Brock opened the car door and gave the side of my thigh, close to my ass, a pat. “Come on, Firefly. You and I need to have thattalk.” The way he said the words made it sound like he was about to deliver me a stern lecture.
Like hell would I listen to him scold me over my choice to trap Carter, despite it having completely backfired.
I jumped out of the Jeep and strolled onto the porch, waiting for Brock to key in the code that unlocked the door. He swung it open and waited for me to walk through. Inside, darkness greeted me, and for a moment, absolute blackness bathed over me. Panic clawed inside my chest as memories of waking up blindfolded and with hands bound inside the back of Carter’s SUV came barreling to the forefront of my mind. Quick pants of breath expelled from my lungs.Not now. Not now,I chanted. I would not lose it.
Brock flipped on a light switch, flooding the room with light. Fumbling with my rings, I stood in the center of the entryway, staring at nothing.
“Josie.”
The sound of my name snapped me out of that too-fresh memory. I blinked, allowing my gaze to focus on my surroundings. Brock had one of those magazine-quality homes, but I didn’t really see any of it. My brain was so blown by the events of tonight, it just stopped fucking processing altogether, a defense mechanism to keep me from having a meltdown.
Who knew how long I’d be able to keep the hysterics at bay? I suspected at some point, I’d have to let the emotions in and the floodgates open.
Later.
Right now I had questions.
Millions of them, and yet, I couldn’t form the words. I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling cold again, and wished to be back in Brock’s arms, which was so wrong.
Or right?
I didn’t know anymore.
Brock grabbed my hand, tugging me down the hallway. “Come on, Firefly. You need ice, pills, and a drink.”
Blindly, I followed him to the far end of the house. He sat me down in a chair before rummaging around in the kitchen, coming back with a gel ice pack, two white pills, and a glass of water.
“Thanks,” I muttered, reaching for the aspirin and glass of water first. The pills went down smoothly. As long as I didn’t think about the pain, the throbbing in my cheek was manageable—not that I would recommend everyone to go out and get hit in the face, but there were worse kinds of pain.
And it wasn’t the first time I’d been slapped.
“Good,” Brock said, pulling out the seat next to mine. “Let me take look at that cheek.” Before I had a chance to protest, he slipped a finger under my chin, tilting my face to the side. His eyes flashed, and a sense of danger radiated off him. Not at me, but at the one who had hurt me.
“You don’t have to do this. I’m fine,” I insisted, captured by the intensity in his gaze. When he didn’t say anything and only continued to scowl at my face, I asked. “Is it that bad?”
“You’ll have one wicked bruise.” He picked up the ice pack and placed it on my cheek, inciting an immediate wince. “I’m still pissed at you. Grayson too. Things could have gone down very differently, and you might have ended up with something a lot worse.”
I frowned at him. “You might need to work on your bedside manner.”
He shook his head. “You should count yourself lucky. If you didn’t look so pitiful, I’d let my temper loose.”
“Why hold back?” I grumbled.
He stood and grabbed a bottle off the counter. A shot of something amber and strong dropped down in front of me. “Now drink this,” he ordered.
Was mixing liquor and pills a good idea?
Yes.
I down the shot without a second thought, letting the heat warm my bones. Brock didn’t bother with a glass and took a long pull directly from the bottle. “Fuck, I needed that. What a shit night,” he grumbled, raking a hand through his dark hair.
It looked like were finally going to have that talk.
I held out my glass, silently asking for more. Hell, I deserved it. Brock obliged without blinking. “How long have you known that Grayson, Kenna, and I are related?” The question blurted out of me. I blamed the bourbon for loosening my tongue.
Brock set the bottle on the table, keeping a hand secured around the neck. “Since we started looking into your family. It wasn’t information I went looking for. And trust me, no one was more shocked by what we read than Grayson. He was a wreck for months. Adding that your mother stole you on top of what happened with Kenna, Grayson reached his breaking point.”
Stole!?