I bent my head and cupped Amanda’s face so I could look down at her. My left eye was swelling closed, but I could still see her tear-streaked face. I hated seeing her like this. If it wouldn’t make things worse, I’d take a few swings at her stupid-ass brother for making her cry.
“I’m okay. I won’t let him hit me anymore. He caught me off guard.”
She loved me. Her words replayed in my head again. How could someone as f**king sweet as Amanda Hardy love me?
“I just want to go. I need to get you some ice, and you’re bleeding.” She hiccupped.
“I know. I’ll let you do both those things, but first let me deal with him, okay?”
She wrapped both her arms around my chest and held on tight. This was her way of protecting me. No one had ever protected me.
“Okay, I’ve seen enough,” came Rock’s voice from behind me. “Back off, Marcus.”
“It’s my sister he’s screwing with, Rock. Don’t tell me to back off.”
“Yeah, that’s why I let you beat his face in. I thought the same thing.” Rock stepped in between us. He looked back at me. His gaze dropped to Amanda, then lifted back up to my face. “This is different.”
“He doesn’t do different,” Marcus spat out. “She’s my little sister. I’m supposed to protect her. I’ve always protected her. I can’t let him near her. He isn’t good enough.”
The pain at hearing words I already knew were true thrown in my face by one of the only people who I had thought accepted me, flaws and all, was hard.
Amanda turned her head around to face her brother. “Don’t you dare say that. Just SHUT UP, Marcus.”
Rock waved his hand in our direction. “You see that? You ever seen him hold on to someone like that? He didn’t fight back—not because he couldn’t, because if it was a real fight between the two of you, my money’d be on Preston. He’s been fighting his whole life. He didn’t hit you because he didn’t like upsetting your sister. He was protecting her.”
Marcus took fast, angry breaths as he looked down at Amanda holding on to me, then back up at me. He ran his hands through his hair. “Shit.”
“But she said she loves him,” Marcus told Rock. Then he looked back at me. “She loves you. Do you even know what to do with that?”
I kissed the top of her head. “Cherish it like it’s the most precious thing on the face of the earth,” I replied with all sincerity.
“Well, hell. He’s gone and got all poetic,” Rock said, grinning and shaking his head. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
Marcus leaned back on the hood of his truck and crossed his arms over his chest, then hung his head. We’d won. He was conceding.
“Your eye’s gonna completely close up if you don’t go get ice on it. Y’all go on. I’ll deal with Marcus,” Rock said, nodding toward my Jeep for us to leave.
I wanted to promise Marcus I’d never hurt her, or to tell him I loved her too. But I couldn’t do those things. If she ever found out about what I did to take care of my family, she’d be hurt. I wanted her. I needed her. But did I love her? Could I love her if I couldn’t be completely honest with her?
Amanda
I fixed an ice pack while Preston took a shower and cleaned all the blood off his face. I cringed thinking about his beat-up face. It was going to be hard to forgive Marcus. He’d just kept hitting Preston, who wasn’t even defending himself. I’d known Marcus would be upset, but I didn’t know he would be so violent. I’d never seen Marcus fight anyone, and I’d hardly ever heard him curse. He’d done both tonight.
Why he couldn’t have just listened to me and let me explain, I didn’t understand. He just lost it. If I hadn’t let go of Preston’s arm, he wouldn’t have hit him. It was my fault. The only thing I could have done to protect him was stay in the line of fire, and I’d moved thinking I could get Marcus to talk about it. To listen to me.
The bathroom door opened, and Preston came walking out in nothing but a towel again. I could get used to that. The bruises on his face and his swollen eye, however, had my complete attention at the moment.
“Sit down. We need to put ice on your eye,” I informed him before pushing him toward the couch.
“You not gonna let me put on clothes first?” he asked in an amused tone.
“Nope. We’ve waited too long already to ice your eye. Sit.”
He didn’t argue. He adjusted the towel to keep it from gaping open when he sat down, and leaned back. I handed him the ice pack. “You do it. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Wish I had a steak. It would work better,” he said, taking the pack and holding it to his eye and wincing.
“I’m so sorry,” I said again. I couldn’t help it. Every time I looked at his face, I felt guilty.