Page 32 of From the Wreckage
I roll my eyes, trying to appear normal. “Dad. I’m not a kid,” I mutter, hoping he doesn’t notice the tension in my shoulders or my stiff spine.
He chuckles, but it fades, turning into a frown when he looks at the table. “Shit. I forgot the butter. I’ll be right back.”
The second he leaves the dining room, Joey starts. “So, Bri,” he says, his tone light but his sharp eyes on me. “Remember last winter when you begged me to drive you home in the snowstorm? You’d be lost without me.”
“I remember it,” Meghan says, smirking.
Heat crawls up my neck. The way he says it, like I’m helpless and should be grateful he saved the damsel in distress. Meghan’s smugness isn’t helping anything.
Everett’s jaw flexes. “She doesn’t need anyone to save her. She’s stronger than you’ll ever give her credit for.”
Joey’s grin slips. His voice is low, meant for me, while his eyes remain fixed on Everett. “You’re only strong when you’ve got someone propping you up.”
Something ugly twists in my stomach. I’ve never seen him like this before—sharp and mean. Not until tonight.
I’m too stunned to say a word.
Everett’s voice is a quiet growl. “Say something like that again, and we’ll have a problem.”
Joey bristles, his lips parting like he’s about to fire back, but Dad returns with the butter, setting it on the table before dropping into his seat, completely oblivious to the tension in the room. Joey’s golden boy mask snaps back into place so fast it makes me dizzy. His voice is smooth, easy. “These steaks are amazing, Mr. Kincaid.”
Tom returns from the restroom, and Anita isn’t far behind, a wide smile on her face. “I hope you like dessert. It’s your favorite.” She smiles at me, and I give her a sickly one in return, my stomach churning from the tension in the room.
Dinner carries on, but I can barely taste a thing. Between Everett’s silent seething across from me and Joey’s Jekyll-and-Hyde act, I feel like I’m walking a tightrope over fire. I smile when Dad looks at me. I laugh at Tom’s jokes. But inside, I’m fraying.
When the meal ends, I excuse myself, mumbling about needing to use the bathroom. Instead, I slip out the back door, the evening air cool against my heated skin.
I’m standing by the railing, staring at the lake, when I hear footsteps behind me. I look over my shoulder, frowning when I see Joey.
“What are you doing out here?” I start to walk away, but he holds up a hand.
“Bri, wait.” His eyes plead with me. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” There are so many things he should be sorry for, but I doubt we’re on the same page.
“I shouldn’t have said what I said in there.” He’s standing too close to me, making me uneasy. I take a step back, but he moves with me. “It’s just... You’re too sensitive sometimes.”
His words spark a fire inside me. “Seriously. That’s what you want to say to me? That I’m too sensitive.” My voice gets higher, full of disbelief and anger.
His brows lower. “It’s true.”
I stare at him, realizing something for the first time—it’s not even worth arguing with him.
“I’m done, Joey. This… whatever it is. It’s over.” I try to walk past him, but his hand closes around my wrist.
“Let go.” I struggle, trying to pull free, but his grip is like iron shackles, making me wince.
“Not until you calm down,” he snaps, yanking me closer. Pain shoots up my arm.
“Stop—” My voice breaks, fear sparking in my chest.
I spot Everett behind Joey seconds before he’s torn away from me, releasing me from his grip. Everett’s hand grips Joey’s shirt as fury rolls off him in waves. “Don’t you ever put your hands on her again,” Everett snarls, his chest heaving from repressed rage.
The back door bangs open. “What the hell is going on out here?” Dad’s voice booms.
Everett releases Joey and takes a step back, fighting to regain control. Joey straightens, smoothing his shirt like nothing happened. I clutch my sore wrist, blinking back tears.
Everett’s voice is a low snarl. “He was hurting your daughter.” He nods at Joey. “I intervened.”
