Page 7 of Cannon
“How come?” I look up from reading Cannon’s texts and narrow my eyes on him.
He glances away for a few seconds, and that’s when I know we’re really in trouble. We don’t keep shit from each other, and it totally feels like he’s hiding some aspect of their interaction.
“Cannon.” His name comes out of my mouth like a goddamn bullet.
He huffs out a harsh breath, snapping his gaze to mine. Wetting his lips, he shoots us another text, practically jabbing at the screen with his thumbs.
I spoke to her.
Archer’s head pops up from where he’d been reading, and his eyes bug out. He shifts around, staring a hole into the side of Cannon’s head. “I’m sorry. What the fuck did you say?”
Cannon grits his teeth and drops his head as he stares down at the phone screen, his thumbs moving fast over the keyboard again. I let several pings of notifications come through before I bother to look because I can tell he’s going on a fucking tear about whatever happened.
She wouldn’t eat, and I tried to explain why it was important.
You know, with my phone.
She reminded me that she isn’t supposed to be using her phone.
So, I fucking told her she needs protein and omega-3s for concussion recovery.
I raise my brows, gauging his state of irritation. “Wow. Okay.”
Cannon shakes his head, his jaw tight as he holds up his finger and sends another couple texts.
Then she got mad because
I wouldn’t say anything else.
And get this.
SHE refused to talk to ME.
Archer huffs out an odd, disturbed chuckle. “Fuck. Well”—he pauses to run his hand through his already artfully mussed hair—“she hasn’t been one to back down yet. Not on anything we’ve asked of her. She’s fucking smart. And as tough as nails to have put up with the things that’ve happened to her since she moved in. I’d even go as far as to say… whatever her life was like at home? It’s made her the badass person she is today. She’s a constant fucking surprise. She’s kept us guessing at every turn. And I don’t see that changing anytime soon. It’s what I like about her.”
Cannon nods in agreement of Archer’s assessment.
I bite down on my lip, pondering their view of her. Would my assessment be the same as if I didn’t know about the way she used to cut her thighs as a way to relieve the pressure she so clearly experienced in the past? I tip my beer up again, draining it.
And the thing is, sheisfucking strong to have come through that. But it also means she could be treading a very fine line between being fine ornot.I should know. I could have sworn Juliette was doing okay until I found her.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a few seconds, unwilling to spiral again. I can’t help Juliette. But I’ll be damned if I don’t at least look out for Elliot.Fuck.Or maybe I need to reevaluate how I handle things with her. At this point, would taking a step back from her do more harm than good? I felt close to her today. Closer than close. We understood all the broken, cracked pieces of the other. What she and I experienced today was similar to how these two understand me… only she gets it on a more personal level.
Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes to find my friends staring at me, concern slashing across both of their faces. They don’t even know the half of it. Letting my eyes wander in the direction of the basement stairs, I can hear our brothers talking down there, but can’t make out the topic of conversation. “Anyway, my whole point of telling you that she was asleep was that I didn’t get to rehash any of this mess with her. But—”
“I think we have a pretty good handle on it, don’t you?” Archer cocks a brow at me.
I shrug, not altogether sure of anything. Chewing on my lip, I make a snap decision. “Fuck it. I don’t intend to get specific with these asshats, anyway. It’ll be more effective if they don’t quite know what we know.”
“Right. If they happen to give up more information than we have, that’s fine.” Archer leans forward, snatching his glass from the coffee table and throwing back whatever amber liquid he’s been drinking—probably my honey whiskey again—before he pushes himself to stand. “Let’s do this.”
I grab the back of my neck and hiss out, “Fuckers,” before following with Cannon, silent at my side.
* * *
When Archer,Cannon, and I appear downstairs, it’s obvious that the remainder of the brotherhood, minus Elliot, have been carefully finding ways to amuse themselves this evening, too nervous to do anything that might raise our ire. They aren’t dumb. They are fully aware of the storm brewing in this house.
One by one, each of them turns from the movie they’ve supposedly been watching—but have more likely been using as a cover for their conversations—to follow us with their eyes as we file around the large couch and stop in front of the TV.
