Page 8 of The Illicit Play

“I’ll get the chair,” I bark at her.

“Stop shouting at my girlfriend. You’re such a little shit,” Wily snaps.

“Oh,I’mthe shit?” I point at myself, managing to wipe blood on my shirt. I growl. “You stubborn asshole. Don’t you get that trying to help us is just making everything worse?”

He glares at me, plonking back down in his chair, then wincing in instant regret.

Satch hisses. “Baby, be careful.”

His dark expression folds when he hears her voice, and shit, is he about to start crying?

He’s been way more emotional since the injury and?—

Satch shoves me aside so she can get to him, and I pop my finger back into my mouth before I bleed on anything else.

The front door pops open, and a bustling sound indicates that the guys are home from practice.

I can hear Tyrell’s low voice and then Zander’s reply. He laughs at something, and Carson replies about everybody being assholes. This causes all of them to startlaughing, and I wonder what they were teasing him about.

Then Grady’s voice chimes in, and I feel that familiar tingle race through my body.

Shit, even his voice gets me going.

I glance at my brother, grateful he’s not looking at me.

Satch has her hands on his cheeks, and she’s murmuring something to soothe him. He reaches forward, lightly grabbing her hips as she leans down to kiss him.

Rolling my eyes, I look away from their lovefest, fighting a sizzling irritation that I don’t even understand.

I should be apologizing for yelling at Wily when all he was trying to do was help. That’s his thing. Iknowthat’s his thing, and not being able to do it is probably killing him.

I need to be more fucking understanding.

My heart crumples into a ball of trash when the guys lumber into the kitchen with their gear and I watch a sad, devastated expression flitter across my brother’s face before he manages to put on a bright smile.

Shit.

I’m the worst!

Catching his eye, I wince an apology at him. He shakes his head, giving me the finger and winking at me, before asking the guys how practice went.

Damn, I have the best brother in the world.

No wonder I love him so much.

No wonder I’m so guilt-ridden every time I look at him.

His dreams are shattered because of nothing he did.

Mine are torn to shreds because I acted like an idiot.

Fuck, I don’t even know what my dreams are!

I’ve never felt so lost, and as I hover in the pantry doorway, listening to the guys talk football and trying to make Wily feel part of it, all I can do is quietly slip out of the room.

I don’t want to hear this. See this.

Sucking my aching finger, I head up to the bathroom and rustle around in the cabinet for some form of bandage but come up empty-handed.