It’s not.
A voice that sounds suspiciously like the brat’s floats through my mind.
Keep telling yourself that, Wylder. Maybe you’ll start to believe it.
3
WYLDER
Tonight is game night. Which means two things are happening.
Chaos.
And noise.
I wince at the cacophony around me, my fingers drumming on the table. Before Matthias and Wyatt embarked on their ruse of a marriage, these nights were held monthly. Wyatt’s brother, Jackson, pushed for us to make them weekly events. He insisted it’d bring us closer together as siblings, as well as make him and Wyatt feel more like part of the family.
I hemmed and hawed, citing our busy schedules, but once Cade and Harley got wind of the suggestion, there was no stopping it.
I was forced into this, much to my dismay.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy game night. It was my idea in the first place. A time when we could be ourselves without any expectations. Where we could bond without blood and violence involved.
Well, in theory.
The reality is slightly different. We’ve been sitting here for less than five minutes, and Samson is clutching his bleeding nose while Dalton is cursing at him.
“Honestly, when did your head get so hard?” Dalton asks, shaking his hand out and wincing.
“Since when did you get so soft?” Samson spits.
I sigh, my fingers tapping the table faster. We haven’t even started playing yet, so it’s only going to get worse. Usually, I don’t mind these shenanigans. Usually, I enjoy encouraging them. Game night is one of the rare occasions where I stretch my monster’s leash. Not much, but enough for me to retain my sanity.
It was my retreat. My haven. My safe space.
Emphasis on thewas.
With the blue-haired addition beside me, it’s become yet another area of stress for me. I just can’t relax with him here. If I give my monster an inch with Neo in the room, he’ll take the whole fucking mile.
It’s not just that, either. It’s how Neo seems determined to drive me crazy with every single action. Right now, my left eye is twitching at how he’s balancing on the back two legs of his chair. He has no respect for the craftsmanship put into these damn things.
“Stop that.”
He peers over at me, leaning back a little more. “Stop what? I’m literally just sitting here.”
He leans back another inch, and my skin crawls. And then he winks at me.
My eye twitches more rapidly in response.
Grabbing the seat of his chair, I slam it forward. “There.Nowyou’re just sitting.”
Neo rolls his eyes. “Jesus, dude. You need to relax. I’m not going to break one of your precious chairs.”
“He just loves them because he put these together,” Harley says. “Spent hours fiddling with that little wrench and cursing. I’ve never seen him so upset.”
“And whose fault is that?” I ask. “You smashed the one we’d had for decades and threw the other out the window.”
Harley snorts. “One was on fire, the other needed to be acquainted with Samson’s legs.”
