Chapter 162

“I don’t need you,” I say.

He smirks. It seems to say, You’re here, aren’t you?

Overconfident bastard.

He’s so confident he doesn’t even acknowledge my comment, other than his smirk. He just lets my words linger out there in the open. And the longer they hang there, the more ridiculous they seem.

Truthfully, maybe I just wanted to snap back and distance myself from my feelings. That Beau would prioritize me over his hookups makes my heart speed up a little. My silly, hopeful heart that somehow wants to matter to these brothers more than it should.

Beau is a playboy. That’s what he is. To want something else from him is not just totally hopeless, it’s asinine.

Even to want him romantically at all puts my heart in great danger. He enjoys his passing fancies, his flavors of the month. Then, when he’s had his fill, he moves on to the next.

We’ve been intimate a couple of times. That makes me this month’s flavor. But I cannot allow myself to believe that I’ll ever be anything more than that.

This act – prioritizing me – makes me feel like he cares just a little more. It’s a dangerous prospect.

Maybe I can reframe it in my brain. No, we’re not lovers exactly, but we could be friends.

We are friends, right? I’ve never been as unsure of anything as I am with my status in the eyes of the Hayes brothers.

“Well, don’t just stand there in the hallway. Come in.”

Beau steps back from the door and lets me inside. There aren’t many places to sit so we both perch on the edge of his bed. He sits a respectable distance away. It feels like it’s a mile away.

“Beau,” I say, mostly to give myself time to gather my bravery to ask what I want to ask.

He tilts his head slightly. I know he’s listening.

“Are we friends?” I ask.

Beau’s brows go up. “Did you think we weren’t?”

“I don’t know…”

He leans into me, quickly closing that canyon between us. He bumps his shoulder against mine and just like that, we are connected again. My insecurities vanish. Of course, we’re friends. The Hayes brothers are just allergic to voicing their true feelings out loud. Or any feelings, for that matter.

Because he’s Beau, he flashes me a sharp-edged smirk. “I wouldn’t mind being friends with benefits.”

“Yeah,” I say. I’ve been thinking about that too. I wouldn’t be in danger of losing my heart with Beau. He’s so upfront with his sex-only attachments that if I were to catch feelings for him, I would only have myself to blame.

“Yeah?” he asks, that smirk becoming a grin. “You mean that?”

I do. Whether from his hefty experience or innate ability, Beau is fan-freaking-tastic in bed. And I’ve only experienced the very top of the iceberg of his talents. I wouldn’t mind seeing more.

But.

Now really isn’t the time.

“Let’s talk about this again when Neil is home and safe,” I say.

Beau nods his assent. His grin dims slightly in his worry. “I won’t forget it, though.”

“Good,” I say. “I don’t want you to.”

After leaving Beau’s room, I return to my own for the night. As soon as I open the door, I startle.

Someone else was in here. Most of my belongings are carelessly stuffed into boxes that are now littered across the floor.

There’s shuffling in my closet. Someone is still here.

Hands clenched into fists, I rush over to the closet, ready to fight.

Inside, Wyatt is yanking my clothes off the hangers and shoving them into green trash bags meant for yard waste. I should have known it would be him, but with everything else going on, I didn’t have time to give my errant step-brother much thought.

“What the hell are you doing?” I snap. I hurry into the closet and attempt to tug the bag away from him. He holds fast to the other side. Between our two holds, the bag tears down the side and my clothes spill out onto the floor.

“What am I doing? What are you doing?” Wyatt growls.

“This is my room! These are my things!”

“I mean, what the hell are you still doing here?” Wyatt’s face is contorted in fury. “You have to know that Neil is only in the hospital because of you. Because of your continued presence here. If you would just get the fuck out, then everything would go back to normal.”

“What do you know about anything?” I already feel guilty enough. I don’t need his help feeling worse.

“You are just a plaything to these guys,” Wyatt says, venom dripping from his voice. “That’s all you’ve ever been. And a whore shouldn’t overstay her welcome!”

“I’m not a whore!”

“Neil is simply too nice to kick you out.” Wyatt’s viciousness is relentless. “He’s trying to wait it out for the sake of the contract, and you are killing him.”

“I’m not,” I say firmly, but the words whisper to my self-doubt. Have I been fighting Neil hard enough? Is there more I could do? Maybe I should just leave?

But no. No, that would hurt Neil, I’m sure of it. I told him I would stay, and I can’t go back on that now. He told me he would survive this, and I have to trust that.

But I can’t stop thinking about walking into his room and finding him on his bathroom floor.

When he told me he would survive this, was that merely his pride doing the talking?

What if he actually dies?

“You are,” Wyatt says. “And when he dies, it will be your fault. They should try you for murder.”

I’m not the one who put the silver in Neil, but I am the one keeping it there. If I leave…

No. No, I can’t betray Neil’s trust like that.

“Get out,” I say, quiet as I bite back my rage.

Wyatt just keeps baiting me. “You are such a –”

“Get out!” I shout now, fury breaking through. “Get the fuck out of here, Wyatt!”

Wyatt snorts at me. “Fine. But you should do us all a favor and go back under the rock you crawled out from.”

He shoulder-checks me on his way out of the closet. I follow him to make sure he actually leaves.

Once he’s actually gone, I look around at the wasteland of brown boxes that has become my bedroom. Looking inside one, I realize half this stuff isn’t even mine. It’s just decoration from the room. Wyatt doesn’t even know me well enough to know what I’d want to take with me if I left.

I reach into the boxes and pick up a few items to place back on the shelf.

I’m half-way standing, leaning over a box, when I notice a new figure standing in the doorway.

Archer.

Archer? Shouldn’t he be at the hospital?

He looks around the room, taking in the boxes, and his face gets more and more angry.

I think he’s about to chase down Wyatt and give him a piece of his mind. That’d be great, the asshole needs, at the very least, a verbal thrashing for this.

Instead, Archer turns his fiery eyes on me. Snarling, he says, “This is how you treat Neil’s sacrifice?”