Brandon’s stance loses all the stiffness from earlier and the haunting sound of the key against the hood makes me pause. Not for long, though.
I knew Landon came with plans to scratch my car, and as much as I’m tempted to bash his head on the metal and fill the scratches with his blood, there are more important things at stake.
Such as Brandon’s approval.
“Your brother obviously doesn’t understand reason, but I’m sure you do.” I step forward. “I’m on your and Glyn’s side.”
“Back the fuck off,” Landon says while still vandalizing my car.
The garage will fix that. But only I can keep this leverage in the current situation.
“How do I know you’re not using her?” Brandon asks a very logical question.
“If I were using her, I would’ve gotten bored within the first two days and let her go.”
Which is true.
Fuck.
If I’m not using her, then what am I doing with her exactly?
People only fall into three categories for me.
Worth being used.
Not worth being used.
Neutral.
She’s in none of the above.
But I’m sure she’s in there somewhere, because she holds enough space to fuck up my day.
“That’s not as reassuring as you were trying to make it sound,” Bran says with a raised eyebrow.
“I could’ve lied, but I chose not to. Glyn said she likes my honesty.”Before she fucking ghosted me because of it.
Brandon smiles a little, probably knowing how true that statement is, and it takes effort to hide my smirk as I stare back at the other brother.
Destroy my car all you want, but guess who’s winning, Landon?
Not you.
Yes, Brandon may not come around right away, but he’ll get there. Unless Glyndon runs her mouth and ruins it.
But even if she does, I’ll start from scratch to earn the nice brother’s approval.
All the effort I’m making for this fucking rabbit is starting to piss me off, but still, it’s entertaining.
I’m about to push a little further, just because I can, but a tiny figure approaches us in moderate steps, completely oblivious to the tension in the air.
Her blonde hair is gathered in a long ponytail with a fuck ton of ribbons that match the ones on her black dress, boots, and bag.
She’s like a fucking Goth Barbie, sans the black hair, and a creepy 2.0 version of Mom and Aunt Rai.
Oh, and this is about the worst timing to come find me.
My cousin Mia, who’s a year younger than me, holds a container of food and smiles at me, brightly, and I know not to take that shit for granted.