Rough Edge (Tannen Boys 2)

Brody clears his throat, and I glare at him, telling him to keep his big, fat mouth shut. He opens his beer and takes a swallow.

Dad watches, still judging until Brody sighs in satisfaction. That gets Dad, and he leans forward to grab his beer. He cracks his open and takes an even longer drink. Apparently, we’re still measuring dicks.

“Okay, let’s do this,” I say, clapping my hands, and three sets of eyes land on me. Support—that’s Brody, betrayal—that’s Dad, and hope—that’s Mom, all surround me at once. I focus on the most important issue at hand. “Dad, I should have told you I was racing and I’m sorry I didn’t. Well, not really sorry because you would’ve tried to stop me, but I’m sorry you found out like you did.”

He narrows his eyes and leans forward, elbows on his knees and beer dangling dangerously. “Just so we’re clear—you’re not sorry you did it. You’re sorry you got caught.”

“Basically.” I shrug like that should be obvious.

“What the hell, Rix?” Dad says, standing up. “I said no more! You know why. I can’t believe you’d go behind my back, that everyone would go behind my back . . .” His voice strangles off.

“We didn’t mean to hurt you, Dad. Big John was important to all of us. But do you think he’d want you to give up something you love over him? He wasn’t even racing when it happened.” Dad flinches when I say Big John’s name. “We’re careful, you know that. The nitrous thing with Todd’s car was a fluke that could’ve happened to anyone.”

“But it happened to you!”

Brody is watching carefully, and I hate that he’s meeting my Dad at his worst. He’s such a great guy, they both are, and I think they’ll like each other eventually. But right now, Brody’s got a front-row seat to a moment I’ve been dreading for years.

“I’m okay, though,” I say calmly, hoping Dad will see reason.

“You’re not going back.” He issues the decree as if he has a single say-so in what I do and where I go.

So, that’s a no to being reasonable, then.

“Yes,” I tell him in a clear, determined voice, “I am. That’s my business, my hobby, my passion. One you taught me, and I’m not giving it up. I’ll be back out there next week” —I gesture to my legs— “not driving, but watching the races, tuning my engines, and doing what I love.”

“Business? Your engines?” Dad’s interest piques despite his anger.

“Yeah, custom work,” I say, pointing to the parts on the floor in the corner.

He walks over, examining the parts on a padded moving blanket and picking up a carburetor I’ve been working on.

“It’s a bored out Edelbrock for Clint’s ’72 Nova.” His eyes jump to me, a question in the quirk of his brow, and I give him everything. “I’ve been doing custom design work for almost everyone at the track and the car shows. Gassers and nitros, trailer queens and daily drivers, and everywhere in between. I mostly work downstairs, but I store it up here when I can so no one would get suspicious.”

“Reed?” Dad asks, already knowing the answer.

I don’t dare look at Brody, keeping my attention focused solely on Dad. “He didn’t know. He would’ve told you.” I frustratingly fight down the urge to stand up, wanting to be on even footing. “It’s not going to happen with him, Dad. It never was.”

Dad looks from me to Brody, his eyes going hard and cold. “I want you to be happy, honey. You and Reed have always been two peas in a pod, cast from the same die.” He makes it sound like an inevitable pairing.

“He doesn’t want me anymore than I want him. He’s just too brainwashed to know it yet. We fight like cats and dogs, or like . . . brother and sister.” Ew . . . I think I just grossed myself out. I’ve never thought of Reed as a brother, mostly because we’ve had sex, but over the years, as whatever heat we had when we were younger has cooled, we are more like siblings.

I shudder, and in my peripheral vision, I see Brody cover his smirk with a sip of beer. Cocky bastard. Fuck, I love him.

“Dad, I love Brody.”

Showtime, Cowboy.

Brody’s echo is firm, even, and full of love. “I love Erica too.”

His dark gaze turns to me, talking to me even though he’s talking to my dad. “I love when she’s bitchy and brash, putting everyone in their place because she knows best. I love when she’s soft and sweet, but only when she feels safe. I love when she talks about cars and her eyes light up with excitement over five more horsepower. I love how she sacrifices everything for the people she loves, even if it hurts her to do it. I love her heart, her soul, and even that mouth when she’s cussing worse than I do.”