“I got the offer a few weeks ago,” I whisper, swallowing an apology that feels like knives in my esophagus.
He tosses his fork onto his plate, and it clatters—too loud in the silence that follows my announcement.
“Don’t you think that’s something you should’ve told me?”
Across the table, Wes stiffens. His eyes narrow. “Why the fuck would that be something she has to talk toyouabout?”
“Wes, don’t." My tone is a warning, but it only serves to confirm whatever suspicions he has.
"What the fuck?" Wes jumps up. “Tell me you aren’t sleeping with my sister.”
Tripp’s face is sullen. He folds his arms across his chest as he replies, “Well, there’s not a whole lot of sleeping happening.”
And then, all hell breaks loose.
Fuck
Tripp
Fuck.
I’m hit with instant regret—and my best friend’s fist. It glances off my cheek as my chair topples over, sending me sprawling onto the floor.
“Wes!” Quinn yells. “Stop!”
But he’s not listening to her. His fist knots in my shirt, yanking me upright.
Pops, cool as ever, mutters from his seat, “Boys, maybe you could take it outside.”
“Shit,” I grunt as Wes drags me toward the porch by my collar.
He takes another swing, but I duck this time, my knuckles brushing the dirt as I stumble. “Wes, just—let’s talk, man.”
He throws another punch and this time my lip splits. “Talk? All you do is run your fucking mouth.”
He’s not wrong. And Christ, I shouldn’t have said what I did. I should’ve kept my goddamn mouth shut. I thought I’d gotten better at the whole thinking before talking thing.
But then again, I thought Quinn and I had been close enough that she’d have told me about a damn job offer that far away.
“I shouldn’t have said that to you. It was a bad joke.”
“You fucking my sister isn’t a goddamn joke,” Wes growls.
I wince. “No, you’re right. It’s not funny.”
“She’s not some buckle-bunny whore who you can do whatever you want with.”
“Wes, enough,” Quinn says from the porch.
“Shut up, Quinn. Stay out of it. You don’t know him like I do.”
I’ll put up with Wes saying just about anything to me, but when he disrespects Quinn, I see red. I lunge and swing fast and hard, connecting with his nose, my fist making a satisfying crunch.
The next few minutes are a blur of fists and elbows and mumbled curses as we pummel each other. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.
Wes isn’t pulling his punches for me, and I do everything I can to use my smaller size and quicker movements to my advantage, but when he gets me to the ground, I know it’s fucking over. He only stops when the sound of a sharp, shrill whistle sounds close enough to make him throw his hands over his ears.
I take the opportunity to shove him off me and roll to my knees, spitting blood and breathing heavily.
