Emerson’s eyebrows furrowed together. A tendon stuck out from his neck, and he waited until Gunn had taken a seat in the back of the jet before muttering, “Our bass guitarist hardly says two words a night, and he’s suddenly giving speeches in Bri’s defense? What? Did she sleep with him, too?”

There was no warning.

As soon as the words left Emerson’s mouth, Braden was on him within a split second. He pinned his cousin to the chair and delivered one, two, three punches. Emerson tried twisting out from underneath him, but Braden had him trapped in a cement grip with nowhere to go.

The outburst was violent, but eerie at the same time. Both had fallen silent, and the only sound was of Braden’s fist hitting Emerson’s face. A hard smacking sound that was muffled by the plane.

I was the only one witnessing it. Gunn must’ve tuned out in the back.

After the third punch, Emerson twisted his face and choked out to me, “Help.”

“You can be a real bitch, you know,” I told him.

Braden hit him again. “You stop talking about my sister like that, you asshole.” He delivered a fifth hit.

When I saw blood, I knew it was time to intervene. Grabbing Braden’s raised hand, I tipped him backward so he fell into the aisle. Emerson jumped from his seat in a flash. He launched for his cousin, and I had flashbacks when Brielle had done the same thing. I twisted and caught him around the waist. Heaving him back, I threw him into his seat. “You stay.”

“So, he can hit me all he wants, but I can’t get a few hits in?” Emerson spat at me, wiping some of the blood from his mouth. “Are you kidding me?”

Braden had shot back to his feet. Gunn was coming back up the aisle, and at the sight of the big guy, Emerson let out a disgusted sound. “This isn’t fair! He attacked me. I should get one hit, at least.”

“Stop talking shit about my sister!” Braden yelled and started for him again.

Gunn moved forward. He grabbed Braden’s upper arm and said, “Hey, hey. None of that. You got him. It’s done.”

Braden stopped again, but twisted his arm free. No one argued when Gun talked. He was six-three and was a solid two fifty of muscle. He wasn’t security, but he could’ve been.

Emerson snarled. “I can’t believe this. Luke, of all people, you should’ve let me get a few hits in.”

“You did.”

He stopped short, registered the joke, and grew heated. His face got red. The color spread up, all over the top of his bald head, and he sat back up. “I was just looking out for you, and that’s how you treat me? Don’t tell me you’re going to go back to her?”

I stiffened.

The joke was gone, and my anger came back, hitting me full force. I warned him, pressing him down even harder, “I wouldn’t talk shit about something you know nothing about. You got that?”

He quieted, held my gaze, and sighed as he shoved my hand off him. “Whatever. I’m so sick of this crap.”

Braden laughed at that. “You’re sick of this? Sick of being in a band? Sick of touring, doing what we love to do, being rich? Yeah, I’m sure you are. You’re sick of having a life. That’s what you’re sick about.”

I closed my eyes. This was going down a different road—one we hadn’t been down yet.

I could sense Emerson’s fury coming back to him. He had a short fuse, and it never took much to light it, but Braden had just pushed the wrong button for him. He was about to pop off and then he did.

“You shut up! You have no idea what you’re talking about—” He shot up.

I shoved him back down. “Oh? You mean like with Bri and me?”

He quieted, but kept his gaze locked on mine. He was still heated, and his chest was heaving up and down with each angry breath.

After another hard poke, I asked, “Why don’t you do us a favor and keep your mouth shut for once?”

Braden laughed from behind me. “Unreal.”

Emerson continued to glare up at me, but did as I asked. After a moment, he hit my hand away and pushed up from the seat. Braden tensed. We all tensed, but he turned and went to the front of our section, right next to the curtain that separated us from our managers. He threw himself down into one of the seats and grabbed for his bag. When he took out his iPod and put in his earbuds, we all breathed easier.

Braden was shaking his head. “I love him. He’s blood, but if they had extended this tour, I would’ve ended up killing him.”

Gunn patted him on the chest. “I think a couple of us would’ve had shovels at the ready.”

Braden paused, frowned at the big guy, and then barked out a laugh. “Em was right about one thing. You’re Mr. Chatty tonight.”

“Going home to my girl.” He winked at Braden. “I’m doing all sorts of somersaults and have soft, pastel-looking butterflies on the inside. That’s what my girl does to me. Reduces me to a pile of dribble.” With those last words, he turned back to his seat.

Braden laughed to me. “Still surprised about his girl. I had no clue until he mentioned her the other day.”

“I didn’t either.”

“Huh.”

Braden cleared his throat, straightened his black shirt, and flicked some imaginary dirt from his black pants. Then he said, “So, about my sister…”

“Yeah?” I closed off. I wasn’t ready to talk about her. Hell, I didn’t even know how I felt about her myself.

“Is it going to be a problem?”

“What do you mean?”

“You and her. I know things didn’t end on a good note with you two.”

I fixed him with a dark stare. “Your sister and I are…” I closed my eyes for a brief second. What the hell was I going to say here? “There’s nothing there, Braden. Not anymore.”

“Oh. Okay…?”

“What do you want from me?” Fuck it. Let’s be honest for once. “Look, I know you want her back in the band, but she and I haven’t talked since we left.”

His eyes darted to his cousin.

I added, “I know you want him out. We all do, but that’s a battle for another day. Let’s just enjoy that we’re getting home soon.”

“But Bri’s the best drummer we know. I can switch back over—”

“Let’s deal with it later. We’re almost home, Braden.”