Playboy Prince

"You mind?" I motion to the clothes on my bed.

He turns, so his back is to me.

Whatever. I don't give a shit what he sees. I slip into clean clothes. Easy clothes. Jeans and a t-shirt. Not his stuck-up suit and his designer tie.

He waits until I stop moving, then he says, "Did you read it?"

"Not yet."

He turns and looks me in the eyes. "What's it say?"

"I didn't read it yet. How the fuck should I know?"

"Who did you ask?"

"What's the difference?"

He stands and turns the folder over. "You could have asked."

"I tried."

"Did you? Did you ever sit me down and say, Simon, please, it's killing me you're keeping secrets. I want to know what happened. I want to know why you're hiding things."

"I'm too tired for this argument."

"Are you claiming the high road? Really? After keeping Preston's condition a secret?"

"He asked."

Simon says nothing.

"Who asked you to hide things from me?"

"I'm trying to protect you."

"That's bullshit. You're not wiser. You're not special. You're not more capable of handling burdens."

"I'm your older brother."

"Fuck you. You think I can't carry my own burdens? You think I shrugged it off when Bash died? When Adam was in critical condition? He took all the space for grief. And that was fine. He almost died. He was closer to Bash than anyone. He needed the space. He never claimed superiority for it. But you—you act like you're the only person who cares about this family."

"Liam."

"Whatever it is, I don't care. Fuck you for shielding me. I'm not a child. I haven't been a child for a long time."

"You're right."

"What?"

"You're right. I'm sorry."

Am I hearing things? There's no way my older brother, Simon Pierce, is admitting he's wrong and apologizing.

What.

The.

Actual.

Fuck.

"I won't shield you anymore. If you want to know, it's here." He taps the folder. No longer sealed. Now, seen by his eyes. "It's your decision, not mine."

"What's in there?"

"Secrets I've kept to shield you."

"And Adam?"

"He did his own research."

Like brother, like brother. "He knows everything?"

"No. There are things his PI didn't find. Things I had to dig to find." His eyes flit to the paper. "Things not in this report."

"Are you going to tell me?"

"I want to keep this from you, Liam. I want to protect you from it. But you're right. You deserve the truth, if you want it. Everything in here. And everything else I know." He places the folder on the bed. "I love you, Liam. You're my brother. You infuriate me and you always will, and I'll always love you. I'll always protect you."

"I love you too." It's been a long time since I've said it with this tone. All sincerity. No promise or threat or high ground.

Then Simon does the last thing I expect.

He pulls me into a fucking hug.

He pats me on the back. "Get some rest. We're going back to the city tomorrow."

"We are?"

"Yeah. I promised Preston I'd make sure you win Briar back."

Chapter Forty-Four

Briar

Every part of me is exhausted, but I still can't sleep. I keep thinking of the hurt in Liam's eyes. The pain in his voice. The desperate desire to erase all of it.

No, I don't want to erase it. Not exactly.

I want to be there for him. Sit with him, listen, hold him, help him.

I'm not good with feelings. I've never been good with them, never wanted to learn how to deal.

With Liam, I want that.

I want everything.

I wake to the warmth of the sun. The soft hum of the air conditioner. The cheap cotton sheet covering my tiny twin bed.

My room, my apartment, my life.

It's not as grand as Liam's, but it's mine, all mine, and I understand it.

I know where I stand. I know who I am.

Briar West, lover of literature and London Fogs. Stylish, witty, smart.

No lies, no compromises, no desperate need to hold someone together.

I'm safe here.

No one can hurt me. No one can abandon me, break promises, force me to become a shell of myself.

No one can lock me out, pull away, force me to watch them fade.

I'm alone. I'm safe.

Only I'm not, not anymore.

My heart isn't mine anymore.

It's Liam's.

I don't want to miss him. I don't want to need him. I don't want to feel this desperate ache without him.

That's how my mom fell apart. My dad's abandonment. He promised to help her hold herself together, then he left, and she couldn't do it on her own.

That's part of it.

But maybe it wasn't all of it.

He broke his promise to her, yes. Nothing absolves him of cheating.

But she broke her promise too. She stopped showing him her ugly parts; she stopped letting him in, stopped accepting his love.

It wasn't her fault she suffered from depression. But it wasn't his either.

It certainly wasn't mine.

So why am I the person carrying the weight of it?

All this time, I've been afraid of becoming my mother, losing my spark, watching my husband abandon me.