Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “Have you ever heard it?”
“No.” Half facing away from her, she saw the way he squeezed his eyes closed. “Not from the time I was old enough to remember. It wasn't spoken between me and my parents. I didn't feel it, and they clearly didn't either. The boys and I, well, we don't say it out loud. It’s like . . . a trauma response. We show it, but we don't say it. None of us . . .”
“God, Flynn.” A lump the size of Rhode Island had formed in her throat. “At the risk of scaring the shit out of you, I realized not too long ago how I feel.”
“Can you—I mean—fuck.” Running his hands over his face, Flynn spun on his heel and stalked back to her. Grabbing her cheeks in his hands, he stared down into her watery eyes.
Knowing what he wanted—neededmore than his next breath—she said, “I love you, Flynn Redford.”
His lids slipped closed again, and she waited patiently for him to open them back up. When he did, the cerulean shade of his eyes had darkened until they nearly eclipsed his pupils. “I . . . I love you too,” he whispered. “But it terrifies me.”
Her heart nearly burst with his confession. “That’s understandable. Do you think those emotions were welcome for me? I’m not relationship material, but there’s nothing I can do about the way I feel.”
Stepping back, he laughed, sounding young and free. “Who the fuck knew?”
“I certainly didn't expect to have any sort of flowery feelings for you after you humiliated me at Surly Bird.”
Smiling wryly, he kissed her on the nose. “We’re so fucked up.”
The knock on the door prevented her from responding. Yes, maybe they were, but they were fucked up together.
Flynn let the oldest of his brothers into the apartment. Immediately, Bristowe noticed his shocking green eyes and the close cut of his blond hair. He and Flynn looked nothing alike, yet it was clear they were as deeply connected as blood relatives.
They shared a quick slap on the back before Flynn said shyly, "Lock, this is Bristowe. My, uh, my girl."
Lock wore a shit-eating grin on his face. "Hi, Flynn’s girl."
Unable to help it, she blushed.
"Bristowe, this is one of my many annoying brothers, Lochlan Rhodes."
"Nice to meet you." Unsure what to do next, she kept her hands folded behind her back.
“Let me drop some noodles in the water and we can eat,” Flynn said as he moved to the stove. Empty tomato cans littered the counter, and he swept them into the trash can before opening the box of spaghetti noodles.
“Bruh, there’s only two chairs.” Lock threw his lanky body down on one of them, and it creaked under his weight.
“I know,bruh.”
Bristowe had to bite her cheek not to laugh at Flynn’s tone. It appeared he didn't like the slang Lock used.
After dropping them into the pot, Flynn stirred the spaghetti noodles. “I’ll stand or eat on the couch. Doesn't matter.”
Lock picked up the salt shaker and played around with it. “Bruh, you wouldn't believe what Sterling said to me. He’s not looking to work when he ages out, like, no cap, bruh. Wants to freeload off me or some shit.”
“Language,” Flynn said absently.
“Bruh, we’re in your house. No one cares if I say the word shit, bruh.”
Flynn turned from the stove. “Maybe I care.”
Lock rolled his eyes. “Whatever, bruh. Listen, he can’t do that. He has to work just like me and you. Like, bruh, you can't live your whole life as a deadbeat.”
“Not after the way we were all raised, no. We aim for better than that.”
Bristowe listened intently, enjoying the dynamic between them. Flynn was patient, even though Lock spoke more like someone who was still in middle school.
“You know that what I do is only for a paycheck and not what I want for the rest of my life. Maybe you need to think of what your goals are, and then you can speak to Sterling about it. Tell him he should want better for himself.”
