Page 30 of Stepbrother Dearest

I kept quiet.

“They were drunk and sloppy. I would have been fine, but one of their buddies threw a bottle at me and they got me on the ground. The rest of the staff came out and broke things up. My manager let them go and blamed me.”

“He blamed you for saving a woman and being beaten by a group of drunks?”

“You might have noticed I have a bit of a temper. I’m not violent. I don’t put hands on people unless I have no choice. I guess he figured it would be easier to pretend I was the problem and not cause issues at his business.”

“Jesus. No wonder you raged out.”

“Oh, that’s not why I got pissed.” He laughed bitterly. “That’s just the perfect example of my life. Even when I do the right thing, I still get fucked.”

“What made you so angry?”

“My bosses didn’t want me to go to the hospital. Two of my coworkers took me. One of them texted this morning that my bosses had my car towed after we left.”

My jaw hinged open. “The fuck?”

“Yeah. The club is closed until Friday, so it’s not like they needed the space. It was a power move. But anyway. Before Zane told me about my car, I was texting with my friend Nick and it turns out our manager has been skimming our tips. We’re contractors, and our only pay is our tips. Most of us have other jobs because the club is usually only open Friday and Saturday nights.”

“That’s…so fucked up.”

“It is. The last thing Nick told me was that we were all fired and they were closing the club.” He rubbed his good hand through his hair. “I can’t lose this job. My last gig ended a week ago and I haven’t been able to find anything new. Ijustmoved into my new place. My landlady is awesome and my rent is way under market value, but I have bills to pay and without a job, I’m going to end up right where I was.

“And this”—he wiggled his hurt arm—“just fucks things up even more. How can I work when I can’t even walk? Even taking a few days off could be the difference between paying my rent or ending up living in my car again.”

I sat back in my chair, my mind reeling as the gravity and precariousness of Graham’s situation hit.

I didn’t know much about his personal life. Only what his father told me, or I heard from my mom. The way Russ talked about him, I’d thought Graham was living the high life. According to him, Graham was playing the field and making bank as an entrepreneur. Was Russ the liar, or was Graham lying to his dad?

What about the stuff I’d heard about his little brother—was Eliot really a genius?

Russ didn’t talk about Eliot the way he talked about Graham. He boasted about Eliot’s intelligence, but he’d said some harsh things about his social skills, his small size, and regularly called him an ungrateful asshole. Yeah, he called his own child, whom he’d abandoned as a toddler, an asshole.

“I guess everything just boiled over and you were the closest target.”

I shook my head and focused on Graham. “That’s a lot to deal with all at once. Did Dr. Carlisle talk to you about the emotional effects of a head injury?”

“No.”

“Concussions can cause you to become more emotional than usual. Outbursts of anger and sadness aren’t uncommon while you’re healing. It makes sense that having all that dumped on you after the trauma of your assault would trigger such a strong response.”

“You’re annoyingly rational about everything,” he grumbled.

“I’m an ED nurse. Being calm in chaos is kind of my job description.”

He rolled his eyes, then winced.

“Head still hurt?”

“Yeah.” Leaning back in the chair, he rubbed his eyes.

“Tired?”

He nodded.

“Let’s get you back in bed so you can take a nap.”

“I’m not a baby.”

---