“Who the fuck are you?” Dex’s voice drops, rough and sharp, his body already shifting in front of me in a way that feels instinctive, like he’s putting himself between us without even thinking about it.
“Mason!” I step forward quickly, placing myself between them before this can turn into something worse, and even without looking, I can feel Dex behind me, still, watching, waiting.
“Her brother,” Mason growls, his eyes running over Dex, taking in everything, the way he stands, the way he holds himself, the hand that had been on my hip, and I see his jaw tighten.
I lift my hand and press it lightly against his chest before he gets too close.
“Mason… let’s talk, okay?”
His gaze flicks from me to Dex and back again, something sharp and protective settling there.
“Rocket,” he mutters.
“Not now,” I say softly.
“You got some explainin’ to do, Rocket.”
Yeah… I do.
I guide him to one of the tables, the scrape of chairs louder than it should be in the quiet bar as we sit, and before I can even ask anything, Dex is there, setting down sodas and a plate of nachos without a word, like he’s already decided Mason belongs here because he belongs to me.
Mason notices.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, really looking at him now, at the way he’s changed, broader, sharper, older.
“I missed you, Rocket.”
My chest tightens.
“I missed you too.”
He leans back, but the tension doesn’t leave him.
“Yeah, well… imagine getting a call at one in the morning from our mother telling me you’re whoring yourself out at a rodeo bar.”
The words land hard.
“Mase, you know not to trust a word that comes out of her mouth.”
“I do. But you’re all I’ve got left.”
That hits deep.
“When did you grow up and become someone I’m actually proud of?” I murmur.
He exhales.
“She saw you, didn’t she? Something happened.”
“She came by last night.”
“Where do you live?”
“Above the bar.”
“With him?”
“Yeah.”
