“Thank you.” Where the hell had Max gone in such a hurry? I would ask Callahan, but I already knew the man was paid for his discretion as much as for his speedy driving. And I wasn’t about to let John deal with that mess in front of my apartment on his own. With my luck, one of the reporters would say something inflammatory and John would run them over with his wheelchair. After disemboweling them. No. John didn’t fuck around. He was a hothead and couldn’t care less if his legs didn’t work because his arms worked just fine.
I grabbed my stuff and followed Max’s chauffeur out the door, grabbing my cell to send Max a text. I punched in some very choice words but stopped. It felt reactionary and juvenile. The reason I really felt angry was because I needed him to be there for me, and he’d left. We’d been enemies—oh God, how I’d once hated him—we’d been boss and employee, and then we’d been lovers. But we’d never been friends. And that, somehow, felt more important to me than anything else right now.
Me: Goodbye, Max.
Sitting in the back of Max’s limo, I pulled up to my apartment for round two with the paparazzi, expecting them to have my brother surrounded.
Why must all of the men in my life be so hotheaded?
I exited the car without receiving more than a grunt from Callahan, who’d been like an ice sculpture the entire way. He did not show emotions like normal people.
I stomped toward my apartment and immediately spotted the slouching vultures on their smartphones, but no John.
Where is he? He should’ve beat me here.
The moment they saw me, they jumped to their feet and began throwing insults masked as questions. “Did Patricio Ferrari give you an STD? Did he dump you for Adeline Taylor yet? Did he ask you to ménage?”
I rolled my eyes, pushed my key into the lock, and entered my apartment. There sat John, giving me a startle.
“Oh God.” I placed my hand over my heart. “I thought I would find you outside, kicking the crap out of one of those guys.”
John had brown eyes and blond hair—same as me—and was built big like my father, only bigger because he liked to play sports—basketball, swimming, skiing. There wasn’t much he couldn’t manage. He’d even been into rock climbing for a while, which drove my mother absolutely frantic. “What if you fall, John? Huh?”
“Oh no. I might end up in a wheelchair,” he would reply with a smart-ass snort and then receive a smack on the back of the head from my father for being disrespectful.
I threw my keys on the coffee table and took a calming breath, wanting to address John in an even tone. I had zero desire to fight with him, but the angry steam had built up in my mental engine. One more lump of shitty coal and Lily’s head would explode. “Is there a particular reason you left the school in the middle of the day and wouldn’t allow me to hide at your place, my dear sweet brother?”
John wheeled in front of me. He had on his usual khaki pants and a blue golf shirt with the school logo, which allowed me to see the veins pulsing in his neck and biceps. He was pissed. “Is there a particular reason you left your door unlocked when there’s a mob outside trying to stalk you?”
“They weren’t there this morning, and I guess I was distracted.”
“I can guess why. And when I see him, I’m going to hunt that man-cunt down and dismember him.”
Man-cunt? Well, there’s a new one. “Whoa there, John. While I appreciate the enthusiasm you show for protecting me, I need to be clear. This is my life, and I will deal with it.” I crossed my arms over my chest and looked down at my brother and his flaring nostrils.
“You’re a Snow. And Snows stick together,” he snarled.
Dear Lord. On a scale of one to ten, ten being a PMSing mother lion, my family was a twenty with the overprotectiveness. This was the one thing about them I considered both a blessing and a curse—mostly the latter.
“I let you manage your own love life, John. You need to allow me the space to deal with mine.”
“Sorry. Doesn’t work like that. The big-brother handbook dictates I must intervene.”
Gah. What an ass. “Stop. Okay? You don’t see me running around threatening to dismember your exes or calling them woman-dicks.” The opposite of a man-cunt, of course.
He crossed his beefy arms over his chest. “That’s because you’re too busy trying to avoid confrontation by hiding in my apartment.”
Ughhh… “I needed a quiet place to think, and I can’t do it here with those dipshits outsi—” A loud knock on the door broke my concentration. “Dammit. Why can’t they leave me alone?”
“Let me deal with them.” John went to the front door and yanked it open, but it wasn’t the tabloid vultures.
Max. I gasped, but why wasn’t I surprised? He’d unexpectedly shown up three times in the last twenty-four hours.
Blocking the door, John scowled up at Max, who looked even angrier than John. “What the fuck do you want?”