Page 57 of Beautifully Savage Butterfly

“Any cousins named Pinocchio?”

“Don’t make me hurt you.” His threat doesn’t carry an ounce of weight, but I play along, forgetting my brother for half a second as I growl and drop Elio’s hand, then grab him by his tie before he has the chance to blink.

“I don’t think you want to play that game with me. I may have gotten my ass kicked tonight, but that just means I’m all the more frustrated and in need of an outlet,” I say, and he visibly shivers.

“What the fuck?” Jack says again, his tone more dark than amused. “Seriously, bro, what the actual fuck?”

I drop my grip on Elio, and he stumbles a little, then straightens his tie and steps towards my brother’s bed.

“I would apologize for your brother, but I assume you already know he’s a fucking heathen. I’m glad we’re getting the chance to meet now that you’re conscious and don’t have tubes sticking out every which way.” He’s all charm, grabbing a chair and pulling it over to Jack’s bed, then plopping himself down in it.

“You were at the hospital?” Jack frowns.

“Only once or twice. Your brother was worried about you.” He says it casually, but Jack still winces. If Elio notices the guilt that flashes over my brother’s face, he doesn’t draw attention to it. But he doesn’t linger on the topic either. “You must get sick of looking at these four walls day in and day out. You like football? I could get us all tickets to a game.”

Elio is trying way too hard to impress my brother, and goddammit, that too-big feeling is back inside of my chest, making me want to say embarrassing things.

Jack narrows his eyes suspiciously, his mouth curving downward into a frown.

“You think taking me to a football game is all it’s going to take for me to be okay with the idea of my brother dating a mobster?” He whips his gaze in my direction again, hurt and fear dancing in his eyes.

Elio leans back in the chair a little and crosses his ankle over his knee, silently assessing Jack for a second. “Would season tickets do it?” he barters.

My brother’s expression is stoic for a few seconds, then it cracks, and he cackles with what sounds like reluctant laughter.

“Dammit, you’re not supposed to be funny. You’re corrupting my brother, you prick.” Jack’s voice is raw, making my chest ache.

“Your brother is the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever met. I think you and I both know that he doesn’t do a fucking thing he doesn’t want to.” Elio looks over at me, his expression dripping with the same awed affection he always wears when I get rough with him. “And the last thing I want to do is corrupt him.”

“What do you want then?” Jack demands, his voice low and menacing, sounding every bit the protective older brother I thought died the night he was paralyzed.

“Whatever he’s willing to give me,” Elio answers. “This isn’t a game to me though.” He clears his throat, looking right at my brother still. “I love him.”

His words send an electric jolt through me. They root me in place and make my skin feel hot and cold at the same time. They ring in my ears, along with the steady thud of my pounding heart. Their conversation keeps going without any pause before I can find my footing and respond to his casual declaration.

“How…” Jack grits his teeth and shakes his head. “How the hell did the two of you even meet?” He glares at me again. “You did the one fucking thing you promised not to, didn’t you? You took out a fucking loan.”

Heat creeps into my cheeks and I nod. “I didn’t have a choice, man. I’m doing the best I fucking can, but…” I give a weak shrug and Jack’s rage crumples.

“But I’m a useless fucking lump, doing nothing but draining your bank account dry every month,” he finishes the sentence a hell of a lot more harshly than I ever would have.

“No,” I say firmly. “You’re my brother, and I would do any goddamn thing in the world to take care of you. The same way you put everything on the line to take care of me.”

His jaw ticks, and he lets his head fall back against his pillow fully. “I fucking hate this.”

“Me too.” I put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze, even though I know he can’t feel much.

Jack huffs and all three of us are quiet for several long minutes before my brother finally turns his attention back to Elio.

“I don’t get out much,” Jack responds to the offer for football tickets, glossing over the rest of the conversation to aim the spotlight instead at a point of contention we’ve gone back and forth over for years now.

“He lets his pride keep him stuck in this damn bed,” I explain roughly.

“I don’t need you pushing me around in a wheelchair like some kind of fucking invalid.” We’ve had the argument so many times, I know his lines by heart, and I’m sure he knows mine too.

“You’re my brother,” I growl for a second time.

“Exactly,” he snaps.

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