Rhys stood abruptly, his chair skittering back across the floor.
“I didn’t hearanyof this when dear old Callahan fell for someone below his standing. It was all Jace this and Jace that, and now that I’ve found someone—someone that I love and want to be with—you have the audacity to level that kind of accusation at him? At me? In my ownhouse, Sebastian?” Rhys’s entire face was bright red, from the tips of his ears to the place his throat disappeared behind the collar of his shirt.
Wait.
Wait.
Had Rhys just admitted to his brother that he loved Beckett?
“Come on, brother.” Rhys scoffed, his upper lip curling in marked distaste. “You donated a quarter of a million dollars to get this one into bed.”
“It’s all right,” Remington said to Sebastian, then his words turned low and threatening. “That’s enough, Rhys.”
Rhys laughed at him. “It’snotall right, Remington. It’s not.”
“It’s not even your house,” Sebastian spat. “It’s my condo. I’ve let you stay here. As a favor.”
“A favor?” Rhys rolled his eyes. “More like a payment for how I saved you from the shit storm your cunt of an ex-wife was trying to start. More like payment for all the times I—”
Rhys snapped his mouth closed, his spine going rigid.
“All the times you’ve what?” Sebastian asked, standing and meeting Rhys’s posture.
Beckett swallowed, his stare moving between the two brothers. They were so much alike. So bold and so stubborn, and if the two of them could be on the same side of anything, they’d be terrifying in their force. But it seemed to Beckett that working against each other was like second nature to them, and he wondered if that had been calculated and planned by someone else…
Someone like their father.
“Nothing.” Rhys smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt.
“Come on, Rhys,” Sebastian coaxed, his expression laced with fury. “Let’s hear it. All the times you’ve what? All the times you’ve been horrible and manipulative? All of the hearts you’ve broken? The lives you’ve controlled and twisted. The lives you’veruined?”
“Sebastian.” Remington rested his hand against the small of Sebastian’s back. “That’s enough.”
“I want to hear it,” Sebastian said, through gritted teeth. “I want to hear how he’s the victim here.”
Beckett had never felt so out of his element. He wanted to crawl over the table and punch Sebastian square in his smug face, but it was clear that the brothers sparred with words not fists, and he was nowhere near smart enough to be able to hold his own like that. He turned toward Rhys, reaching out and hooking his finger around Rhys’s pinky.
Rhys startled and frowned, looking down at Beckett like he’d forgotten he was there. He blinked rapidly, his expression remaining almost perfectly stoic, but Beckett knew him well enough by then to see the mortification flicker across his features before being swallowed away. It was a weakness, and Rhys St. George didn’t do weakness. But Rhys curled his finger around Beckett’s knuckle so tight, Beckett thought it might break.
Rhys breathed deep, a breath that sounded far steadier than Beckett would have expected. He raised Beckett’s hand to his mouth, dusted a kiss across the top of his knuckles, then let it fall. He stared at his brother like he wanted to murder him, all the while breathing these slow and steady breaths that were so effective, Beckett even felt himself calming down.
“Rhys,” Beckett whispered.
Rhys looked down at him, but avoided his eyes. He scratched at his temple and pursed his lips.
“I’ll be right back,” Rhys said, his voice far shakier than his breaths had been.
“You don’t have to go.”
“I just need some air.” He gave Beckett a desperate and imploring look. “I’ll be right back. I just…”
“Okay,” he cut Rhys off with a nod. “I’ll be here.”
Rhys swallowed and blinked quickly, then stalked out of the condo without so much as a second glance at his brother.
“I hope you’re happy,” Remington murmured, standing up from the table and dropping his napkin onto the now empty chair. He glanced at Beckett with a disappointed expression. “I’m sorry for all of this. Sebastian…he…”
“It’s fine.” Beckett cleared his throat, trying to look unaffected. “We talked in the kitchen. I know what he thinks about me.”
