Priceless (Forbidden Men 8)

Brandt was a very physical person. He ruled the football field whenever he played and had gotten in quite a few brawls over the years, but he’d never been violent. I wasn’t scared of him now either. I was kind of scared for him, though.

He’d just lost Hope because of me.

I never realized how much flak he received just for being my friend. The thrilled excitement I’d felt when entering this house had morphed from a cold, sick jealousy and then into an honored joy that he loved me, but was now becoming bone-crippling guilt.

I could handle the bitter pill of only being his friend, but I never wanted him to suffer because of it.

Maybe I should just go. I was no good for him. And now, I was only going to be pathetic, pining after him when he didn’t think of me in the same way at all. This sucked so bad.

I turned for the door, but as soon as I opened it, wheeled down the ramp, and

turned the corner of the house to see my new car, I slowed to a stop.

We still had plans to meet. He was going to show up at my house within the hour if I didn’t stick around. Mason and Reese would be as confused as hell if I went home now. And I couldn’t cancel on him. It was his birthday.

Blowing out a breath, I lingered outside a few minutes, letting the cool October air wash over me and cool my nerves before I returned to the house. Brandt must be the speediest shower taker on earth because when I opened the screen door and re-entered the kitchen, he strolled in seconds later, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, no shoes, as he rubbed his hair dry with a towel.

Jerking to a halt when he saw me, he blinked and then smiled. “Hey. How’d you get here? Did Mason drop you off? I was planning on picking you up, you know.”

I shrugged, suddenly shy, all the while unable to stop wondering where Hope had touched him and kissed him.

“I know,” I murmured, my cheeks warming as I glanced at my lap. “I just...” What the hell was I doing? This was Brandt, the boy I’d known better than anyone else on earth for five years. I could look him in the eye when I talked to him.

Forcing my face up, I gulped when everything inside me felt funny for merely looking him in the eye. What was wrong with me? Everything felt so different.

Sensing the change, Brandt cocked his head to the side and stepped forward, his eyes filling with worry. “What’s wrong?” Then something passed over his face. “How long have you been here?”

He must be wondering if I’d caught him with Hope. The last thing I wanted was for him to know I knew about that. So I said, “I just got here. I...drove.”

His brow crinkled. “You...drove?” A second later, his eyes widened. “Holy shit, you got your license?”

Finally—freaking finally—I was able to smile a genuine smile as I beamed up at him. “Yes.”

“Oh my God!” He swept forward and scooped me out of my chair to hug me and twirl me in a circle as he laughed out his joy. “Congratulations! This is amazing. I knew you could do it.”

I closed my eyes as my nose smashed against his shoulder. He smelled of fresh soap and shampoo, like Brandt. My Brandt. Another twinge clipped at my heart, thinking about another girl sniffing my Brandt as he lowered me back into my chair and stepped back to grin at me.

“Whose car did you drive?”

Pride burst in my chest, even though it was laced with sadness as I said, “Mine. Mason and Reese along with Pick and Eva chipped in to buy me an SUV with a wheelchair ramp on the back.”

“No shit? That’s so awesome. Let me grab my shoes and we can check out your new ride. This is amazing. I’m so proud of you, Sarah.” He stamped a quick kiss to my cheek before racing from the kitchen and calling over his shoulder, “We’re taking your wheels to dinner, by the way!”

He sounded so happy for me that my heart cracked just a little. I loved this man. I loved everything about him. So I’d stop my feelings from straying to places they didn’t belong. Because the last thing I wanted to do, ever, was lose him.

BRANDT

AGE 22

I arrived to work early. Pick had hired a new bartender. A chick. Probably the first chick to ever mix drinks behind the counter of the Forbidden Nightclub, and I didn’t want to scare her off by the state of things.

But the place was a freaking pigsty. Hardly any of the douchebags I worked with these days cleaned up after themselves. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d come in to stale beer stains puddled on the floor or the cash drawer not even counted and cleared.

I missed the days when the old crew used to work here, like Noel, and Mason, and Ten and those guys. They knew how to keep a place in tip-top shape.

But most of them had moved on and gotten better-paying jobs elsewhere before I’d even been hired. About the only two stragglers left from the original gang were Asher and Knox, and neither of them were full-timers. Knox was turning out to be quite the boxer and had worked his way into paid fights, while Asher...rock star and all that. Both of them only worked maybe a night or two a week, so the other five to six nights were left to me to take care of shit.

Hence the reason I was here now, mopping the fucking nasty floor before we opened. After that, I knelt down behind the counter to check the tanks hooked up to the tap, and while I was down there, the front door of the club burst open before an irritatingly familiar voice boomed, “Yo! Big bro! Where you at?”