Page 120 of Double Standards
“She swung first,” he says, almost proudly, like that excuses it.
Jesus Christ.
Trigger’s reckless when it counts, but this? This is a whole new level of stupid. We can’t afford heat right now. Not with Daniels still lurking and Chester aligning with Santos. Not with me half-broken and buried behind these walls.
“You sure she’s going to keep her mouth shut?” I ask.
He shrugs. “She’s got her own shit to deal with. I didn’t give her anything.”
That’s not a yes, and it sure as hell isn’t a no.
I exhale through my nose, pressure building behind my eyes. “You’re playing with fire, bro. That woman’s got something to prove. If she digs too deep?—”
“I know,” he cuts me off. “But she’s already too close. I just bought us time.”
I study him for a long time. He's fraying around the edges,more than he lets on. And now he's dragging another problem to our doorstep when we already have too many.
But the truth is, I get it.
He’s trying to hold this together the way I used to.
And it’s killing both of us in different ways.
Chapter Forty-One
The ride home is steeped in uncomfortable silence. I didn’t have it in me to argue when Hunter offered to drive me, so I slid into the passenger seat and let him take me back to Lexie’s. Twenty minutes later, I’m stepping out beneath the dim glow of the street lamps. My feet throb, and the night air clings to my skin like a second, colder layer.
“Thanks,” I murmur for the third time, arms wrapped tightly around my torso. He walks me to the front door, his presence almost shielding. It dulls the edge of my vulnerability, but not the quiet unease curled low in my gut.
“Stay safe, Cassie,” he calls out as I linger in the hallway, caught in the space between hesitation and retreat.
I watch him slide back into the driver’s seat, the door shutting with a soft thud. He doesn’t pull away. He just waits, eyes fixed on the porch until I climb the steps and disappear behind the door.
Moving toward the staircase, my heels click through the quiet hallway like a warning bell. Each step feels louder than the last as I approach the door.
I freeze.
The sight of the door ajar sends a jolt of fear through me, my breath catching in my throat. I stare, waiting for someone to lunge out of the shadows. My pulse spikes, heart climbing into my throat as heat crawls up the back of my neck.
“Lexie?” I whisper urgently, nudging the door open with the tip of my toe.
“In here!” she calls out cheerfully, and I let out a shaky breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
I step inside and stop short.
Chaos greets me like a slap to the face. Shards of glass scatter across the floor, flowers strewn in every direction. Water bleeds into the floorboards from a shattered vase. And there, crouched in the center of it all, is Lexie, quietly collecting the mess.
“What happened?” I gasp, wide-eyed as I take in the destruction.
She doesn’t answer. Just keeps mopping at the floor, her movements tight and clipped.
“Lexie?” I step closer, ignoring the crunch of glass beneath my shoes.
“It’s nothing,” she mutters, glancing up at me. There’s irritation in her tone, but her face tells another story. Her lip is split, the faint trace of blood catching the light.
“What happened to your lip?” I kneel down beside her, gently catching her chin between my fingers to examine the cut.
“I fell,” she lies, brushing me off with a shrug.
