“She was standing five feet away.”
“Fuck,” Gator breathes.
“She knows you were just talking Amy down, right?” Bash asks.
I drag both hands down my face. “I don’t know what she knows. She’d barely look at me after Amy pulled the trigger.” I drop my hands and stare at the amber liquid in my glass. “Then she got in Brooklyn’s car and left.”
The table is quiet for a beat.
“You said that to keep her alive,” Bash says carefully. “Any woman with half a brain knows that.”
“June’s got more than half a brain,” I fire back, fury rising in my chest. “But she’s also got a deadbeat dad who walked out on her when she was a kid, and a mother who talks mad shit to her at every turn.” I swallow hard, the realization crystallizing as I say it out loud. “So when the man who’s barely got a foot in the door with her says some bullshit, it’s gonna hit differently.”
The stone in my gut grows heavier. I didn’t just say the wrong thing—I said theexactthing that would confirm every fear June has ever had. That men leave. That she’s not enough. Fuck.
“Shit,” Gator sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.
Bane leans back, arms crossed, studying me. “Oh boo-fucking-hoo.”
My brows hit my hairline. “The fuck?”
“You heard me, pussy. Quit your crying and go get her. Throw her over your shoulder if you have to. Bring her ass home, and tie her up until she understands.”
Bash slowly turns his head, giving Bane a wide-eyed stare. “Normal people don’t kidnap women, bro.”
Bane shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “Worked for me.”
I can’t help but snort into my drink. “Frankie swung a crowbar at you.”
“Louisville Slugger,” Bane corrects, like that makes a lick of a difference. “And she apologized. Eventually.”
“After she rang your bell,” Bash adds dryly.
“Love is complicated.” Bane grins before taking a sip of his whiskey.
I would laugh if I didn’t feel like my chest was going to cave in. “I’m not kidnapping her.”
“Then what’s the plan?” Bane asks slowly, like I’m an idiot for not going with his plan.
“I don’t have a fucking plan.” I throw back my shot and pour another. “I don’t know how to plan—” I wave my hand vaguely. “—feelings and relationship shit.”
“Clearly,” Bash mutters under his breath.
I shoot him a look. “You’re one to talk. Why haven’t you gone to Nashville to bring Hattie Lynn home?”
Bash’s jaw ticks, and the temperature at the table drops about ten degrees. “She’s getting married,” he growls.
“Touch-y,” Gator sing-songs.
“I will end you,” Bash rumbles, shooting daggers at him.
Hattie Lynn is a hot button topic for him. They were a thing all through middle school and high school. They were labeled Odin’s Most Likely to marry, have a litter of babies, and live happily ever after. Clearly things changed, seeing as she’s now acountry music superstar in Nashville, and is engaged to an NFL quarterback.
“Look, brother.” Bane pours another round for everyone. “You’ve got two options. One, you give her the space she’s asking for, and hope like fucking hell she comes back. Two, you go over there, get on your fucking knees, and tell her you’re a dumb fuck and you messed up. Three, throw her over your shoulder and lock her ass up until she sees reason. And four?—”
“That’s more than two options,” Gator says, looking confused.
Bane waves him off, then turns to me. “You love her?”
