Page 7 of Brothers' Brat

"Then what are you to me, Hudson?" she asks, her gaze searching mine for a truth I'm afraid to speak aloud.

"Complicated," I breathe out, the word feeling inadequate, but it's another misfortune because it's the only word I have right now.

"Complicated doesn't even begin to cover it," she retorts, but there's a tremble in her laugh, a vulnerability she rarely shows. "Leila," I start, the name a plea and a reprimand all at once. "Even when I'm mad, I—" My words falter because this isn't how I show anger. This delicate touch is not the roughness that we're accustomed to, yet it's what I crave.

"Stop," she whispers, but there's no force behind it, no real desire for me to withdraw.

"Can't," I admit, hating myself for the confession. "I hate that I want these small comforts with you." There's a softness in my voice that feels foreign, vulnerable.

"Then why do it?" Her question is valid, and the answer should be simple, but nothing about what the three of us have going on is simple.

"Because I need to," I say, finally giving her a whole truth. "And I hate that too."

The crackling flames from the wood stove cast dancing shadows across the cabin walls, painting a scene of rustic warmth that belies the tension knotting my insides. I can almost taste the smoky aroma mingling with the aged scent of timber and leather. Hayden stands beside me, our bodies rigid as we come face to face with our father as he finally turns around.

"Evening, boys," he greets us, his voice carrying the smooth, rich timbre that speaks of authority honed through years of Hillcrest legacy. His hand cradles a snifter of brandy, the amber liquid swirling with every deliberate step he takes back and forth in front of the fire.

"Father." The word feels tight on my tongue, a barbed acknowledgment. My gaze flickers to Leila, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, the defiance in her eyes doesn't quite reach her posture—shoulders slightly hunched, as if bracing for impact.

His eyes, twin pools of discernment, shift from Hayden to me and then to Leila, lingering on her just long enough to make the air between us all thicken. With a sigh that seems to pull from the depths of his being, he shakes his head ever so slightly before taking a deliberate swig from his glass.

"How badly did you hurt her this time?" His tone isn't accusatory, but the undercurrent of disappointment is unmistakable. It cuts deeper than any blade could.

"Leila can be… stubborn," I say, my voice unsteady. It's a feeble attempt to deflect from the truth of what we did tonight. The cemetery. The ice rink. Pulling over so I could choke her with my cock.

"Stubbornness isn’t the issue here, Hudson. And you know it." Dad pauses, fixing me with a look that frays the edges of my composure. "The longer you fight your feelings for her, the less you'll control your emotions. Your temper… with Leila, specifically."

"The fucking curse isn't real. She buys into that bullshit because of you and the shit you say, and that’s why she won't just—" Hayden mutters, shifting uncomfortably next to me. His fingers twitch, the same way they do when he's itching for a fight or a puck to slam into the net.

"Watch your tone, Hayden." Father's reply is terse, and he sets his jaw, a clear sign that he expects better from us.

I swallow hard, torn between the urge to defend our actions and the weight of guilt that anchors my feet to the floor. We've been rough, too rough, and it gnaws at me even as the need for Leila coils tightly against me. She doesn't like when Hayden and Dad argue, mostly because it's like throwing gas on fire with the two of them.

"We're trying. We're sorry," I mumble, barely audible over the snap and hiss of burning logs. The word feels foreign and unfamiliar.

"Apologies are a start." Father's words are clipped, but his gaze softens marginally as he turns back to the flames, watching them consume the wood.

In the silence, I feel the heat of Leila’s presence, the magnetic pull she exerts without even trying. Another sip of brandy disappears down Father's throat, and I sense the unspoken warning in the action: we are treading on thin ice, and it's cracking beneath our feet.

CHAPTER 6

HUDSON

"Would have been here sooner, but we had to drag Leila off the ice. You know how much she loves hockey," Hayden's voice cuts through the tension, his silhouette framed against the frosted windows of the cabin. "It was a nice little game of two-on-one." He smirks at me when I start shaking my head. If anyone knows how to make a situation worse, it's Hayden Hillcrest.

Leila's laugh is sharp and so biting that it pierces the silence that follows. Her eyes, bright with defiance, meet our father's. "They tied me up in Christmas lights and shot pucks at my face," she says, the words coated with scorn.

I watch as Hayden pours himself a drink, the amber liquid catching the firelight. His glare fixes on her as he lifts the glass, the muscles in his jaw clenching. "None of them came close to hitting you," he retorts.

Father's gaze shifts between us, his disappointment tangible. "Cut it out, Hayden," he commands, a note of finality in his voice. I feel Leila's hand still clasped in mine, her pulse racing against my skin. It's a connection that burns, searing and undeniable.

He clears his throat, and I can tell he's about to fill us in on what's supposed to happen tonight. "I canceled Christmas Eve with the family," he says, his eyes darting briefly to our entwined hands before settling on the dancing flames. "The rest are celebrating elsewhere."

Hayden and I exchange a look, unspoken questions passing between us. Father continues, "I arranged this. Wanted you two… alone with her." His meaning hangs in the room, heavy as the logs crackling in the stove.

Alone. The word echoes in my mind. The cabin, once our sanctuary, now feels like an arena where our desires will most definitely clash, unchecked and dangerous.

"The two of you are going to convince her to be more agreeable, or I'm going to have to step in. I don't want to get another call about you storming around campus and dragging her around like she's your ragdoll." Father's voice pulls me back, and I nod, the action automatic, but my thoughts are a whirlwind.

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