“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, and so am I.” I cross my arms over my chest, and he frowns at me. “If I’m getting in your way, I can just leave.”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn’t it. A few words, but they hold a lot of weight. I want him to explain further, but I’m too scared to ask what he means by that, so I stare up at the ceiling, letting him shut down like he’s good at.
Apparently, some things never change. He’d rather drown in distractions than face his problems. Hefights so hard for his club, but he doesn’t fight for himself. And he doesn’t fight for me.
Even back then, he simply let me go. What I did was unfair, but he accepted it as if I didn’t matter.
I stare up at the ceiling, watching the shadows cast across it.
“I was surprised when Kincaid said you were fighting him for the ranch. After you left, I kind of figured you’d let that part of your life go.”
He shrugs, shifting the mattress. “My grandpa wouldn’t want that. He built a place for people—for our family. For the community. Tate and Kincaid only see dollar signs. They don’t care about legacy.”
“But you still do?”
“Apparently.”
“Have you just talked to your brother directly? He used to listen to you.” I turn to look at him.
“We both know Kincaid isn’t the one making the decisions.”
He’s right, and there’s no point asking Dean if he’s tried talking to his stepdad because I know he wouldn’t bother with that. Their relationship was always bad, but it worsened when his mother died.
The meaner Tate became, the more Dean rebelled. It was a vicious cycle that kept
escalating. There was no winning. And while I hoped Dean would have chosen a different path when he left Texas, that clearly wasn’t the case. The trouble he’s gotten into with his club surpasses anything back home.
“How did you end up in prison?” I ask when maybe I shouldn’t.
But I can’t help it. Kincaid had a lot to say about his brother getting locked up. So did Tate and my father. Only, the picture they painted doesn’t line up with the man in the bed beside me. A man with more layers than they ever gave him credit for.
Dean sighs. “You have a lot of questions tonight.”
“Maybe it’s the alcohol.” It isn’t, but at least it gives me an excuse to pry.
“Well, I’m pretty sure the media highlighted the exciting parts.”
I frown when he looks at me. “I don’t want what the news said. I want your story.”
“It’s not interesting.”
“Tell me anyway.” That softens his expression the slightest, even though he looks back up at the ceiling, avoiding my gaze.
“It was a simple run, and shit went bad. We had a rat we didn’t know about and got heat we weren’t expecting. The cops showed up, and I made sure to pull them away so my brothers had time to go the opposite direction.”
“You took the fall for them?”
“Figured it made sense. It’s not like I wasn’t in on it. I was as guilty as they were.” He shrugs. “Besides, it’s what we do for each other.”
“You could have spent the rest of your life behind bars.”
“Better than Legacy, who has a fucking kid. Or any of the others.”
It’s hard to argue the Legacy angle because, if he is a dad, I get why Dean would be protective of that. But the way he diminishes the value of his life in comparison to theirs is something I don’t understand.
