Page 19
The guilt and grief that used to drown him has loosened its grip, fading like a shadow at dusk. It is something my mother wakes up every damn day grateful for—hell, we all do. It isn’t just about him finding a sliver of happiness. It’s about getting our brother back—the brother we thought might’ve been lost to us forever.
“I swear, Maddox Cole, if you change the locks, you’ll be sleeping at your mama’s house,” I hear Evie hiss as I step toward the counter.
Her voice is low but lethal, sharp as broken glass, and it cuts straight through the low hum of the café.
“You need to rest, Evie,” Maddox fires back, his voice tight, lined with that desperate edge only fear can sharpen. “Stop taking on more than you can handle here, and put your fucking feet up.”
The words land with a thud between them. Concern, sure—but wrapped so tightly in frustration it only makes things worse. His tone never matches his heart, but it’s like he can’t hear himself sometimes.
I clear my throat and step forward. “Good mornin’.”
Evie turns toward me, hair slipping from her braids, her face flushed and tired. Not just tired. Bone-worn. The kind of exhaustion that comes from fighting the people you love.
I know that feeling. Know it too damn well.
She doesn’t miss a beat. “Henry, think I can convince the judge to pursue charges against him,” she says, jabbing a thumb behind her, “for breaking Trip Waller’s arm?”
I can’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “No, Eves. Maddox already paid his fine for that.”
She rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath that sounds like, “Should’ve aimed higher.” Then she turns back to Maddox. “You don’t get to control me just because I’m pregnant. I’m not broken.”
“I didn’t say you were,” he grounds out.
“You didn’t have to. You're acting like a warden instead of my husband.”
I see it then—just a flicker—the way his shoulders slump, how his hand twitches like he wants to reach for her but doesn’t know how. Maddox has never been good with soft things. He tries, though. God, he tries.
He loves her more than anything. That much is never in question. But love doesn’t always come out clean, and right now, he can’t see that trying to protect her so fiercely is starting to feel like a cage.
His voice softens, almost breaks. “Look at me, pretty girl,” he pleads, reaching toward her like the distance between them is suddenly too much to bear.
Slowly, I watch her turn and pin him with that unique gaze of hers. That one brown and one blue eye, reading him like a damn book. “Maddox, I love you, but this isn’t healthy,” she says, her voice a quiet plea. “Since you found out it’s a girl, you’ve been spiraling. She’s fine. I’m fine. Your therapist and I agree, you just need to enjoy this. Be present in this beautiful experience.”
Her hand gently places his on her belly, urging him to let go of the fear, to let the joy replace the panic. I watch, feeling like an intruder, unable to tear my eyes away from the tenderness and the pain between them.
I watch my brother soften like a damn stick of butter as she traces the scar across his lips. A twinge of jealousy rockets through me. I’d give my left nut to have what they have. To share that kind of love and watch my woman swell with my baby.
She reaches up as far as her swollen belly will allow before my brother folds and closes the distance between them. She places a chaste kiss to his lips, then pulls back slightly. “Also, I’ll be late tonight, I’m helping Allie finalize the grocery order.”
I watch Maddox mentally make a very stupid decision as she waddles off.
“I wouldn’t do it if I were you,” I warn him over my coffee.
He just shrugs. “She’ll get over it.”
“Okay, but when you find your ass cramped up on mama’s couch tonight, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Well, he didn’t end up at Mama’s.
At ten o’clock sharp, there’s a knock on my door—but not just a knock. More like a battering ram wrapped in frustration. I open it to find Maddox standing there, seething, chest rising and falling like he just went twelve rounds with Evie and lost every damn one of them.
Maddox stands there, jaw tight, fists clenched, looking like he’s one breath away from punching drywall. Doesn’t say a word. Just brushes past me, tension radiating off him like heat off pavement.
“Evening to you too,” I mutter, shutting the door behind him.
He drops into my armchair like gravity’s got a grudge, scrubbing a hand over his face. I can’t help the grin creeping up as I head to the fridge and grab two beers.
“Don’t,” he growls, already knowing it’s coming.
