I can’t even process what I’m seeing.
Knowing how he once felt, and that he’d do anything to get ahead…
Setting fires in town like a rat, maybe.
Can’t have a booming construction business in a town this small unless you’ve got shit to rebuild.
It’d be real easy to hire Holt’s company to do the reconstruction work on the fabric shop, or anywhere else that “accidentally” burned down.
And fuck if he wouldn’t have a reason to hold a grudge against the four of us.
He was never really one of us.
First he was the tagalong, the younger brat, always mouthing off for attention ’cause he was used to getting it from Ma. He didn’t like that we didn’t mess with that kind of shit.
Then he struck off on his own to be the playboy, but he always had a sneer for me and Warren and the others.
It’s all coming together real ugly.
How Ma would play us off against each other, the monster she turned him into with that greedy need to always have everything his way without actually working for it.
Plus, the endless competition between us.
My heart can’t take much more, and I don’t want to admit it aches like hell, thinking my own brother could do this.
I wanted us to be real brothers, once, something better than this.
And I guess right now I’m just too raw to totally lose that hope.
“So,” Holt says without looking up. “How long are you going to stand there and stare at me, Blake?”
I wince, looking away. “Didn’t realize you knew I was here.”
“You’re not a little guy. Couldn’t exactly miss you freight-training your way through the cemetery.” With a sardonic sound, he bends and drops the bouquet on Jenna’s grave. “You’re disturbing the dead.”
“Don’t think they mind all that much.” I fold my arms over my chest, growling under my breath. “Sure as hell not like the living being disturbed by all the shit that’s been happening since you rolled into town.”
Straightening, Holt rolls his head toward me with a weary sigh. “Are you really that angry? I made a move on your girl and now you think I’m setting fires here?”
“You’d do worse to get the upper hand.” I force pure frustration through my teeth.
“Maybe.” He shrugs, turning, regarding me with a sort of honesty I’m not used to from him, his tawny eyes unguarded and weary. Holt slips his hands in his pockets.
I cock my head, studying him.
“Sooner or later, you’ll realize you’re the only one playing games. Everyone else is too busy living,” he tells me.
“I have no idea what the fuck you’re on about.” I shake my head.
Holt smiles faintly. “I guess you wouldn’t, would you?” He turns his head then, looking at Jenna’s headstone, eyes lidding. “You ever wonder what she’d think of us now? She was always everyone’s conscience.”
“Not that you ever listened.”
Holt snorts out a bitter laugh. “Nope, I didn’t. Listened too much to myself.” He shakes his head, that laugh trailing into a humorless smile. “Tonight, I couldn’t help thinking I never blamed her for turning me down. And I don’t think she’d like what I’ve become.”
“So you thought Peace would be a better option?” I bark at him.
Holt doesn’t answer for several seconds.
Not till he turns his gaze back to me, his smile softening, something almost warm in his eyes, something confusing I can’t quite process.
“I thought,” he says softly, “she should know my brother’s so head over heels for her that her music moved him to tears.”
I stop like I’ve been whacked across the face.
Just staring.
Staring at my idiot goddamn brother who sees how I feel about Peace when I can’t even face that shit head-on.
“The fuck did you say to her?” I snap, and he laughs.
“Nothing. I didn’t get a chance, since you came charging in the way you did. Smooth, by the way.” And that smirk returns, and along with it the smart-ass prick I know too well. “Let me know if you need some pointers, brother. You never were good with sweet talk, even if you had your share of women.”
I can’t deal with this tonight.
The confusion, the questions, the doubts, wondering if he’s playing me the way he’s playing everyone else with that sociopath mask of vulnerability.
Wondering if I’m gonna be turning my own brother over to the cops.
Wondering if I can bring myself to do it, never mind the shitty history between us.
Nope.
Nah.
Can’t answer that right now.
So I turn around and walk away, leaving Holt—and Jenna—alone, abandoning myself to the night.
* * *
There’s no sign of Peace when I get home.
Just a dim light under Andrea’s door, letting me know my girl’s being good and obeying curfew, and I’m not alone.
But Peace’s door is open, her room empty.
Shit.
Normally, I wouldn’t blame her if she only came back to get her things.
Trouble is, how the hell can I protect her if she’s gone because I can’t even control myself?