Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 119852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
He stays silent for a long moment, like he’s thinking through what I’ve said, before finally sharing, “She blew up at us. It was ugly. I’ve never seen her like that.” He looks haunted by whatever went down at their sibling intervention, as Kayla called it. “None of this is what I expected to happen. Hell, if I’m being honest, I don’t know if I even thought it through. I just reacted and now, it’s all fucked up.” He looks up at the sky, running his hands through his hair before tossing them out wide. “Like usual, I’m the one standing here holding the match.”
“You might have the match, but she’s the one in the middle of the ashes, trying to put her life back together after someone she trusted set it on fire,” I counter, relishing his flinch as I throw the ugly truth at him. “She says you’re smart. Yet, you reduced us down to some sexually deviant fun—which even if it was, wouldn’t be any of your family’s damn business—but do you truly think that’s all she’s getting from this? That a woman like Kayla wouldn’t demand—wouldn’t deserve—more than that?”
His brows jump together. “She said I’m smart? You sure she wasn’t talking about Cameron or Carter or Cole or Chance? Maybe you’re confused. I’m Kyle, the one that starts with a K like she does,” he says, tapping his chest. “Definitely not the smart one of the bunch. Obviously.”
Glaring at him, I counter, “She said you wouldn’t tell your parents what was going on with her because it would paint you in a bad light. She called it smart. I’d call it self-preservation.”
I hold my hands out like a scale weighing the two options, with one being particularly more likely, especially since showing up here, he’s mentioned that Kayla’s possibly blocked him, he’s the black sheep, he’s holding the match. Me, me, me.
I hate this asshole, and I don’t care if he is Kayla’s brother. Actually, I probably hate him more because of that. He’s part of the problem in her family, always expecting her to be a certain way and do a certain thing, regardless of her own needs and wants.
His eyes harden, and he grits out, “You don’t know shit.”
“You keep saying that, and maybe I don’t know everything,” I concede, “but the important thing here is that you know you fucked up, selfishly steamrolling over her in a vulnerable moment for—what’d you call it? Shits and gigs? And then throwing her to your brothers when she wasn’t ready for that and didn’t need the pressure you all put on her. That’s why you’re here, when you know she’s at work. You didn’t come to apologize for some pool business bullshit and you’re not here to make sure we can pass some made-up test that’ll show we’re good enough for her either. You’re here because you want help fixing the thing you broke.” Somewhere along my rant, my finger unconsciously found its way to his face and I find that I’m spitting facts while looming over him. He's stone-faced, taking every bit of the cruel truth I throw at him with a stoicism that must be a family trait because I’ve seen the same look on Kayla’s face.
He’s not the only smart one. I’ve got experience in dealing with fucked-up people and seeing through their noise to the motivations they try to hide. I drop my hand and lean back, getting out of his space to take a deep breath.
“We’re both ramped up for the same reason. We care about Kayla.” It’s as much of an apology as he’s going to get, so I hope he takes it. “Can you blame her for pulling a disappearing act and leaving you all to deal with the mess you made? You might not’ve meant to, but you screwed your sister over badly. Mind you, this is my first real impression of any of you, and I can’t say I’m impressed, but if you’re half the brother she thinks you are, you want to fix it. So, is she right about you, or am I?”
He drops his head, staring at his feet, almost panting, he’s so worked up. “Fuck,” he mutters, scratching his lip with his thumb. “Fuck!”
He turns, walking a few steps away, then spins on a work boot heel to walk back, pacing as he thinks and glaring at me with each loop.
After his third lap, he stops in front of me. “I didn’t mean for this to go so wrong. Kayla is always the one to have her shit together. She said she was figuring things out, but I could see it in her eyes—because God knows, that was the only place I was looking. There’s something between the three of you.” He looks me dead in the eye, his eyes full of conviction. “I don’t care about two, three, or ten people. I was happy for her, especially seeing the way she was with you and Brooks. She was all…” His eyes drift off like he’s searching his mind for the word, but he finally says, “I don’t know how to describe it, but she was different. She wasn’t the emotionally-distant, bitchy ice queen she usually is. And I mean that in a good way,” he rushes to explain. Ironically, I think Kayla would take that as a compliment.