I’m hurt. I’m pissed. This can’t be happening.
I deserve answers.
I turn to Finn, furrowing my brow, silently asking, What the actual fuck?
His smirk vanishes, his lips pinched when he shrugs.
“It’s cute how you discuss me as if I can’t see you.” Falk takes a sip of his steaming coffee.
Mason finishes his call and slides his phone into his pocket. He must see my scowl and realize how hurt I am since he doesn’t take a seat at the table.
He’s approaching me. He’ll want to comfort me while defusing the ticking bomb in the room. Falk and I are known for our fights. The whole house has heard us over the years.
Mason, the responsible adult, will try to divert my attention from his brother.
Not happening.
I’m not in the mood to be pacified or to lie down and take Falk’s crap.
He owes me better after last night. He owes me a mended heart.
“Are you fucking serious, Falk?” I stand at his side, my fingers digging into my hips.
He doesn’t look at me, pushing his breakfast plate far from him. “Language.”
“Fuck language.”
“Briar, please,” Mason says, though he doesn’t touch me.
He gets that I need to fix this. He has to get that once I became theirs in that sense, this stopped being about just me anymore. And since I’m the only one Falk has a problem with, it’s on me to shake him out of it.
Now.
I drag the chair closest to him and sit down.
“Falk.”
He cocks an eyebrow, staring straight ahead.
Refusing to give up, I grip his wrist.
The cashmere fabric of his black sweater is soft to the touch. My attitude is anything but.
“I asked are. You. Fucking. Serious?”
“About?” His voice raises a notch.
See if it deters me. “Being an asshole.”
Finn barks a laugh. Mason remains within a safe six-foot distance from the dining room table.
Falk finally tilts his head, his enraged gaze burning me. “I thought you liked it last night.”
“Falk,” Mason warns.
I put my hand up, signaling to him I have this. “I did. You were a sexy asshole. Then you said you’ve hated yourself for how you treated me.”
The infuriating man clenches his jaw.