“Nan,” I give her a one-armed hug, and we head down the stairs. “My friend Justice—”
“Mam, Justice Flowers can stay in my auld room, or I can take her home,” Brody says. “If she goes home, I’m not sure when I’ll return here. Given the circumstances, it’s best she stays here. Under our protection.”
A peach blush creeps up Justice’s throat. She says, “I don’t want to put you out―”
“Och, sweetheart.” Nan hugs her. “My son has apparently spoken for the both of us. Ye’re under our protection, Justice.”
I blink. Wow, I had already been feeling awkward about asking, though I intended to. I guess my worry was unnecessary.
Nan gestures toward the expansive stairs. “Justice, I’ll show ye to a guest room.”
“Nae,” Brody says. “I’ve got it. Chevelle’s scrawny legs can’t lift these bags anyways.”
I step to the side. “I’m sorry I left you both.”
“That’s okay.” Justice hugs me. “I can’t thank you enough.”
I parrot Brody’s sentiments as he retorts for her not to thank me. Rolling my eyes, I add, “I think we both know what it feels like to have a sister now.”
I start to follow them upstairs when, through the front doors, Big Brody can be seen coming up the pathway. A sharp suit cleans up his usual lumberjack look.
“Chevelle, Leith.” Little Brody clicks his tongue. From my peripheral, my husband ceases his retreat, places Mia down, and smacks her bottom.
After Big Brody enters, Nan’s all over him. I lower my gaze. Leith forks a hand through his hair. His eyes shine up at mine—lethal, livid, and strikingly beautiful.
I stop myself from the sharp intake of air. This is the part where he’d say, “Take a picture, hen.”
Between kisses and laughs, Big Brody exclaims, “The two of ye meet me in my study. I’ll be there.”
Nan adds, “Go wait for him.”
Without hesitating, Leith follows the order like an obedient soldier. I doubt Big Brody will let Nan out of his sight, or maybe it’s the other way around. But at least someone’s getting some this evening. With the sound of laughter to my rear and a stark present before me, I head to the study.
Leith’s seated on the couch, muscles stretching beneath his jeans. One ropy arm rests lazily over the headrest. I take a seat at the desk.
“Leith—”
“Ye gave up on us already, right? I’m just feckin’ catching up.”
“Too late! I spent seventeen—”
“Seventeen hours in labor. Aye.” He runs the back of his hand along his bristled jaw and lush lips. “I had yer pussy first, too. Mind that. Took almost all yer good years—isn’t that wit women like ye say? Someone took all yer good years?”
With teeth clenched, I snarl, “I hate—”
“Yer still gorgeous. Got a couple of years left and a tight cunt too. So, shut yer gub, complain to someone who gives half a feck.”
The room is filled with a suffocating silence. If I ever shed another tear for this motherfucker, I’ll blow my brains out with the same twelve-gauge shotgun my father may or may not have done himself in with.
The minute hand on the glossy, wooden clock moves a quarter before Big Brody strides in. There are red marks on his neck where his linen shirt survived. Some buttons popped off for good.
He’s grumbling about food. “Son, Chevelle. Ye’re over here, and ye’re all the feckin’ way over there.”
“Get to it, Da.” Leith laughs.
Big Brody snorts, claiming the seat across from me. “Hon, if I had it in me to give words of wisdom tonight, I would. Start fresh tomorrow, aye?”
“Sure,” I manage to reply.
“But promise me, nae going to bed angry at this rascal. Nan lives by that saying.”
Leith laughs. “Go to bed angry? That’s all she knows, Da.”
“Leith,” he reprimands in a short tone.
“Big Brody, did my father kill himself and my mother?” I say the words I’ve always dreaded out loud.
His lips pull together, sympathetically. “Nae, Chevelle. He was innocent.”
“What happened?”
Big Brody’s eyes land on Leith, imploring his son to sit next to me. Worry knits his eyebrows at my husband’s lack of response.
I seize the moment. “Thanks, but I’ll handle the truth without anyone holding my hand.”
Exasperated, Big Brody slams a hand onto the desk. “Son, get yer arse over here!”
“Forgive me, Brody Boy,” Leith sneers, “but my feckin’ days are running together. Was it twenty-four, thirty-six hours, or something like that when ye told yer detective friend that ye was needing