Page 120 of Sweet Surrender

“Because it eats at me every time I see you. Because I note your animosity toward me, and as much as I hate it, I think it should be a hundred times worse. You were just a kid stuck taking care of a severely mentally ill woman. That’s not right.”

“It is what it is.” I shrug but my usual go-to response feels hollow.

Nathaniel nods, his jaw tight. “Maybe next time you go to the shelter, you’ll tell me. I’d like to see her.”

Bitterness rises in my throat. I’ve put in the work. The hours. The pain. Why does he get to step in now?

“We’ll see,” I murmur.

“I understand,” he says quietly.

I hesitate, then murmur, “Thank you.”

“For?”

“You didn’t take care of me before, but you keep trying to now.”

He nods subtly. “It’s the least I can do.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you.”

Nathaniel exhales, shaking his head with a small smile. “Yeah, well . . . don’t get all sentimental on me.”

I snort, shaking my head as I push to my feet. His words are ringing in my head, though.

“This is why I became a lawyer. Because of you. To fight for people who didn’t have a voice.”

It’s not the first time I’ve seen Nathaniel show his heart toward me. But maybe it’s the first time I didn’t walk away from it and ignore him. He’s tried over the years to help, to talk, to heal, and it never felt possible.

But today for some reason, I want to believe there could be the other side to this. The weight of our past isn’t gone, but maybe—just maybe—it’s lighter. I’d always felt so abandoned by my brother. I used to cry myself to sleep when I was younger. Not because my dad didn’t choose me—my anger was too deep for that—but because I lost my brother that day. And life became exponentially lonelier from that day on.

“And I was your big brother. I was supposed to protect you, and I didn’t.”

How do I let go of that hurt? Because, fuck, for the first time, I want to.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Hendrix

The house is alive with noise and laughter when I walk through the front door. Music drifts in from the backyard, and I follow the sound, stepping onto the patio to find a crowd of about twenty or so people—men and women—in the pool, at the bar, or at one of the three tables set up for poker.

Jase and his bandmates all sit at the same table, drinks in hand and cards scattered across the surface.

The whole backyard is a lesson in people watching, but it’s Jase’s table that holds my attention.

It’s fascinating watching them interact—like a well-oiled machine built on inside jokes, competitive jabs, and an easy camaraderie that speaks of years spent together. I observe from afar as they rib each other mercilessly, and yet every word spoken is laced with affection.

I lean against the railing, quietly observing. Jase’s eyes find mine across the yard, and warmth settles in my stomach. With his simple smile at me, he’s invited me into their world.

This is his family. His world. And he’s allowing me to step into it. The gravity of that doesn’t go unnoticed by me.

“You gonna play, Hendrix?” Rocket calls out, raising an eyebrow. “Or should I say, Mrs. Rocket?”

Clearly, there’s a joke there that I don’t get. The four of them bark out in laughter and Jase throws something at him in disgust.

“Um. Not sure how I’m supposed to respond to that other than to—” I move toward them and hold up my ring finger and wiggle. The guys erupt in another fit of laughter and razzing. I yelp when Jase pulls me into his lap like I belong there, his arms lazily draped around my waist, and his warm breath on my skin as he nuzzles his chin on my shoulder.

“Hi, Mrs. Gizmodo,” he murmurs and presses a kiss to the side of my neck. My body heats at the intimacy of it.