Sure Shot (Brooklyn #4)(53)

He doesn’t even flinch. “But she really doesn’t date players. She says she needs to be able to go anywhere with us in any situation and never have to wonder if people will whisper about her. She says that’s the only way she can do her job.”

“I get that,” I say testily. “Except she’s not my agent. And obviously she’s made a different choice this time. So maybe you shouldn’t question it.”

“But that’s just the thing,” Castro presses. “She did make a different choice. She broke her own rule for you. And that means something. Something big.”

There’s a bad joke in there somewhere about something big. But I let it go. I would never embarrass Bess. And she wouldn’t like this conversation at all.

“She likes you,” Castro says. “She really likes you. That’s what I’m saying. So I hope you’re worth it. Are you gonna treat her right?”

The question makes me bristle, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of letting it show. “Aw.” I chuckle. “Thanks so much for asking. I’m glad you guys are so loyal to Bess. But, yeah. Bess is special to me.” It’s a hundred percent true, too. I’m startled by how I feel about her. Lately I’m wearing a silly grin half the time, because she put it there. It’s not just the sex, either. She’s made me feel like my fun self again. Like everything in the world isn’t so fucking complicated.

“She doesn’t need anyone fucking around on her,” Castro says.

“Oh man. I thought we were having a moment, and you had to go and ruin it. Not that it’s any of your business, but I never cheated on anybody. Don’t believe everything you read. I’m good to Bess, and I was good to her way back when flip phones were still popular.”

He frowns. “I know the bloggers don’t care about a little thing like the truth. I’m not an idiot. But I do know this—Bess wouldn’t take a chance on you if it didn’t matter to her. But you’re this bitter guy who just got divorced. Last night you told Jimbo never to get married.”

“Yeah, and I was kidding. That kid is twenty, and I’m sure he’s smart enough not to marry someone who will divorce his ass and then still text seven times during dinner to ask him how to flip a circuit breaker in the garage of the home you bought in the neighborhood she chose even though it gave you a shitty commute.”

And now I’m in a piss-poor mood again. Thanks, kid.

Castro shrugs. “I don’t begrudge you the pain. I’ve known loss, and it isn’t pretty. But please don’t make it Bess’s problem. I’m very protective of her. We all are.”

“Because she’s your teammate’s sister.” That’s why I’m getting the extended remix version of this speech.

“It’s more than that. She’s been through a lot.”

“Uh-huh,” I agree, even if I don’t know exactly what he’s referring to. “Dave is her only family, right?”

“Maybe.” He scratches his chin. “Their dad might still be alive somewhere. But he wouldn’t dare enter a room if Dave is around. Or me, for that matter. Bess used to be his punching bag. Even when she was only yay high.” He holds his hand down by the floor.

I do a poor job of keeping the surprise off my face, because Bess never mentioned her father to me. “She grew up with her grandparents.”

“Eventually,” he corrects me. “Not until Dave was fourteen. He realized he couldn’t always be there to step in front of his father’s fist. And he was sick of watching his little sister get bruised. And burned, too. There’s a scar on her arm.” He touches the inside of his elbow. “Cigarette burn. That’s one of the ways her dad kept her in line.”

Something goes wrong in my stomach. I know that scar. I’ve kissed that scar. But I never asked Bess where it came from.

“Eventually, Dave landed on a strategy—he breaks his own face with a wrench.” Castro taps his cheek. “Two bones. Just so someone would report their dad to social services.”

I honestly might vomit if he says anything more. I’ve spent the last couple of months whining about my trade, and my divorce. Then turning to Bess to cheer my sorry ass up. Meanwhile, she’s cheerfully putting up with my bullshit after barely surviving childhood? I kind of want to punch myself right now.

“Anyway…” Castro shrugs as he pulls on his socks. “Bess has already had her fair share of difficulty. If you bring her any more, I will end you. And so will Dave.”

“Yeah,” I grit out. “Message received.”

But he’s not even done. “Dave had it worse, I guess. Their mom died of a drug overdose when Bess was still little. Dave found their mom on the living room floor after he got home from kindergarten. Bess was screaming her head off in her crib for hours.”

I’m all out of words. I just stare at him, trying to picture Dave Beringer at five, standing next to his mother’s dead body.

Castro stands up and zips his jeans. “I said my piece. Just don’t let her down. She deserves the world.”

“I know.” Of course she does. And I’m suddenly craving her so bad. I wonder how many hours are left in this day before I can sneak off to my hotel room and call her, just to hear her voice. She’s on her way to Vermont, though. She said the phone service is spotty up there. So we might not connect.