Blake’s fist caught my cheekbone, and stars danced in my peripheral vision. I grabbed his shirt, using his momentum to flip him onto his back. The impact knocked the wind out of him, giving me a second to?—
“Break it up!” Axel’s voice cut through the chaos. He grabbed at our shoulders, trying to pry us apart. But every time Blake landed a hit, I had to return it. Every time I connected, he came back swinging. Axel trying to reason with us?
We were too busy with our impromptu lawn MMA session to care.
Axel muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “fucking idiots” before disappearing around the side of the house.
Blake’s elbow caught my jaw. I tasted copper. We were both breathing hard now, more wrestling than fighting, when I heard it—the distinctive squeak of a spigot turning.
Ice-cold water hit us like a sledgehammer.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” The words tore out of both of us simultaneously as we scrambled apart, choking and sputtering.
Axel stood there, wielding a garden hose like a weapon, looking supremely pleased with himself. Water dripped from my hair into my eyes. Blake looked like a drowned rat, his usually perfect hair plastered to his skull.
“The hell, dude?” Blake snapped, spitting out water.
“There.” Axel calmly walked the hose back to its holder, shut off the squeaky valve with deliberate slowness, then brushed off his hands and placed them on his hips like a disappointed parent. “You two done? Or do I need to get the pressure washer? Maybe some pepper spray? I’ve got a Taser in my car if you’re feeling extra spicy.”
I pushed myself up to sitting, every muscle protesting. My previously injured hand was throbbing even worse than when I got here, and my shirt was ruined with grass stains and mud and now soaked through. Blood trickled from my split lip. Blakedidn’t look much better, sporting what would be a spectacular black eye by tomorrow.
“This isn’t over,” Blake said quietly, just for me.
“Yeah, it is.” Faith’s voice sliced through the tension as clean as one of Blake’s scalpels. She stepped off the porch, arms crossed, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe. This wasn’t the scared woman I’d seen in the hospital room. This wasn’t even the hesitant client who flinched at raised voices or ran crying from her boss. This was a woman who’d decided she was done being a victim. “Get. Up.” Two words. That’s all it took.
Blake and I both scrambled to our feet like we were fifteen again and Mom had just caught us breaking curfew.
“I don’t care who started it. I don’t care what he said or what you said or whose sister married whose brother.” Her gaze bounced between us, and I swear to God, I felt two inches tall. “You want to beat each other bloody? Fine. But not on my watch. Not when I have actual problems to deal with.”
Blake opened his mouth.
“No.” She held up one finger. “I’m not done.”
He shut up.
Holy shit.
“Blake, you’re my brother, and I love you, but Ryker is my lawyer. That means I get to decide whether he’s in my life or not. Not you.” She turned that razor-sharp focus on me. “And, Ryker, if you think fighting my brother on my front lawn is hot, you’re wrong.”
The words hit harder than any of Blake’s punches.
“So, here’s what’s going to happen.” She stepped closer, and I caught the faint scent of her shampoo, mixed with the smell of wet grass. “You two are going to shake hands. You’re going to apologize to each other. And then you’re going to come inside, let Blake patch you up, and act like the grown men you’re supposed to be.”
Silence.
“Or,” she continued, her voice dropping to something almostconversational, “you can keep fighting, and I’ll find a new lawyer. Your choice.”
She wasn’t bluffing. I’d spent years reading people in courtrooms, and Faith Morrison was dead serious.
Blake stuck out his hand first. Smart man.
I took it, and we shook, neither of us looking away from Faith.
“Good.” Faith’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. She turned toward the house, then glanced back over her shoulder. “And, boys?” Her eyes met mine, held. “You have grass in your hair.”
Then she was gone, disappearing back inside like a general who’d just put down a mutiny.
“Well”—Axel looked between Blake and me, both of us standing on the wet lawn like scolded kids—“that was fun. Who wants ice cream?”
