“Then why don’t you?” he asks quietly.
I stagger back a step.
“Um, excuse me? What do you think I’ve been doing? I won the contract for Pawsome Hearts. He’s toast. He lost, and he’ll have to walk away.” I hate the way my shaky voice echoes in this big room.
No conviction, just anger. Denial.
“And you think he’ll just suck it up and go home? You really believe that?” Brady looks at me with pity. “Shit, he ruined your mother’s business.”
Holy hell.
But maybe I deserve it.
In the beginning, Mom could’ve made more money if she’d kept her temp jobs through summer rather than going back to the ice cream stand.
But Raven Swirl developed a real following before the bitter end. Plus, it made her happy, even when we were nearly broke, and even when Dad’s income disappeared when he died.
Mom realized how short life could be. She decided she wouldn’t let it pass her by without crafting tasty treats guaranteed to make people smile.
Elle, my bestie, was always the one with her head in the clouds. A daydream believer from the minute she had her own fake marriage proposal.
I’ve always been the pragmatist because Ihadto be.
That’s called survival, and it’s served me pretty well in life.
Everything except—
Harry.
The man who hollowed me out, who left me helpless while my mother lost her final true love after Dad.
“I told you before, it’s not your choice. It’s my business, and I’m the only one who gets to call the shots.” I ball up my hands, feeling my nails biting my palms. “If I stand back and let you swing the sword, where am I? Where’s my fight? I have the most to lose!”
“You’re safe, dammit,” he growls.
“Not really. I’m hiding behind your money and your courage. I’m letting you think you know best.”
Just like every other rich guy in this city who’s used to throwing his weight around.
Those unspoken words bounce around the empty space between us, as reckless as stray bullets.
Brady takes a step back, pushing a hand through his hair.
“Shit, you’ve got this all wrong. I’m not stepping up because I want to control you, Lena.” His eyes are so conflicted. “I’m doing this toprotectyou. Can’t you see that? You told me what he did, that inhuman fuck. You think I should stand back and let him have open season?”
“My past. My life. My clinic. Mine to defend.”
For a second, we lock eyes, two distant hearts clashing across a chasm.
“Can we put the damn egos aside? Can you let me care?” he rumbles. “He’ll come for blood after I drew his, and so did you, swiping that land out from under him. You’ve won a battle, yeah, but it sure as hell isn’t the war.”
I swallow thickly, hating that he’s right.
He turns away, glancing at Queenie. His eyes are almost as sad as ours, and it hurts my heart.
“Look, I get why you want me out of the way,” he says after a second. “I know you’re passionate, you’re smart, but I just ...” He trails off.
I just don’t think it’s enough.
