Rough Love (Tannen Boys 1)

Goddamn it, how did things get so fucked up?

“Boys! Let’s go,” I yell across the field. In the faint light, I can see them scramble up and start running this way. Running . . . that’s what I want to do too.

But I won’t. Not yet.

I throw one last nuclear bomb at Bruce. “I wish you’d said something because one word from you—hell, even just seeing you there and explaining all of this—would’ve saved me. Saved me from a hell you have no idea about. But don’t worry, Brutal. I saved myself.”

I rarely call him by his nickname, never did. He was always Bruce to me because I could see the man behind the football field monster. But I need that distance right now. Because what he did, going home with his tail between his legs, was brutal . . . to us both.

The boys fly past, beelining for the car, and I take the cover of their presence, following them.

I hear Bruce call out from behind me. “Save you from what, Al?”

I shake my head, glancing over my shoulder. His back is to the moon, so he’s in silhouette and I can’t see his face, but I can imagine the feral look. He’s the predator, I’m the prey. But not anymore.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

It’s the truth. Too much time, too much heartache, too many misunderstandings . . . it’s all too much. I want a happy, healthy life on an even keel, not drama and tension. Not this standoff with Bruce where I’m always waiting for him to flip . . . hot or cold today? I lived like that for far too long, excused it away, but I’m not willing to do that again.

Not even for Bruce Tannen.

Chapter 15

Bruce

Everyone pushes back from the table with full and happy bellies after another one of Mama Louise’s delicious dinners. I’m not sure how she does it, but she feeds us all three times every day and does it with a smile.

I couldn’t do it, that’s for damn sure. Without Shay to feed us before and Mama Louise to feed us now, I’d probably subsist on piled high sandwiches and vegetables raw from the field. Hell, even now, some days I think I’d prefer that because it’d be easier and put me in the safe zone.

Because I’m definitely not safe tonight.

Mama Louise has been eyeballing me the whole meal, and I know there’s something coming, I’m just not sure what. She’s keen and perceptive and wants to be all up in our Tannen business where she’s not wanted. But when she shoves her way in, Brody, my brother who lost the most with this transition, melts and damn near invites her on in. I know it’s a reprieve for him to not be the leader all the time, and I’m sure he thinks that sometimes Mama Louise’s unique perspective is needed. But it still makes me want to walk away from all of this.

But I don’t.

I sit right here at the table and help with cleanup when we’re done, just like every night. We all, except for Sophie, who’s holding Cindy Lou, do a dance around the kitchen—trash in the can, leftovers in containers for the fridge, edibles for the goats, and dishes in the sink. It couldn’t be quicker if we choreographed it.

I try to make a run for it, not because I’m scared of the pint-sized woman watching me like a hawk but because I don’t have any need for her to pick around in the messed-up maze of my mind.

“Brutal?”

I freeze with my hand on the screen door, so close to freedom. So close to escape. I don’t even turn around, eyeing the black night just beyond my reach and wishing I could disappear into it. “Yeah?”

“Can you help me for a second?” Mama Louise asks, but she’s not, if you know her.

Mark grabs Katelyn’s hand and shoves by me with a grunt while Luke and Shayanne quickly say their good nights and follow. Sophie and James take a second to gather up Cindy Lou’s things and then they disappear out the front door. Brody and Bobby give me careful, guarded looks—Bobby’s asking if I’m okay, Brody’s telling me not to fuck this good thing up. All told, they scatter like damn roaches, leaving me alone with Mama Louise in a matter of seconds.

Mama Louise smiles like she’s already gotten her way. I guess she has.

“Whatcha need?” I ask warily.

“Dishes first, and then, I might have made a batch of my special sweet tea,” she replies with a devious tilt to her smile. I’ve had her special sweet tea, and it’s definitely evil. So syrupy sweet you could drink it by the gallons, but the sugar hides the bottle of bourbon she adds. It’ll sneak up on you faster than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking competition.