Page 31 of Against All Odds

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll be there with bells on.”

It’s the only time Brutus actually likes me. Anytime I say football, he’ll perk up, walk to the door, and allow me the privilege of his company. Otherwise, he just glares at me in the way only he can.

Lachlan and Miles head out while Killian and I finish tying our shoes.

“Do you want to grab a drink?” he asks.

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, if you don’t have plans.”

I shake my head. “Nope, no plans. Donna is with Mom for at least another two hours.”

“Perfect. I’ll meet you at the bar.”

This day is ending up exactly like I needed—Violet-free.

seven

Violet

I’m sitting on my lumpy bed, staring around the room, trying to decide which paint swatch I like better.

I’m debating between a cooler blue or a creamy beige with warmer undertones.

My grandmother had a very deep love for yellow, and while I understand it’s supposed to be a happy color, it just makes the house feel dirty.

It’s time for a refresh.

I purse my lips, tilting my head, and squint.

I think beige is the better choice. The wood accents in the house are warm, and I worry the blue will be too stark.

Yes, beige it is. Thankfully I bought a can of each, so I’ll use the blue in the bathroom and it won’t go to waste.

I hear Everett’s voice outside: “Brutus! Get back here, you dum-dum!”

It’s been a week since our dinner and the “almost kiss.” I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it and wondering what it would’ve felt like.

Would it be like coming home?

Would it feel awkward?

Would the feelings I thought I’d buried rise again?

I know that last one is true, because they already have.

I push the curtain back and see him walking toward the house. Without hesitating another second, I rush down the stairs, taking them two at a time, not wanting to waste the opportunity to see him.

I push out the back door, and a huge bulldog is sitting on my step. Since I’m rushing, I don’t have enough time to stop, so to avoid kicking him, I try to jump, but I misjudge and I’m going to hit the ground face-first.

Instead of slamming into the concrete, I hit a hard male chest, sending us both flying.

“Shit!” I say, and he makes an oof noise. “Are you okay? Oh my God, did you hit your head?” I ask quickly. His arms are around me, holding me to his solid chest and protecting me from the fall. I touch his face, checking for any signs of injury. “Anything hurt?”

“Just my pride,” he says, his voice strained.

I smile, staring down into his warm brown eyes. Everett looks like he hasn’t slept, there are dark circles under his eyes, and the scruff on his cheek looks maybe a day or two older than I’ve seen him wear it.

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