Wilde by Abby Brooks

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Leo

The sound of my phone gyrating on the coffee table in an otherwise morgue-like home is loud enough to wake the actual damn dead. Over and over, every few minutes until it drags me from a great fucking dream.

Can’t a guy with a hangover sleep one off in peace?

If it’s Amy apologizing, she can wait.

Even if she’s begging my forgiveness, she can wait.

If it’s anyone else, they can go to hell.

Three messages later, I shift onto my side, squeezing a pillow over each ear and concentrating hard on getting back to my dream. Two messages after that, I rip away the sheets and storm into the living room, ready to tear the phone to pieces for the chance to find and destroy the vibrate-y mechanism inside.

I know it’s Amy. Or is that wishful thinking?

I’m not ready to be done. Not with her. She owes me a serious fucking apology—no doubt—but there are truths still unspoken. Things can’t end like this.

Besides, there’s no way she’d let that happen.

When I pick up the phone and find the series of messages are from my obnoxious brother Hank, as well as two missed calls from him, plus several more from my mother, my initial reaction is to get pissed at Amy all over again. For everything.

Who the hell does she think she is to not apologize!Sure, she said she was sorry, but talk is cheap and she has a lot to make up for.

Seething, I ignore the voicemails, set the phone to do not disturb, and skim the messages.

Hank: Hey little brother, just checking in.

Three minutes after the first, another message arrived.

Hank: So…how you doin?

Like he’s giving me time to respond between texts, the next message came in exactly three minutes later.

Hank: Hey, give me a shout when you can.

Two minutes and one missed call later.

Hank: Really? You don’t even answer my calls?

One minute.

Hank: After everything I’ve done for you.

Hank: Kidding, only kidding. I know how seriously you take being mysterious and aloof.

Hank: Be honest though. Is this annoying you yet? Hit me up when you get this. I’ve got news you’ll probably want to hear.

I stand in my living room half-hungover and completely confused. What in the hell would my brother possibly know that would matter to me? If I call him back just to hear about his ATV, I’ll drive to wherever he is just to kick his ass.

Reluctantly, I tap out a response.

Me: This better be important.

Hank: Important? Who’s to say. But interesting…that much I promise you.

Me: WTF? Not in the mood. Spill already

Hank: Better shared in person. Besides you know how I love drawing out the mystery. Where are you? I’ll swing by.

Fucking family.

Me: Seriously, tell me before I block you.

Hank: Fine, but just a taste. Sheriff called the ranch with news about your “situation.”

Shit. Why’d he call the ranch?

My fingers type as furiously as they can while my brain spins over what news my family has that I don’t.

Me: Why in the hell would he do that?

Me: Hank!

Me: YOU were the only person in the family who knew anything about it.

Hank: Yeah, I thought so too. Not anymore.

Hank: But I swear I had nothing to do with it.

Hank: Just tell me where you are. I’ll bring a six pack to share while I give you the rest of the story.

Part of me—a part I never would have believed existed just a few days ago—shrugs and wonders if having family in my corner might not be so terrible right now. At least I wouldn’t be alone. The rest of me wonders why he just can’t fucking tell me what he has to say.

Hank: Before you start cursing me out, Mom’s worried. And says I’m not welcome at dinner until I bring some kind of “proof of life.” Come on. Help a brother out of a tight spot.

Shit. I like to live by the philosophy that the less my family knows about my personal life, the less chance they have to getinvolved. With the state of things between me and them—the last thing I need is for something else to blow up.

Me: Remember where my studio is? There’s a bar a few doors down.

What’s the name of that place again? Zippo’s. Zelda’s. Something uncommon like that.

Me: Meet me there in an hour.

There’s no way I’m opening the shop today. I’m at least a third hungover. Plus—I work my shoulder to test how sore it feels—my arm is in no condition to do anything that requires precision. However, I can’t see how one beer with my brother could fuck up my life much more than it already is. And there’s the fact that everybody knows nothing cures a hangover better than “hair of the dog.”

Hank: Haha. Yeah I remember. See you then.

Hank: The bar’s called Blink or something, right?

I toss my phone in the air and catch it as I turn to the bathroom to clean myself up. Why in the hell would the sheriff’s office call the ranch? They have my information. Is it that dipshit deputy stirring up shit with my family?

* * *

Twenty minutes before we’re supposed to meet, I pull into the lot and carefully scan for signs of Hank as I navigate the potholes. Comfortable that I’m the first to arrive, I step out of the car and stretch as I step onto the sidewalk. The shiny lettering on the glass door reveals the name I couldn’t recall before. Ziggy’s.

I choose a seat at the bar and order a tall glass of whatever’s on tap. At the same moment the bartender slides my frosty mug of amber down the bar to me, a strong hand grips my shoulder and a familiar voice sounds behind me.

“How goes it, little brother?” Hank awkwardly clears his throat. “Before you get all pissed, just remember I told you Mom wanted proof of life. He seemed like the least bad option, if you know what I mean.”

My blood pressure nearly pops as I turn, expecting to find our mother’s attack dog—Chet—standing with Hank. To my relief, it’s our brother Jack instead.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask in complete surprise.

Jack gives Hank a questioning smile. “I thought you said you’d already explained everything.”

Hank shakes his head. “What I said was I explained almost everything, but that Leo still had a few questions.”

“A few questions?” The words come out more accusation than inquiry, causing several patrons to look our way.

“Easy cowboy,” Hank says through a too bright smile as he nods at the handful of strangers eyeing us, reassuring them all is well. “What do you say we move this to a table? Jack was the only trick, I promise. It was shitty, and I’m sorry, but…I mean, do you really expect me to miss out on Mom’s cooking for you?”

Reluctantly I agree. I mean, it’s what I would do.

It’s only after I turn and stand to face my brothers that they notice the bruising and swelling. Thoughtful as ever, Hank is the first to mention it. “I thought you said you beat him?”

I roll my eyes and check his shoulder with mine as I pass. “Ever try fighting on concrete? Even if you win, you lose,” I call back as I spot an empty table in a quiet corner, then drop into the seat with line of sight to the door.

Hank smirks as he claims a chair. “I just never let the other guy get the better of me. That way I don’t have to worry about ending up on the ground.”

“Think so? Give me a few days to rest. After that, you’d better be ready to put your money where your mouth is if you’re still talking shit,” I say with a glare, daring him to push me any further.

Quick to play the peacemaker, Jack clears his throat and speaks with a confident but calming tone that redirects the energy without really changing the topic. “So, uh…there’s not a lot of info to go on back at the ranch. Mind sharing what happened? How it all went down, or whatever?”

We pause as a waitress approaches and my brothers order their drinks. When she’s gone, my mouth steps through the mechanics of what happened while the part of my mind that can’t stop obsessing about Amy rolls back and forth over how we got here. I can’t stop seeing the horror on her face when I finally put Avery down.

And how she laid the blame at my feet from the very beginning.

It’s such fucking bullshit I feel myself getting pissed. Again. So much so, that while my brothers pepper me with questions about how Avery carried himself, or how I countered him, I’m busy trying to identify how she ever snuck past my defenses in the first place. When I realize Jack has moved on and is talking, I zone back into the conversation.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to tell you what you should have done, I’m just saying, from experience, you’ve got to watch your six. At all times.”

So right brother. So. Right. If I’d been watching my six, Amy never would have gotten into my head. She never would have meant anything more than any of the girls before her did.

“Sure, but if you knock their lights out with the first punch, you don’t have to worry about any of that,” Hank weighs in with a cocky brow waggle for added…something.

I lean across the table and smile before speaking at half volume. “To be honest, I thought he was lights out when I first sent him skidding across the driveway. Kid’s a first-class idiot. No question, but whether he was tougher than I expected or just crazy determined, he really hung in there.”

“Well, I wasn’t there obviously, and in a lot of ways I’m not the man I used to be regardless.” Jack raps his knuckle against the composite material of his prosthetic, then laughs it off. “But when I was training to lead men into a fight, the biggest lesson we were taught was that you can never let the enemy get in your head. If they know what you’re thinking, they’ll outmaneuver you every time.”

Is that where things went wrong? Because I let her get inside my head?

“Makes sense, but how do you prevent it? I mean, it’s not like the enemy—” I make air quotes “—is going to come out and admit what they’re doing.”

Jack furrows his brow. “Well…uh, no I guess they’re probably not going to admit what they’re doing.” He chuckles. “I guess what I’m talking about is more of a traditional battlefield kind of engagement. You carve out your boundaries, then hold ‘em like your life depends on it.” He takes a sip from his beer and smiles. “Because unless you like having your camp overrun, it does.”

So what he’s saying is that I let her cross my boundaries without any pushback. What should I have expected but for my camp to be overrun? I’ll confess I’m not entirely sure what he means by that last part, but it sounds legit. And maybe I’m just feeling down on my luck, but something about what Jack says makes me think the universe may be trying to help me see my mistakes.

“From the way you describe the situation, at least to me, it doesn’t sound like it was your fault.”

Finally! Someone sees this my way. If only Amy wasn’t being so goddamned hardheaded about it.

“Anyway,” Jack lifts his beer to his mouth and takes another sip. “I wouldn’t think you’d have anything to worry about with the law, based on what you described.”

His statement reminds me that the only reason I’m here is because Hank lured me out under the premise of filling me in on why the sheriff called the ranch. “Speaking of, Hank, you had a story to finish.”

He gulps down most of his beer and stares at the bar as a dismissive sigh slips out. “Not that much else to tell really. Cody…you know, the sheriff? Well he and Chet have stayed pretty close since everything that happened last year. I guess he reached out as a courtesy to inform Chet that the asshole deputy who brought you in without cause has been appropriately reprimanded. Whatever that means.”

“That’s it?” I growl.

Hank looks back and forth from me to Jack with puppy dog eyes. “What else is there to tell? You can guess what happened from there. Chet, having not heard anything about any of this, went to mom, who, also having heard nothing, called us all in for questioning.”

Jack looks at me and nods. “Intense questioning.”

I finish my beer and slam the glass down on the table. “What the fuck, bro? You couldn’t have shared that via text?”

“In his defense, it’s also true that Mom threatened to uninvite him from the weekly get together until he brought you out to the ranch for her to look over for herself.” Jack laughs. “She was so pissed when she learned that Hanky-boy had been keeping your secret from her. I stepped up and offered to validate ‘proof of life’ status, or whatever, if Hank could get you to meet.” Jack shrugs and lowers his voice. “I know you’re not comfortable out there—with everybody around.”

Hank grins. “So I had to find a way to get you to meet up. And I think we both know if I hadn’t done it like this you wouldn’t have shown.”

I lift one brow, conceding the possibility without giving ground in the argument. “Well?” I stand and raise my arms to my sides then turn slowly. “Do you have it? Does this count for proof of life? Because I’ve got a thing I need to be getting to.”

Jack and Hank glance at each other, then shrug and nod their agreement.

“Wouldn’t be willing to grab a quick group photo, would you?” Hank smiles.

“Maybe next time.” I wink, then motion for the waitress’s attention. When she looks over from across the bar, I swirl my finger in a circle then point at our table, indicating she should close our tab. Then I point to Hank to be sure she knows he’s got the bill. She nods in understanding and I smile at my brother. “Thanks for the beer, boys. Gotta run.”

Before I reach the door, I pull my aviators off my collar and slide them on. As I step into the bright afternoon, I glance down the sidewalk while stopping to slip my aviators into place.

When who do I see leaning against the wall of Inked?