I wince at the harshness of his tone. “Okay.”
“But I’ve not asked from ye, Justice. Ye can feck me, not feck me. Who reached out to Ewan, eh? Who got that idiot in Boston off yer back!”
My lips tremble. “I don’t like this—”
The harshness of his voice sends a chill down my spine. “Wits troubling ye, Justice!”
“You,” I murmur, dying for the tender man I had encountered.
His tone is firm with a subtle hint of benevolence. “But wit does that mean for ye, huh? Wit does my issues mean for ya?”
Though I’ve crawled through the trenches these past couple of years, my emotions unravel. You’re capable of noble deeds. “I’m sorry—”
“We’re not sorry people, remember. And if I were gonna take something from ye, I’d still not apologize.” Brody’s callous knuckles caress my cheek. “Justice, ye spent five years giving to a lad who didn’t deserve it. I spent my entire life taking anything I set my eyes on. Whatever Ewan asks, I’ll handle it.”
I clutch his arm again. But as Brody said about Camdyn being a lot less warm and fuzzy than he lets on, the same can definitely be said for him. A fortress of walls ascends around Brody. There’s an impenetrable fortification that I hadn’t noticed when we first met. You are an idiot, Justice. He’s pretended to be the good guy this entire time. Not your saintly version, but the best he could.