Eu sempre vou te proteger.

I will always protect you.

“If you would’ve called me—”

“You’d what? Drop everything to run home and help me? You never came home! These guys were fucking with me every goddamn day. Over and over. You couldn’t stop what they already knew. I was weak. I had no one.”

I’m hung up on the word guys. My stomach churns. “How many?” I ask.

He doesn’t say anything.

“How many guys, Quinn?!” I scream, eyes burning.

His voice cracks into a cry. “I told you. The whole fucking team.”

He didn’t even have a chance. My brother…my baby brother was getting beat to shit, and I never knew. Never helped him. I was too busy protecting someone else. Someone who was paying for my protection, and I’d promised it to Quinn. Because he’s my brother. He’s my blood.

Dizziness sets in, and I squat down. Hands on my head.

Quinn takes a large breath, chest rising. “I don’t need you anymore. I don’t need anyone, bro. I got stronger than everyone in the family, so that I could finally protect myself.” He jabs a finger at his chest.

I slowly rise. Colorful lights spinning around us are banging in my head. “Then why’d you quit boxing?” I always assumed he quit to follow me into security. But I know I’m wrong.

He wipes a hand across his jaw. “I couldn’t stand it.” He drops his hand, and he squeezes his fingers in a fist like he’s trying to force something back. “Oscar, I don’t just hate boxing. I fucking loathe it. People all around me cheering to hit him. Kill him. Harm another person. For what? Applause? A fucking trophy?”

The ring is violent. More than once have I been the recipient of those cries to murder. But we’ve grown up around the combat sport, it’s just…normal to me.

Quinn grimaces into a shake of his head. “No. I’m not doing that.”

“Then you could have gone to college,” I tell him. “You could have made a different life for yourself.”

“I want this!” Quinn points at the ground. “I want to defend people. Protect people. To be a force of good. You know why I go off comms like Farrow? Why I replicate his style of bodyguarding? Because he needs no one. Not any of the team. He can rely on himself, and that’s all I’ve ever fucking wanted.”

This need for self-reliance stems deep. All the way back to being bullied in high school. Bullied. Fuck, my baby brother was bullied. I want to cry or hug him. I fucking hate myself. Because never in a million years did I think Quinn—my brother who could knock me out—was once tormented every day by his peers. And he’s right, if I’d been there for him, I would have put an end to every last fucker who laid a hand on him.

But I was barely around.

“Quinn—”

He cuts me off, “I realize now that I never would’ve been this good of a fighter, if you didn’t fail at protecting me.” Just like that, heat extinguishes from his gaze. “I guess I can thank you for that.”

It’s a final blow.

A knockout.

He is all that he is because of me. All that rage. All that pain.

“Quinn,” I breathe. I have to try to mend this, and maybe I finally can now that I know what’s broken. “I’m so fucking sorry. For the rest of my life, I’ll always be sorry.” I step closer. “I didn’t protect you then, and I know it’s too late now.” We’re near enough that I put a hand to the back of his head. He tries to shove me away, but it’s not as hard or forceful as he’s done before. I barely sway.

And I keep my hand rooted tight onto his head.

Tears stream down his cheeks.

“I love you,” I tell him. “I should have never made you that promise, if I wasn’t going to keep it.” He claws at my shirt, and I can’t tell if he’s trying to push me away or hold on. “You don’t have to stop hating me, but I’m not going anywhere.”

He splinters into a sob and collapses in my arms. His forehead on my shoulder, he full-body heaves into tears. “I want to stop hating you,” he mumbles into my shirt. “I just don’t know how.”

I keep my hand to the top of his head, trying to take his pain. “This is a start.” That’s all that matters in the end. A start. A beginning. We’ve been resting in purgatory for so long, unable to communicate with one another, that it felt like we’d never reach this point.

My own tears slide off my jaw, and I glance over his shoulder. I see Jack.

He wipes at his face, and he gives me a nod. I love you, he mouths. I’m proud of you.

That gets to me because I’ve questioned how I’ve handled my relationship with my brother for so many years. Jack has been a model big brother to Jesse. And having Jack’s support and understanding through this is a beacon of light.

Tags: Krista Ritchie Like Us Romance
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