Page 34 of Little Buried Secrets

I gave Grant a look that I hoped would compel him to say nothing more.

It wasn’t his place to interfere.

Bronte wasn’t his daughter.

“Are you freaking kidding me right now, Grant?” Bronte said. “Don’t you dare tell me what to say or not to say. Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m your mother’s boyfriend,” Grant said. “She’s going through a lot right now, and the last thing she needs is you coming in here and upsetting her.”

“I’ve been through a lot too,” Bronte said.

“We all have,” Grant said. “This isn’t just about you.”

Oh, Grant.

Shut up.

Quit before you make it worse than you already have.

Bronte clenched her fists and stepped toward the man. “You shouldn’t be here. You’re not family.”

Grant reached out, grabbing Bronte’s shoulders, and shaking her. “Now you listen to me, kid …”

Sebastian started walking toward them.

I stepped in front of him and faced Grant.

“Take your hands off Bronte right now,” I said through gritted teeth.

Grant should have heeded my warning, but he didn’t.

Instead, he said, “She’s upsetting her mother.”

“Stop it, Grant,” Rae pleaded. “Please. You’re making things worse.”

“Don’t you see what she’s doing, Rae?” Grant said. “Don’t you see how she treats you? How she talks to you? I can’t stand for it.”

And I couldn’t stand for his mitts being on Bronte any longer.

I grabbed one of Grant’s arms, wrenching it behind his back as I clamped my other hand on the back of his neck, thrusting him down the hallway. He tried to resist, but I persisted. I got him out the front door and gave him a shove. He tripped, falling over himself.

Looking at him now, I could admit that I’d shoved him a skosh harder than I’d intended, but Grant didn’t have much meat on the bone. He was lucky I hadn’t done worse.

I closed the door behind me and reached out a hand, offering to help him up.

He refused to take it, which came as no surprise.

“You need to leave,” I said.

“I think you broke my arm.”

He sounded like a whiny child.

“No, I didn’t,” I said. “It’s sprained, at best. It’s not my fault you tripped over yourself.”

“I tripped because you shoved me.”

“I gave you a chance to take your hands off Bronte. You didn’t listen. You’re not a child. You don’t get a warning and a count of three before I act.”

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