Page 61 of Things We Burn

“Just came to ensure you’re okay,” Knox said.

“Got nine lives. You know that, brother,” Kane waved off his concern.

Knox’s lips were no longer turned up. “You’re fast runnin’ out of those.”

There was an uncomfortable moment before Knox said, “Avery, take care of him.” The request felt sacred somehow, like he trusted me.

“Of course,” I told him.

He nodded once, didn’t acknowledge Brax, then left.

Brax tried to stay. Tried to go over interviews he’d scheduled.

“Not doin’ any of that shit,” Kane interrupted him.

“Kane—”

“I’m not doin’ it,” Kane repeated, not hiding the impatience in his tone. “I’m tired. I’m getting too old for this shit. This,” he gestured to his arm which was in a cast, “is not gonna be a money grab. No publicity bullshit. I’m gonna stay in New York with Chef until I feel like going back.”

“But we’ve got the Winter Games. I’ve already got a physical therapist who said if we work hard, you’ll be in fine shape for them,” Brax pushed, splotches of red creeping up his neck.

“I don’t dofine,” Kane barked. “I do it when I want to. If my body is ready by then, it is. If it isn’t, then it isn’t. Ain’t pushing shit. Deal with it.”

The disdain in Kane’s tone was unmistakable.

It was shameful for Brax. To be dismissed. I didn’t know if that was something that happened often, but I doubt it since Kane was so easygoing. I knew it was doubly embarrassing to be shut down publicly, though, in front of me.

For a split second, Brax’s gaze shot to me, and I felt the pure loathing in it.

I remained placid, even though that made my fingertips numb.

Brax blamed me for this. However insane that was. When a man felt emasculated, he usually looked for the nearest woman to blame.

I made a mental note to be careful of Brax. He’d want to punish me for this.

He looked back to Kane, wearing a tight smile. “I’ll take care of it. You may want to take care of this.”

He threw down the rolled-up newspaper he’d been holding.

Kane was on the front page.

With me.

I widened my eyes in horror.

Then I looked up to Brax who now had a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“I’ll leave you both,” he said before turning on his expensive loafers and leaving.

I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was smiling because he’d landed a blow. One of many to come.

Kane grinned at the photo that was plastered on pretty much every news site—I’d found this out by frantically googling, noting all the missed calls from the restaurant and people who had seen it. I’d deal with that … later.

It was a picture of me. Me after pushing past every official and kneeling at Kane’s side, his arm reaching up to my face.

“Fucking love this photo,” he muttered.

I gaped at him. “You love a photo in which you are suffering from a ruptured spleen and narrowly escaped death?”

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