Chapter 6
Brody
Once we walk upstairs, I’m surprised Chevelle hasn’t followed. She’d watched me like a fecking hawk the few times I was in Justice’s presence. Maybe she’s afraid to be around me. The girl did practically steal my truck. Justice follows me down a long corridor.
In the bedroom, I close the door. Instead of glancing around, Justice corners me. “Brody, things seem tense between Chevelle and Leith.”
“So, wit?”
“So . . .”
“I got yer protection, Justice. Relax.”
Her round cheeks sculpt as she sucks them in, scrutinizing me.
“I’m gonna make the call to Clan MacFarland ‘bout Marcus.”
“Just remember you offered, Brody.” Her lovely voice softens. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth. When the plump meat pulls back through her teeth, my thumb grazes over it.
“Stop.” Justice turns her head away from me. “Tell me I owe you nothing.”
Ya owe me ye. All of ya. “If ye ain’t noticed, Chevelle hates me.”
Her eyebrow lifts. We’ve left uncharted territories. She thinks she’s safe in my presence. “I assumed the feeling was mutual, Brody.”
I jerk a shoulder. “True. But I pissed Chevelle off a lot when we were young. Ya know, she met Leith when they were twelve, thirteen. I treated her like a little sister,” I say, though that’s not true. I tormented the lass. Feck Chevelle, she stole my bràthair. “She didn’t tell ya why she hates me?”
I study Justice, which sends her chocolate brown eyes scanning the room. She picks up a Dodger’s mitt on the oak dresser. “Chevelle only shared what was evident. Like warning me about your cocky, dirty mouth.”
Good. “Well, I’m doing this for her.” So, get comfortable, once ye do, ye’ll give me wit I want.
Justice returns the baseball mitt. Again, her eyes search over the gray walls and land on me. “Have you ever apologized about whatever you did to piss her off?”
Perplexed, I scratch my noggin. “Why?”
Justice scoffs. “I gather you minimized the truth. The little-sister-annoying-big-brother dynamic? I call bullshit. Chevelle’s amazing. She helped me keep my job when I was—”
“Keep talking.” I slide my hands into my jeans.
“A bit angry, depressed by the hand I was dealt. All I’m saying is you had to have done more than irritate her. So, the apology? She refused it?”
“I’ve not said sorry in my entire life. Won’t be starting now, sweetheart.”
“Hmmm . . .”
“Is this the part where I ask wit’s that supposed to mean?”
“Why, thank you.” Justice dips her head, a dimple playing on her cheek. “So, first, you’re not a sorry person. Ever heard of the saying, ‘your apology needs to be as loud as your disrespect?’ ”
The sardonic look on my face tells it all. I’ve never heard it, nor do I care. I hock a thumb over my shoulder. “I’m gonna go get the rest of yer stuff from my truck.”
“Can you at least listen, Brody? I’m not speaking for my health.”
“I know.”
“Do you know what I said?”
“Ye said to apologize, not to say sorry,” I summarize. “That to yer satisfaction, eh?”