"I won't. Promise."
I add, "But if Jagger comes at you, beat the crap out of him."
"Like he could," Jagger mutters.
Wyatt chuckles. "Will do." He opens the door and then leads me to the truck. He yanks the driver's door open and gives me a quick kiss.
I don't want to leave, but I follow his wishes, my stomach in knots. Jagger rarely gets angry. So I want to believe they won't fight, but it's a hard pill to swallow.
Especially since I've never seen him this mad.
24
Wyatt
Willow leaves in my truck, and I go back inside the Butterfly House. Tension coils in my muscles, and my banging pulse competes with the ticking of the clock.
Jagger hasn't moved, but it's obvious that he still wants to tear me apart. His arms are tightly crossed over his chest, feet planted shoulder width apart, and a menacing scowl pointed right at me.
I lean against the wall, taking a similar stance. Now that I've confessed to the Cartwrights and let Jagger take his punches, I'm not going to let him take any more blows without fighting back.
And I'm not apologizing for loving his sister.
"You want to start talking?" he snarls, low and lethal, eyes narrowing.
I don't flinch, keeping my gaze locked on his for several minutes before replying, "What do you need to know, Jagger?"
He steps closer, his face flushing an angry red, his boots grinding on the wooden floor. "Why don't you start with how long you've been sneaking around with my little sister?"
Every muscle in my body flexes. I've called Jagger brother for as long as I can remember. I crossed a line with him, and him knowing the time frame of my betrayal won't help him to forgive me.
He demands through gritted teeth, "How long, Wyatt?"
A sour taste floods my mouth. I admit, "Years."
"I got that. I want exact details," he pushes.
"Like we said in the house, it started on my eighteenth birthday," I declare.
His eyes widen, a firestorm of fury. His voice cracks with betrayal so deep, it rattles my bones. "You weren't making bets about skipping stones that night, were you?"
I stand straighter, steeling myself. "No. Nothing had really happened yet, but it's when it started."
"What does that mean?" he demands, more rage flaring on his sharp features.
"I hadn't kissed her. I almost did, but I stopped myself," I confess.
His eyes are red balls of rage as he hisses, "You should have been smart and not taken advantage of her."
I release a heavy sigh. "I loved her. I loved her before I kissed her, and what's done is done." The words scrape out of me low and raw.
He lunges for me, grabs my shirt, and slams me back against the door. He snarls, his breath hot and furious on my cheek, "Don't you fucking say that to me! Bros before hoes, Wyatt. That was the code."
Anger like I've never felt explodes within me. I shove him away, my muscles screaming with the need to smash my fists into his face. But I somehow contain myself. I warn, "Don't you ever call her that again!"
"You know what I mean!" He stumbles a step back, boots skidding.
I roar, "I don't care what you meant! Don't you dare even think that about her ever again!"
