“So? Let him be an asshole! I had it under control!”
“You had an ax.”
“Exactly!” I throw my hands up. “I had an ax and two bullseyes and I was handling it! I didn't need you swooping in like some flannel-wrapped knight with a hero complex!”
Everett pushes off the wall, and suddenly the space between us feels a lot smaller. “What he said… it was vile?—”
“Hence, the axe.” My voice is shaking now, and I hate it. Hate that he can still do this to me. “I know what he said to me. I was there. But you know what else wasthere? Cameras. My brothers. Tara Greene with her vicious little smile.”
His jaw tightens. “I wasn't going to let him?—”
“You don't get toletanything!” The words explode out of me. “I am not yours to protect, Everett! Not publicly. Not in front of them. We agreed?—”
“We agreed to hide.” His voice drops, goes rough. “We agreed to pretend. And I did. For days. Foryears. But I'm not going to stand there and watch some asshole disrespect you just because acknowledging you means acknowledging us.”
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. “That's not your call.”
“Then whose call is it?” He steps closer. Close enough that I can smell cedar and cold air and something that's justhim. “Because from where I'm standing, you've been making all the calls for eleven years. And I've been letting you. And look where that's gotten us.”
“Where it's gotten us issafe.” I force the word out through clenched teeth. “My brothers don't know. Our families are intact. Nobody's had to choose sides?—”
“Nobody's had to chooseanything.” He's close enough now that I can see the storm brewing in his eyes. “Including you.”
His accusation punches straight through me.
Because he's right.
And I hate that he's right.
“Give me my ax.” My voice comes out smaller than I want it to.
For a long moment, he doesn't move. Just looks atme with an expression I can't read—frustration and want and something that looks terrifyingly like resignation.
Then he holds out the handle to me.
I snatch it from his hand, fingers brushing his in a way that makes my whole arm tingle.
“Thank you.”
“Sierra.”
I'm already turning away. Already retreating. Already doing what I always do—running before I have to face the thing I actually want.
“This isn't over.”
I don't look back. Don't acknowledge the promise—or threat—in his voice.
I just walk.
Because if I turn around, if I see whatever's in his eyes right now, I'll do something stupid.
Something like tell him he's right.
Something like choose.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sierra
