“Liberty, please don’t make a scene here.” Jett stands and wraps his fingers around my wrist, pulling me away from his table.
“I told Payton not to trust you. I can’t believe you would be so stupid.” His grip tightens the louder my voice rises. I don’t care we’re in some fancy-ass restaurant. My no-good fucking brother is still the slime ball I thought he was.
“Shut the fuck up. It's not what it looks like.”
“Let go of me. I know what it looks like.” I try to pull out of his grasp, but he holds tighter.
“You can’t tell Payton. I need more time,” the asshole says.
Ha! Fuck that.
“I’m not going to lie to your wife. My best friend. Are you fucking mad?” The table we’re standing close to gasps at my choice of words, but I don’t have it in me to be embarrassed.
“I swear, Lib—” he begins but doesn't get another word in because Hetch is there and in his face.
“Get your fucking hands off her now.” His voice brings the rest of the restaurant which had yet to notice the tension to a standstill.
“Fuck off. She's my sister. This is family business.” Jett puffs his chest out, attempting to intimidate Hetch. Only I know it won’t work.
“I don't give a fuck who you are to her. Get your hands off her now.”
“Hetch, it’s okay.” I try to reason with him when I notice the manager walking our way.
“Who is this asshole, Liberty?” my stupid brother asks, only serving to piss Hetch off more.
“Don’t talk to her. You’re talking to me.”
“Listen—” Jett begins but doesn’t finish when one minute he's standing in front of me and the next he's being dragged out of the restaurant, hands restrained behind his back. I don’t have a chance to cry out and ask what Hetch is doing before he’s pushing him out the front entrance and onto the sidewalk.
“Hetch.” I race after them, pushing through the door just in time to see him thrust Jett up against the side of the restaurant.
“Hetch, it’s okay. He won’t hurt me. He’s my dipshit brother.” Hetch’s gaze moves off my brother and turns to me.
“No one fucking touches you,” he simply says before turning back to Jett.
Holy fuck, I should be annoyed he practically just pissed on me like a dog marking his territory, but I can’t even begin to be. Possessive Hetch is hot as fuck.
“I don’t give a fuck if you’re her brother. You put your hands on her again, you and I are gonna have problems. Understand?” Jett nods, and then flinches as Hetch jerks him away from the building by his arm, and slaps him hard on the back.
“What the fuck, Liberty? You're seeing this guy?” He rubs at his arm, not giving a shit said guy is still standing there in his space.
“Not like it's any of your business, but yes,” I answer, watching Hetch for any response.
“Hetch, meet my stupid brother, Jett. Jett this is Hetch.”
“Can’t say it's a pleasure.” Jett gives him a once over, but Hetch doesn’t react.
“You good here?” Hetch walks toward me, lightly touching my arm.
“Yeah. Can you give us a minute?” He looks reluctant to leave me, but I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile. It must soothe him because he leans down and gently presses his lips to my forehead before letting me know he’ll wait inside. I attempt another reassuring smile, but give up when he shakes his head at me and heads back inside.
“Seriously, Liberty? You're seeing this douche?” Jett gingerly steps forward, now rubbing his wrist.
“The only douche I see here is you. What the fuck is wrong with you? What was all that shit at Mom and Dad's last week?”
“It's over. I swear.” He runs a hand through his hair.
“Don't give me that bullshit, Jett.” I won’t play into his lies. I know what I see, know from experiences.
“She's pregnant,” he whispers, knocking all fight out of me.
Fuck.
“Is it yours?” I wouldn’t put it past the little whore to pull this shit.
“I think so. The dates work out. We weren’t using anything.”
“You dumb jackass.” I manage to work through my shock, rage, and nausea.
“She's keeping it.”
I don't respond immediately. My mind is still reeling. What is there to say? I can’t be angry she doesn’t want to abort a child. “Does Payton know?”
“Jesus, no. We’re still trying to figure things out.”
“What’s there to figure out, Jett? Your wife needs to know this.”
“I know, Liberty. But I need more time.” He runs a shaky hand over his face.
“Jett, you have done some pretty fucking stupid things the last few months, but keeping this from Payton rates as top. Time isn’t going to help you. You need to go home right now and tell her.”
“Or what, you'll tell her?” He scoffs, knowing me well.
“Damn straight I will. She deserves to know. If you keep this from her, I’ll hate you more than I do right now.”
“You don't mean that, Bertie.” The nickname stirs nothing in me. But instead of being upset about it, it just makes me angrier.