“You would’ve liked that, huh?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Avoiding his gaze, I strip out of my T-shirt and replace it with a wife beater.

“Bullshit. You’ve been avoiding this conversation since Ella skipped town.” Gideon pushes off the bed and advances on me. “Can’t avoid it anymore, little brother.”

“Look, it’s not a big deal, okay? Ella and I are,”—Were?—“together. So what?”

“If it’s not a big deal, then why’d you hide it from me? Why’d I have to find out from East? And what the hell were you thinking, hooking up with her? We don’t need to drag anyone else into our mess—”

“Your mess,” I interrupt, then regret it instantly, because he flinches as if I hit him.

“Right,” he mutters. “My mess. I guess it was stupid of me to think that my brother might have my back.”

“I do have your back. You know I do. But Ella has nothing to do with this.” Helplessness jams in my throat. “Our relationship is—”

He cuts me off with a harsh laugh. “Your relationship? Well, lucky you. Must be nice. I used to have one of those.”

I bite back an angry retort. I get that he’s miserable, but I’m not the one who put him in the position he’s in. He did that all by himself.

“You know what I have now? Absolutely nothing.” Gideon looks ready to rip his own hair out as he paces my room.

“I’m sorry.” Completely inadequate, but it’s all I can say.

“You should be. You need to stay away from Ella. She’s a good girl and you’re messing her up.”

The truth of his words burns hotter than his judgmental stare. Guilt is thick in my throat. “Maybe,” I say hoarsely, “but I can’t let her go.”

“Can’t? You mean you won’t.” Gideon’s face turns red. “Forget Ella.”

Impossible.

“You’re a selfish asshole,” my brother hisses when he sees the refusal in my eyes.

“Gid—”

“I had an Ella once, too. I had a girl I saw a future with and I broke her heart. Now she’s so mad at the world she can’t see straight. Is that what you want for Ella? You wanna be our dad? Drive someone to kill herself because she’s so fucking miserable?”

“Ahem.”

We both spin around to find Easton in the doorway. His wary blue eyes shift from me to Gid. “Won’t even ask if I’m interrupting,” he says. “’Cause I see that I am. Won’t apologize either.”

Gideon’s jaw tenses. “Give us a minute, East. This doesn’t concern you.”

Our younger brother’s cheeks flush. He stalks forward and closes the door. “No way. You two aren’t shutting me out. Not anymore.” East jams his finger in the center of Gideon’s chest. “I’m sick to death of your secrets and your whispered conversations. Let me guess, Gid. You knew that Reed was doing Brooke.”

Gid shrugs.

East’s bitter gaze flies to me. “What, I wasn’t important enough to be in the loop?”

I clench my teeth in frustration. “There’s no loop. It was a stupid mistake, okay? And since when do you need to know about every chick I hook up with? You trying to live vicariously through my dick or something?”

That gets me a fist to the solar plexus.

I stumble backward, slamming my shoulder against the edge of the dresser. But I don’t strike back. East is practically foaming at the mouth. I’ve never seen him this pissed off before. The last time he threw a punch at me, we were kids. Arguing over a video game, I think.

“Maybe I should give Brooke a call,” East fumes. “Right? Because obviously banging Dad’s girlfriend is some kind of sick requirement for getting a VIP pass to the inner circle. If I drop trou for her, you’ll have no choice but to let me into the loop, right?”

Gideon responds with stony silence.

I don’t speak, either. There’s no point, not when East is in a mood.

Running both hands through his hair, he lets out a growl of frustration. “You know what? Screw you both. Keep your secrets and take ’em to hell with you. Just don’t come crawling to me when you need someone to put out the fire.”

He storms out of my bedroom and slams the door so hard it rattles the doorframe. The silence he leaves in his wake is deafening. Gideon looks exhausted. Me, I’m wired. I need a fight. I need to let out the aggression before I hurt someone in this house.

6

I drag myself out of bed the next morning, my entire body protesting the simple act of moving. I wasn’t exactly in top form at the fight last night. Yeah, I had blinding rage on my side, but not enough endurance. I took some hits that make me wince in the light of day.

The bruise on the left side of my ribs is already purple and green. I dig around for a loose fitting T-shirt to hide the injury and pull on a pair of track pants.

Downstairs in the kitchen, I find Brooke perched on my father’s lap. It’s only nine-thirty and Dad’s got his ever-present tumbler of Scotch next to his hand. If I was screwing Brooke, I’d be drinking twenty-four/seven too, I guess, but damn, why doesn’t he see her for what she is?

“Any word from the PI?” I ask my father.

He gives a curt shake of his head. “Nothing yet.”

“I’m just sick to my stomach about all this,” Brooke moans. “That poor girl, all alone out there.” She touches my dad’s cheek. “Darling, you really need to have a talk with Easton about his gambling. Imagine how scary that bookie must have been to spook Ella like that.”

Brooke meets my eyes over Dad’s head and winks at me.

This is a fucking nightmare. I busy myself with breakfast. Sandra was up early and there’s a pile of French toast in the oven waiting to be devoured, along with a stack of bacon. I pile my plate up and lean against the counter, unwilling to take a seat at the table while the she-devil and my dad are making nice.

Dad notices and slides Brooke onto the chair beside him. “Come and sit down, Reed. We’re not animals.”

I glare at him. “Using Mom’s old sayings against me? That’s low,” I mutter, then regret it when his mouth tightens with hurt. Brooke doesn’t look much happier, but that’s because she likes to pretend Maria Royal never existed.