Page 42 of My Ex's Brothers

“You’ve gone on how many interviews? Your car just shit the bed, and you’re stretched thin with Lyla as it is and don’t tell me you’re not.”

The nerve of this man. Seriously, who does he think he is?

I cross my arms, firing a glare at him.

“I am not,” I say, but even I can hear the weakness in my words.

Richie raises one eyebrow. “Our house isn’t all that far from our parents. Between the three of us, and them, you’d have no shortage of help with Lyla, and not to mention we could take you wherever you need.”

“I can’t do that,” I tell him, shaking my head. Panic builds up within me. It’s too much. I can’t?—

“Can’t or won’t?” Rich says, his gaze imploring.

“I can’t be a burden like that. Not to you, or your brothers or—” My voice cracks as the words between us echo in the air.

My mind wanders back to Florida, to being alone. Alone while Dex was off at practice, or alone during games…

So many times I’d wished my parents could have stayed longer than the week they visited after Lyla was born. Before everything went to shit…

I hate to admit that Rich is right, that I am struggling. It’s one thing to know that yourself, but another to say it out loud, and I am not in the market for anyone’s sympathy or charity. I can make my own way, and I will. For me and my daughter. I don’t want to be beholden to anyone again, not after Dex’s betrayal…

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Amelia. That’s an excuse.”

“You are an asshole,” I tell him, fighting back tears. “I’m not some thing you can just boss around and?—”

“Maybe I am. But I’m not a liar, and you know I’m right.”

That’s when the waitress thankfully comes with our check, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I pull up my phone, fuming as I try to queue up an Uber, but Rich only grabs my phone, plucking it right from my hands.

“Hey!” I yell, but I watch as he swipes off of the app before locking it and stuffing it in his back pocket. He glares at me, that steady gaze back and full force. I feel like I can’t move, even if I wanted to. Something about that stare, that gaze…it’s stern, commanding.

The kind of look that says, “Try me and see what happens.”

“I told you I’d take you home. I’m taking you home. I’m not risking you getting fucking assaulted or kidnapped by some stranger.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” I say, but he shrugs.

“I’ll take it, if it means you’resafe.”

The waitress brings back his card and some boxes for our food, and I am so flabbergasted I can’t even begin to speak. Though every part of me wants to tell him off, there’s a part of me, even if it’s small, thatlikesthe authority in his voice, the authority of his demand.

It’s simple.

“Fine,” I say begrudgingly as I load up my take-out box. When I get up, he’s right next to me, his hand on the small of my back, his heat surrounding me. I look up at those amber eyes, expecting to see fire and brimstone if his gravelly command is anything to go by, but that’s not what I see at all.

Instead, I see a softness that should not be there, not one bit.

It’s almost…understanding.

I swallow harshly as he says, “Good girl.”

Every nerve in my body snaps to attention once more, just at the sound of those two words. My gaze dips to his lips, then back to his eyes, and he moves closer just a fraction. Close enough that I can smell his heady cologne and feel the warmth of his breath on my skin.

“You don’t have to fight me, you know,” he says softly, the chili lights casting an orangey-red glow on him. Beneath them it’s hard to see the gray in his hair, or the creases at his eyes. Underneath them, for a moment, it’s almost like he’s someone else. Someone familiar but also…new.

“I don’t want to fight with you, Rich,” I tell him, and it’s the truth. He nods.

“Then don’t,” he says simply as he gently pushes me toward the exit.

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