“How?” I growl. “I got ye here.”
“This is a beautiful neighborhood, bro.” He winks.
Chevelle rolls her eyes. “Cam, stop it. You won’t be a minor for much longer. Your suspended license—”
He laughs all the way into the house.
The three of us stand in awkward silence for a moment.
“Chevelle, Brody and I will deal with it,” Leith tells her.
“I’ll head in and start dinner.” Chevelle hocks a thumb over her shoulder. “Brody, you’re welcome to stay.”
When I lift one side of my mouth in response, Chevelle struts toward the door. The second she’s out of earshot, Leith rounds on me.
“The feck was that, Brody?”
“How the feck should I know?”
“Ya mind something, Brody. We all fight, and that nugget flips the script on us.” Leith’s eyes bug. “Felt like I needed holy water, holy oil, and a prayer cloth to fight that bastard.”
Keeping my chill, I grit out, “We just told Chevelle that we’d handle it. Best we do.”
“Feck ye, Little Brody, clearly ye don’t get the gravity of my question. Wit the feck is wrong with our bràthair? Ye always tell me to ask him.” Leith wrestles with the air. “That two-faced bawbag had the audacity to act like a saint in front of my wife.”
I expel a long breath, deciding it’s high time to share my wee bràthair’s brilliant schemes. I recall my talk with Justice. She’d not understood that ye cannot fight darkness with light. But there are so many levels to it. Camdyn MacKenzie and I ain’t on the same level. Shite, he’s different than the whole lot of us. I should have never dubbed him the American.