“She’s been on her own, man. Independent women like that? When something feels good, it scares the hell out of them. Especially if they didn’t expect it. And especially if they have a loser ex stalking them for money, isn’t that what you said?”
A muscle in my jaw jumps. Holli has traveled the world, born and bred to be the next generation of Morgans. The expectations are high for him. Of course, he knows this shit. That and dating Dom’s mom, which still blows my mind that Dom hasn’t killed him for it, even if it’s been a while now.
“I didn’t think about that.”
“I figured. But these older women are different. They don’t need us, Massi. That’s the one thing you need to understand. You want to save her from her ex?—”
“You’d do the same,” I accuse, hot and bothered.
“Of course I would. I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m on your side, man.” He’s immediately on the defensive. Back peddling, and I appreciate him backing down. My feelings are already raw as fuck. “But put yourself in her shoes. When you’ve had to figure shit out all on your own, then they don’t need you for answers. I know you want to be there for her. But maybe you’re doing too much too soon.”
“That sounds dumb. Chicks would kill to live with Em and me. Our shit’s fire. You know that. We throw the best parties, and everyone knows we share so?—”
“Mas, I know. I get it from your perspective. But you said chicks, and she’s not a chick or college girl or whatever you guys chase. She’s a woman with a professional job. A serious one at that. She doesn’t need you or Em coming in and bossing her around.”
“I’d never boss her around. If anything, she bosses us around.”
My knee begins to bob, needing more than just driving my car to burn off my feelings.
“And from the sounds of it, you like that about her. But if she’s out there making her own money and you said sending some back home, then she really doesn’t want a guy controlling her. Hell, you could remind her of her ex.”
I snort at the thought that all my muscles and good looks would get me in the same category as her strung-out tweaker ex-husband begging for money.
“No way in hell I’m like her ex.”
“From your perspective, but think about it from hers. She’s already getting it from one dude, and then you two come along and box her in. No offense, but you guys are chaos kings. We love you for it, but it can be too much if you’re not used to it. And coming from me, your brother, that’s saying something.”
I drag in a slow breath through my nose. It hits deep in my ribs what he’s saying.
“Sure, Em can be a lot. I told him that today. To chill the fuck out.”
“Not just Em, both of you. Look, you said it yourself, she works long hours, in a stressful job where a bad day for her means people die. You can’t even begin to relate to that. On a bad day, you what? You don’t get the pump you want after a workout? You have to clean up your brother’s mess for the millionth time? You don’t get laid?”
“I mean?—”
“No, bro,” he cuts me off, even though not all my days are that simple. My twin was literally life or death five weeks ago, so it’s not that unrelatable to what she goes through. “She’s all alone. Goes to work alone, works with critical patients, and then goes home alone. No family, and sounds like no friends. Am I right?”
“Friends?” I think and realize he’s right. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her mention anyone besides her mom and Paco. “I don’t know. She’s never mentioned any.”
“Exactly, then the chaos kings come into her life like a hurricane. And even though you’re the good guys, it’s a lot to go from alone to that level of crazy energy.”
“Hey, stop lumping me in with Em. I’m not as bad as him.”
He chuckles, the sound of confidence and legacy that only his name can buy. “You’re not as good as me.”
The light burns yellow, and I blaze through it. Reckless, but I don’t care. I want to get home, eat, and then lie in the sheets covered in her scent. Wallow in self pity.
“Fuck you, Hollister.”
He knows I don’t mean it. His laugh gets louder and longer, blasting through my speakers. Something about it is comforting. Like, bro knows what he’s talking about, and it helps sort through my mental crap.
“But I love you, man. Even when you give me shit.”
“Same, Massi. If I don’t give the Dimas’s brothers shit, who will?”
“Dominic.”
We both laugh, knowing that’s a truer statement than Hollister’s. And damn, if it doesn’t feel good just to let loose. Let some of the tension out of my body from the last hour of conflict. His laugh ends faster than mine.
