Rough Edge (Tannen Boys 2)

She’s watching me carefully, scanning for my reaction, and I stand tall, almost at attention. “Okay . . . well, will you tell him I came by then? When he wakes up . . . he can call me if he wants.”

Plan B . . . Plan C . . . I didn’t have any plan at all. And now it’s biting me in the ass. Another failure on my part.

Shayanne groans, shaking her head, and hooks a thumb over her shoulder. “Go on to the house. He’d skin me alive if I got between whatever this is.” She swirls her finger at me. “Not to mention, I can’t wait to get a front-row seat. I knew it.”

She starts humming under her breath, and I look at the still-closed gate. “So, are you going to let me in then?”

Her head tilts, her right eyebrow raising. “He’s at home. At his house?” At my confused look, she laughs. “Oh, my cheesus and crackers, that’s too funny. You don’t know anything, do you? This is gonna be fun.”

“So are we gonna keep doing this or are you going to fill me in here?” I’m losing patience, and nerve, and the barely-there sweetness in my voice.

A few minutes later, I’m following her directions—getting back in my truck, following the white fence down the road to the next gate marked Tannen Farm. I guess Reed was right about that, which definitely doesn’t bode well for me because I’m afraid he’s right about my being a complete bitch too.

Just like Shayanne said, the gate opens automatically, and I drive up to a red and white farmhouse. It’s worn and faded but cute with simple lines and a small porch along part of the front. The wood shutters on either side of several of the windows make it look warm and cozy, as does the dog lying lazily on the front porch.

I get out, calling out gently, “Hey there, big guy. Who’s a good boy?” The dog’s head lifts, and he sniffs the air before letting out a baleful howl.

“Shut up, Murphy!”

Brody’s rough-voiced shout comes from inside the house, telling me I’m in the right place, at least. It’s showtime, as Emily says. Time to put it all out there, pick my guts apart, lay my fears bare, and hope that it’s enough for Brody to forgive me and take another chance on us.

He doesn’t have to. We said casual from the get-go. Well, I did and he agreed. I’m not sure when that changed for me, but it did.

I pet Murphy on the head. “Good boy,” I whisper, knowing he had every reason to bark at a stranger. I knock on the door, calling out, “Brody?”

There’s a crash from inside, like Brody is stumbling and falling toward the door, so I open it and peek my head inside. It’s darker, but the sunlight is shining through the windows, throwing lines of light through a wood-paneled living room. Brody looks like hell . . . hair a mess, beard scruffy, eyes sunken and purple-smudged. But he also looks like heaven . . . his chest bare and a hopeful spark as he looks at me. “You okay?”

“Depends. Are you real or not?” He pulls his hat off, runs his fingers through his hair, then shoves the hat back on. I think he’s nervous at my sudden arrival to a place he never invited me to. Come to think of it, he might still be mad as fuck. That’s a distinct possibility too, unfortunately.

I hold an arm out. “You wanna pinch me and find out?”

Brody squints a little and reaches behind me, pinching my ass. I yelp and smack at him, but it does help break some of the awkward tension. “You want something to drink? I’m sure the guys left coffee for me.” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, turning and heading through a doorway into what seems to be the kitchen. I follow to find him pouring two cups and take one with a smile of thanks.

“I’m sorry.”

I almost spit my coffee out, shocked. “What? Why are you apologizing?”

“I’m not sure, but I obviously did something to piss you off and apologizing seems like a safe bet. Rule one-oh-three in the guidebook.” Distance. He’s putting so much between us again with sarcasm and asshole-itis.

I sigh and set the coffee on the counter. “I’ve been practicing this, so I’m just gonna do it in one go. Don’t interrupt me, okay?”

He blinks and holds a hand out, giving me the floor, where I pace back and forth while he looks on.

“I overreacted, that’s the short of it.” He takes a sip of his coffee, not telling me anything with his expression. “You were trying to be supportive, I know that, but it felt like you were telling me what to do. Like everyone else has done. In case you haven’t noticed, I have a bit of a hair trigger with that. I quite literally ran away from home and joined the military the last time someone tried to do that.”