squeezing them together so they won’t shake. “Ethan is your brother. You grew up in Clearwater.”

“Yes.” Jensen nods even though neither of those statements were questions. “Ethan is my brother—he’s three years younger. I was born in Dallas. We moved to Clearwater before he was born.”

“Did you know who I was when we met?” This is a question. One I need the answer to, no matter how much I don’t want it.

“No.” He shakes his head, his expression so grave, I feel my throat tighten with tears. “If I’d known who you are, I would’ve burned this place to the ground before I let you move in.” He waits a beat, letting his answer sink in before he continues. “I didn’t know until you told me.”

“ I told you?” I jerk back in my seat. “When?— ”

“Friday night—you told me your Netflix password.” The corner of his mouth twitches in a brief ghost of a smile. “ Ethanpryceisadouche . No caps because he doesn’t deserve them.”

It comes back to me in a flash. Sitting in his lap after crying my eyes out about the day I’d had at work and the fact that he was suddenly being an asshole after being so thoughtful.

Why the hell would I do that? I’m not a pick her flowers guy, and I’m not a make her a goddamned grilled cheese guy either. So, what the fuck am I doing here?

I told Jensen everything. About the girl I had to operate on. How much trouble my mother was causing me at work. How Ethan texted me from an unblocked number and demanded his mother’s ring back so he could give it to Amy.

Jesus, your ex sounds like a real douchebag.

He is. I even made it my new Netflix password—ethanpryceisadouche. No caps—he doesn’t deserve them.

“Unfortunately, that was approximately thirty seconds after I realized that the reason I’d been so fucking mad was because somewhere between cutting your hot water and making you a grilled cheese sandwich, I fell in love with you.

” He says it quietly, throat bobbing and scraping along the line of his throat.

“I tried to tell you—more than once but…” He shakes his head.

“I knew what would happen. I knew this would happen and I?—”

“I’m leaving.” I blurt it out because I can’t take anymore. Can’t listen to another word. Not because I don’t believe him. Because I do.

“What?” Jensen’s face falls into a scowl. “I don’t understand what that means—you‘re leaving ?”

“I tendered my resignation at the hospital and accepted another surgical position, out-of-state,” I explain quietly. “I’m leaving.”

For a second, all he does is stare at me.

“When?” He finally asks, in a low, rusty tone. Those eyes of his narrowed slightly on my face. “When are you leaving?”

“In the morning.” I look around, silently making a to-do list. “I was going to catch a few hours’ sleep, pack, and hopefully be on the road?—”

“Where?”

I hesitate because I know I shouldn’t tell him. Telling Jensen where I’m going is just about the dumbest thing I could do—but I do it anyway.

“LA—I start my new job next week.”

“Okay.” Giving me a nod, Jensen stands. “I guess I’m moving to LA.”

Now it’s my turn to stare at him because there’s no way he just said what I think he said. “What? No— what ?” My brain keeps bouncing between reactions, unable to decide if it’s confused or angry. “You can’t just?—”

“Can’t what? Can’t leave Barrett?” He looks down at me and shakes his head on a laugh. “Why not? Maybe if I leave, Ethan will finally calm the fuck down.”

“You have a family.” I stand up too, waving my arms around. “You have this place. You can’t just?—”

“I’ll give it to Cade.” He sounds like it’s already decided. Like it’s already done.

“What will you do for money without the bar?” I ask, lifting my arms just to let them fall against my thighs with a muffled slap. “You can’t just?—”

“There’re Barretts in LA,” he tells me with a shrug. “More than a few. They go by McLeod but their mother’s a Barrett and one of them owns a bar. If he won’t hire me, I’m sitting on a thirty-million-dollar trust fund that I’ve managed to almost double in the last five years. I think I’ll be fine.”

Thirty million?

I knew Ethan was standing to come into a trust fund when he turned twenty-seven, but…

“What about River?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest because this is not the plan. This is not how this was supposed to go.

Which part? The part where Jensen told you he’s in love with you or the part where you told him that you’re leaving and he decided to throw the mother of all monkey wrenches into your getaway plans?

Yes. The answer is yes to both.

Mentioning River gives him pause—but only for a second. “You heard me say I’m in love with you, right?” He gives me one of his killer, knee-knocking grins. “If I let you just up and leave without a fight, River’d?—”

“ You can’t follow me .” I say it loud, my tone edged in panic. “You can’t?—”

“Why?” He gives me that slapped in the face look again. “Why can’t I follow you?”

“Because I know what happened, Jensen,” I tell him in a rush, those jumbled up words falling out of my mouth, faster than I can catch them. “Ethan told me?—”

“You talked to Ethan?” He’s on me in a flash, the distance between us gone, before I can blink. Standing over me, Jensen shakes his head. “Where? Did he call you? What?—”

“No.” Shaking my head, I fight to keep it from scrambling. “He was waiting for me in the parking garage when I?—”

“ You saw him ?” The face looming over mine goes pale and his hands shoot up to grip my upper arms. “Are you okay? Did he touch you? Jesus, did he?—”

“No.” Reaching up, I push his hands away before skirting my way around him because I suddenly feel boxed in.

I need space. I can’t think when Jensen is touching me.

I don’t want to think. “Ethan didn’t touch me.

He—” Turning to look at him, I hold up a hand to keep him in place.

“He told me you’re the crazy one. That you’re dangerous.

That you broke into your parents’ house and threatened your mother.

That you followed him to the club and—” Dropping my hand, I shake my head.

“He told me that I don’t know the real you—what you’re capable of. ”

“That’s not true, Peach. You know me.” He doesn’t close the distance between us but I can tell that he wants to. “Ethan lies. He’s always?—”

“He said the same thing about you,” I tell him quietly. “He also told me that if I wanted to know you—the real you—that all I’d have to do is google Lyla Strong.”