"Justin, that's not fair," she says, her voice carrying down the hallway. "They're my nephews. You can't just?—"
"I'm not saying I won't ever hang out with your family," Justin's whiny bitch voice cuts through the speakerphone. "But come on, Reese. Two fucking toddlers? For an entire weekend? Your sister and her husband need to learn whatbirth control is because adding another in a few months is crazy work."
I freeze in the hallway, blood rushing to my head so fast I see spots. Did this motherfucker just say what I think he did about my cousin and his wife?
"Okay, ew," Reese says, and I can picture the exact way her nose scrunches up when she's disgusted. "We're not shaming people for choosing to have or not to have kids. That's gross."
"I'm not shaming them," Justin backpedals. "I'm just saying they already have two. Isn't that enough?"
I lean against the wall, listening as Reese sighs. "Look, I promised Reagan. She and Penn have a concert, and everyone else also has plans."
"Hours of screaming and shitting and?—"
"They're kids, not demons," Reese interrupts. "And they're actually really sweet. Ransom’s started saying my name finally, and Riot follows me around like a little shadow."
"Exactly. They're clingy and loud and?—"
That's fucking it. I push off the wall and stride into the kitchen, my jaw clenched so tight I'm surprised my teeth don't crack. Reese is perched on a barstool at the kitchen island, her dark hair pushed back by some sort of furry headband shit she makes me use onspa days. She's wearing those tiny fucking shorts that barely cover her ass and one of my old hockey shirts that she stole last year. Her legs go on for miles, smooth and toned from dancing.
She looks up when I enter, eyes widening slightly. "Oh, hey, Rams. You're back early."
I don't answer her. Instead, I walk straight to the phone sitting on the counter, Justin's bitching still pouring from the speaker.
"—and I just don't think it's fair that they expect you to drop everything because they decided to?—"
I snatch up the phone, cutting him off mid-sentence as I bring it to my mouth. "Don't worry, star. I’ll help babysit my little devils. Never a chore for me to do it."
There's a long pause on the line. I can practically hear Justin's bitch-ass brain short-circuiting.
"Ramsey?" His voice cracks like a twelve-year-old hitting puberty. "I didn't realize you were?—"
"Yeah, I fucking bet you didn't," I cut in, my voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes most guys piss themselves. "You wouldn't be talking shit about my family if you knew I was listening."
Reese is staring at me with wide eyes. She reaches for the phone, but I step back, keeping it out of her reach.
"I wasn't—I didn't mean—" Justin stammers.
"Let me make something real fucking clear," I say, keeping my voice calm even as rage pulses through me. "Those kids you're bitching about? They're my blood. Reese’s too, and she loves them. So what kind of boyfriend tries to make her feel bad about that?"
"Ram—" Reese starts, but I hold up a finger, silencing her. Her lips press together, but she doesn't try to stop me again.
"I wasn't making her feel bad," Justin protests weakly. "I just wanted to spend time with her this weekend."
"Bullshit," I snap. "You had the chance to spend timewith her AND her family, but that wasn't good enough for you. What, are you too fucking special to hang out with a couple of kids?"
"Look, man, this is between me and Reese."
"No, the second you started talking shit about Penn and Reagan, you made it my business. When you talk shit about my nephews though…you better fucking pray to your God that Harmony U doesn’t meet me on the ice this season."
Justin's sputtering comes through the speaker. "Wait, that’s no?—"
Looking right at Reese, I hit the end call button.
She jumps off the barstool, those long legs hitting the floor as she squares up to me like she's actually intimidating. It's fucking adorable when she gets mad—all five-foot-five of her thinking she can take me on. She jabs a finger into my chest. "You can't just grab my phone and?—"
"I'll do whatever the fuck I want when some dickhead is trying to manipulate you into not seeing your family." I catch her finger before she can poke me again, wrapping my hand around her wrist. Her pulse jumps under my thumb, racing like a rabbit's. "What kind of boyfriend tries to keep you from the people who love you?"
The fight seems to drain out of her all at once. Her shoulders slump, and she stops trying to pull away from my grip. "I just...I was handling it, Rams. I don't need you to fight my battles for me."
