Page 25 of My Ex's Brothers

“And I’m a big boy. I can handle it. I can handleyou.”

I want to argue with him, to tell him that the fact he thinks he can handle it just proves he can’t. That he is too immature, too…something.

But his attention feels good. Too good, and so when he kisses me again, harder, faster, I let him. I let him slide his tongue into my mouth and pull me close against him.

And then, just like a mermaid swimming by, the moment is gone.

“Let’s get you home, Mamma Mia. I think it’s past your bedtime,” he says, the sound going straight to my core.

I blink as he leads me to the passenger door, opening it for me.

I take one look to check that Lyla is still passed out in the back seat as he gets in the driver’s seat. Neither of us say a word as he turns the car on, nor do we speak when he settles his hand on my thigh.

And as I lean back in the seat, I feel a wave of exhaustion hit me. The next thing I know, he’s shaking me awake.

“Shit, I must’ve fallen asleep, I?—”

“It’s okay,” he says, and I realize he’s holding Lyla in her carrier.

“Next time, we’ll have you back before sundown, baby,” he says with a smirk.

8

DANE

There’s beena weird tension between me and my brothers all week, and I’m pretty sure I know what the cause is. Or rather, who.

Though none of us seem to want to talk about it, I know we need to.

I’ve tried to keep my distance, knowing she needs space, but I can’t help myself when it comes to her. Which is exactly how I ended up on her doorstep last week, under the guise of “being in the neighborhood” and bringing her coffee, along with asmallbox of stuff for Lyla. Nothing major…just…some clothes. Toys. Books…

All week I’d been trying to work the nerve up to show up and talk to her about her…situation.

Tripp had mentioned her card declining at the grocery store, and Richie mentioned running into her on a job interview, the very one I had stepped up to babysit for. Though, he hadn’t heard from her regarding said interview, even though he told me he was more than clear that he wanted to hear from her either way and she had promised to keep him in the loop.

But I know Amelia. She’s quiet, reserved. Like me. And over the last year, she’s mostly kept to herself, especially where my brother is concerned. But I get it, self-preservation and all. And a habit like that is hard to break.

Neither Richie or Tripp are the type to coax out information. They’re about as subtle as a hurricane. Which is why I know we need to talk about this whole situation and figure out a solution that works forallof us.

Because there is no way I am letting the mother of my niece, the woman I’ve been in love with for far too long, struggle to do this on her own.

My brother should have taken responsibility for his actions, should have taken care of her and their child. But he’s clearly not a respectable man, not like everyone thought he was, anyway.

I also know Amelia well enough to know that we need to tread lightly. The whole thing’s sensitive. She’s determined, and I love that about her. And I have no doubt she’ll attain the goals she sets, but right now…

Right now is the thick of it, and she needs support, even if she is resistant to the idea.

Even if she is hellbent onprovingherself.

I take a long drink from my water bottle as Tripp does another round of slap shots. Richie leans back, rubbing his neck with a grimace. I know he won’t say anything, but I know this job is getting harder for him. He’s not old by any means, but in this sport, our bones are often older than we are, thanks to the beating we give them.

The last few years, since his divorce, he’s slowed down a lot, even though he pushes himself. I’ve told him time and time again that he needs to take care of himself, but Richie doesn’t like anyone telling him what to do. He’s stubborn like that. Him and Dex have that in common.

I watch as Tripp makes his last shot, letting out a breath. “Any word on whether or not Amelia got the job?” I ask as Tripp skates around the rink. Backward, because he’s such a fucking show-off.

I like Tripp, really I do. I wouldn’t let him live with me while he goes to college if I didn’t.

But his energy level is always at a twenty, and I feel like I need two shots of espresso to keep up with the kid. One of these days, when he does land a pro gig—which he will, because he’s got the skills—he’s going to tear the ice and hearts up.

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