“You don’t deserve anything but a bullet in the brain,” Beck snaps. “You need to stay away from her.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Troy pushes Beck aside and stands toe to toe with Spencer.
All of my brothers are massive in my eyes, but Troy is the clear front runner, and when he steps up to Spencer, there’s not a great deal of difference. Thick chests, rippling muscle, angry snarls. His hands flex by his hips, and his jaw grinds back and forth dangerously. He doesn’t shout like the others. His control is much quieter, which makes it much scarier.
“You know my sister, Serrano?”
“She’s mine,” Spencer growls. “She’s my responsibility. My heart. My diagnosis and prognosis. My fucking war to fight, and my girl to protect. I’d appreciate it if someone around here took my fucking calls once in a while.”
“Spencer, stop.” I shove my blankets off and turn in my bed. My head swims, and my toes tingle from being horizontal for so long, but I slide off the edge and hiss at the pain in my feet when I touch down.
My dizziness has nothing to do with cancer, nothing to do with my upcoming surgery. My legs are weak from disuse. My head swims from the panic that the man I love and the men who are my brothers are going to hurt each other.
So I move forward and plaster myself to Spencer’s chest. He catches me, of course he does, and circles around so I’m not caught between him and Troy. “Abigail…” His dark eyes sparkle with pain. “Baby, you’re having surgery?”
“Baby?” Troy’s eyes widen. “Is this a fuckin’ joke?”
Spencer doesn’t turn or acknowledge Troy’s words. He holds me up as though it’s easy to suspend a woman a few inches off the ground, then he buries his face against my neck and breathes. Dry kisses, choked sobs, he squeezes me against his chest until I worry I might suffocate.
“Talk to me, Abigail. You have to talk to me.”
“I don’t… I can’t…” I can’t push my words – or oxygen – past the lump in my throat. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why wouldn’t you take my calls?” He pulls back and stares into my eyes. He’s not angry anymore, but hurt. He’s deeply hurt. “You think you can just flick me off?”
“I can’t…” I lick the tears from my top lip and shake my head. “I’m not flicking you off. I’m saving you.”
“Saving me?” His head snaps back in shock. “From what?”
“From me! I’m a mess. I’malwaysgoing to be sick. This will continue to come back.” I push away from his chest until I can stand. “I will have tests done every single year from now until it finally gets me. I will always be the sick girl. I’ll always be too fragile for you.”
“That’s not for you to decide,” he whispers. “I decide what I want. I decide who I want.”
“It will become a burden, Spencer. I’m cute right now, but it won’t take long for you to get tired of always being switched on. You’ll want a normal girl eventually.”
“I want you.” He presses a noisy, dry kiss to my lips, and almost sets my brothers on fire when his action registers in their minds.
This right now, noisy, and dry, and while tears stream over my cheeks, is the first time I’ve been kissed in front of them.
“You can’t read my mind,” Spencer argues. “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“They’re going to do chemo again.” I don’t even care about the snot that dribbles over my lip. I don’t care about looking good or acting like a lady. “I’m going to get a lot sicker before I get better.”
“I’m with you, Abigail. This is my war, too.”
“I’ll lose my hair.”
That slows him down. “Do I look like a seventeen-year-old punk with little man syndrome? Do I love you because of your hair, Abigail?”
Troy’s eyes widen. “Love?”
“I mean…” I reach up and touch the red locks. “I think the color is at least half of my appeal.”
He chokes out a laugh and brings me closer. “Hair grows back, baby. It’s all temporary.”
“I’ll never have boobs. You like boobs.”
“Ugh, god.” Mitch makes real, actual gagging sounds. “She just said that.”