Chapter 12
Justice
Upon waking, my first thought is to have a moment with Chevelle finally. I want to ask her what the hell’s going on with her and Leith. But when I turn over, Brody’s on the chair again. He’s not staring at me this time, though.
He’s asleep.
Had he slept here?
I rake the meat at the inside of my lips between my teeth. While chewing, I contemplate how well rested I feel. These last two nights, though bizarre, have been the most sleep I’ve had in half a decade.
Vibrant blue eyes slowly drift open. In this moment, Brody MacKenzie is flesh and bone, a mere man. He’s not the rugged, guarded grouch gunning for my panties.
I’m not a fool. He has one goal, regardless of his claim to amend his relationship with Chevelle. I’m not a pawn in a grander scheme of chivalry. However, in this precise second, he’s real. Those thick muscles, he’s spent more time refining than human interaction, are relaxed. He’s not saying something ridiculously sexy, which would tempt about every woman in the world but me. He’s not cussing or rebutting anything I have to say.
“Good morning,” I murmur. The smile on my face is instinctive, like an effortless intake of air.
“Mornin’,” He cracks his neck. “It was a full house last night.”
“The night before too?” I can’t help but ask.
“Aye.”
“So, you slept there twice?”
“My cousin, Firth, and his wife took the last guest bedroom, so aye.”
Wow, compassion. However, that went over his head as well. There’s no emotion behind Brody MacKenzie’s words, except when he has ulterior motives. That’s how I know he’d make a lousy apologist. He truly can’t say “I apologize” to Chevelle for whatever crap he did. That’s why I knew his aim at having me as an ally to assist in that regard was also crap. He can’t, simply because he won’t.
“I could’ve slept on the couch.” I shrug.
“Nae.”
“You could’ve slept on the couch. Hell, we passed a den, a formal and informal living room, chaises, loungers. There are so many rooms in this house, Brody.”
“This is my old room, Justice.”
“Okay, well, this isn’t a debate. I feel bad.”
There’s an almost smile on Brody’s face as if he’s come to terms with how confrontational and Broody he is. “Alright, tonight, ye scoot over. We can both fit in the bed.”
Yeah right. I rise from the bed. “I’m going to search out Chevelle. She and Leith can’t be holed up in his old room.”
Brody stretches, and his white V-neck inches up his golden six-pack. It takes a few seconds for my brain to register, though my walls contract on sight.
“Eh, she should be up. I heard Mia’s voice. Crack of fecking dawn, askin’ for Fruit Loops. Ye slept so peaceful.”
“Thank you.”
He catches my hand. In a quick yank, I’m pressed against him. His hand clasps the small of my back, his breath brushing across my forehead. “Y’know, Justice, actions speak louder than all those pretty words ye’re in love with.”
* * *
I’ve showered and dressed in jeans and a sweater. It takes me a minute, but I find Leith, Chevelle, Mia, and more of the MacKenzie boys in the kitchen, along with their mother, Nan.
A teen, whose flannel shirt stretches across his broad, muscular chest, takes my hand. Just beneath the sleeve at his wrist, ink wraps all around, and I realize he has tattoos—lots of them.
“You’re Justice.” His voice lacks the sexy Scottish accent. Nevertheless, those baby blues are the kind any woman could get lost in. Now, I’m confused. The tattoos say one thing, yet the way he presents himself is another, creating an alluring contradiction.