A blush covers my face at the thought of Jeremy wanting to hear from me.
Holly gives him a snort and a little laugh. Well, I’m glad she thinks this is funny. If Dad has his way, I’m going to die a freaking virgin. She takes a few more steps and wraps her hand around the door knob. Scrambling backward, I nearly knock into the bike Dad’s been building for the past few months and give away my location. I don’t want Holly catching me in here. Not that I’m not allowed in the garage, but without an explanation and feeling as guilty as hell like I do, I’d bet they’d have me singing like a canary before Dad got the question out.
“Right, you don’t want any… distractions. Sure. Couldn’t possibly have anything to do with you trying to keep her a little girl forever, could it?” she says a little too sweetly.
“Beer. Now,” he says. His tone darkens slightly, something he always does in front of the guys. I really hate when he acts like this. It’s not happened often, with how Holly’s only now slowly leaving her near catatonic state, but the better she gets, the more he starts to act like his old self—and that is most definitely not a compliment.
Turning away from the door and running to the tall red tool chest, I dart behind it, duck down, and hope I’m not visible from the other side of the room. The door swings open, and in trots Holly with frustrated steps that slam against the concrete floor. Her face is red, her chest is rising and falling in quick succession, and she’s counting to herself. He pissed her off all right.
As she crosses the garage and swings open the door to the fridge she mutters, “Keep being that bossy, Sterling, and you can suck your own dick tonight.”
My throat constricts as my stomach rolls, and I start gagging. Gross.
Holly reaches into the fridge and grabs as many beers as she can safely carry in her arms before trotting out of the garage and letting the door slam shut behind her. I give it a few minutes before heading toward the door and peeking out. Deep voices sound from the living room, a mixture of grunting and barking out what sounds vaguely like disagreement among the brothers. Not that I’m surprised. Those guys can’t seem to ever get along.
I creep down the hall and peek around the corner at the sight before me. Dad is perched on the arm of the couch, something Grandma hates. She always says his “big ass” is going to destroy every stick of furniture we have. Anyway, he’s sitting there with one hand on his knee and the other holding a beer. His shoulders slump and then shake as his eyes dance with mischief. In the middle of the couch with his hands folded in his lap like the good little boy he certainly is not is Jeremy. His face is a mask of indifference, but his body language tells me he’s nervous. Across the room is Uncle Wyatt. The muscles of his broad shoulders constrict and flex as one hand clenches in a fist and the other welcomes it into the palm of his hand. His brown hair sweeps across his shoulders, and his chest heaves. Uncle Wyatt is normally one of the calmest of the brothers, so it must be bad if he’s this upset.
A guilty part of me is looking forward to seeing what this little impromptu meeting is about. I might get some information out of this that will prove useful to my investigation.
“It’s bullshit,” Dad says with a nod, his eyes firmly fixed on Wyatt. “Kids will do that to you—fuck you up.”
I bite back the urge to throw something in his direction. He’s one to talk. If he thinks having me as a kid is hard, then I should let him know he’s no freaking picnic either.
“They’re not fucking kids, man. They’re goddamn adults,” Wyatt says.
Dad just shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. Your kids are your kids for life. Jim’s a fucking hard-ass, sure. But he’s a father. He’s got two sons at each other’s throats over Junior and Princess. Can’t be easy, trying to decide whose needs are more important—Ryan wanting to beat the shit out of Junior to protect Princess, or Ian trying to keep Ruby happy. Personally, I’d side with keeping the woman happy, but ya know…”
Wyatt just grumbles something and turns toward the fireplace, where he places his hands on the mantle and lets his head hang low. Duke’s voice sounds from around the corner from me where I can’t see him. My heart leaps in my chest, and I suppress the feminine squeak that would give away my location if anybody were paying attention to me. Duke must be in the recliner near the fireplace on the other side of the wall I’m hiding behind. I’d peek around to see him if I didn’t think I’d be spotted.
“Yesterday I came home to find Trigger fucking terrorizing Junior,” Wyatt says almost too quietly for me to hear. “Had to move him to Ian’s.”
Dad nods. “Good. Trigger isn’t stupid enough to fuck around at Ian’s house.”