She and her sister had been fired...from Two Farms? Surely. It was the only job they worked together.
Her earlier tears suddenly made sense. That muscle in his gut flexed all over again.
He’d learned a lot about Brook Lynn tonight, and he’d liked every detail. She was dedicated. Loyal. Kind. Caring. Determined. Sweet.
Too sweet for me.
Only a fool would fire her. And knowing her situation? The fool had to be a major asshole. Somehow she had become a mother to her older sister, and she was a damn good one.
“Jase?” Beck’s voice whispered through the room.
He glanced up. His friend now stood in the doorway, waving him out. Though he hated to leave, he dragged his feet into the hall, shutting the girls inside.
In the kitchen, West gripped a beer in each hand. His eyes were darker than usual, reflecting the shadows underneath.
Beck cursed under his breath. “Seriously?”
“No need for a hissy, Becklina. These aren’t for me.” West handed a beer to each of them. “You’ve both earned a drink. And don’t even think about refusing.”
In unison, they claimed a spot at the table.
Jase clinked his bottle against Beck’s. “Congratulations. You got twelve numbers during tonight’s mission. It’s a new record.”
“Yeah. An all-time low. I must have been off my game somehow,” the guy said with a slight pout.
West rolled up his shirtsleeves. “Beck’s lack of success is not tonight’s top story. This just in—Jase has feelings for Brook Lynn.” He waved his hand around the center of the table. “Discuss.”
Feelings? Him? He slammed the bottle on the table with more force than he’d intended. “You’re wrong. I barely know her, but even if I did feel something—which I don’t and never will—I won’t go after her. That delicate Southern flower would cut and run the moment she learned the truth about me.”
West frowned at him. Beck patted his shoulder. Both radiated the ever-present guilt and sorrow he hated so much, as if they were to blame for even this.
He loved them, but sometimes he couldn’t stand to be in the same room with them. It hurt too much.
“Besides, if I wanted Brook Lynn, why would I be thinking about finding Daphne?” he asked. “Tell me that.”
“Daphne?” Beck shook his head, hanks of hair falling over his forehead. “Why the hell are you thinking about her? She left you when you needed her most.”
“Maybe I left her,” he said. He might have blamed her for their split at first, but then he’d gotten over himself and reviewed the situation through her eyes. His actions had presented her with a clear-cut choice: a life of misery with him or a chance at happiness without him. It wasn’t brain surgery.
West scowled at him. “You were forced to leave her.”
“No. No, I wasn’t. I chose to do what I did, and the decision cost me.”
Silence descended, tense, oppressive. Jase looked away from his friends, his gaze skipping over the room. Have got to finish repairing this place. It was time. They were settled in, and they weren’t going to move. Not again.
The yellowed wallpaper had what looked to be strawberries scattered in every direction. He’d already replaced the chipped and stained laminate counters with marble and the parquet floor with stone, only to stop. Some part of him recognized the house had become a metaphor for his life. Bits and pieces fixed up, the rest a crumbling wreck.
While a little manual labor would change the house, nothing would ever change him.
“Jase,” West said. “Forget about Daphne. We need to talk about the reason you won’t admit you’re developing feelings for Brook Lynn.”
Seriously. When had these two become such pusses? “I have no feelings,” he insisted. “I’m too screwed up.”
“We’re all screwed up,” Beck said. “But that doesn’t stop me from trying.”