Be My Brayshaw (Brayshaw High #4)(89)

His brows jump high, surprised, but anger quickly replaces everything else. “That’s how we’re playing things now?”

“Did we miss something?” comes from Maddoc.

We answer at the same time.

“No,” I say.

“Yes,” he booms.

Cap glares. “My room. Now.”

My head jerks back. “Kiss my ass.”

“Let’s go.”

My lips smash together, and I look to the caramel-colored liquid in my cup. “I don’t think so, Cap.”

When he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, I force myself to meet his frown.

Guilt lines his eyes, heavy and loud, screaming at my own.

He should feel none, he promised me nothing, and he has every right to go after whatever it is he wants.

He should feel no guilt.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” he rasps.

I shake my head, looking away, but he gets right back in my line of sight. Closer, right in fucking front of me close, my knees now against his thighs close, I can smell his aftershave too fucking close.

“Stop what,” he repeats, the tenderness fading away as his frown deepens. “There are no secrets here.”

Okay, fine.

I lean forward.

“Stop looking at me with shame in your eyes because you can’t help but want to give the mother of your child a chance to be everything you wish she was,” I snap. “That is your choice. I am not a rock in your way, or a complication or anything else for that matter. Your life, your choice.”

Let her fuck you over if you have to, to see.

Captain chokes on air, his Adam’s apple stuck up high as he tries to swallow but is denied.

Silence surrounds us, and I’d almost say Captain looks embarrassed.

“So much for no secrets, Cap.” I glance around the room at the glares of three Brayshaws, all directed at the one before me. “Seems your family didn’t know about that.”

I slide off the barstool, taking my coffee with, and at first, I assume he allows it, but then the cup is snatched from my hand and I’m spun around.

“You came in here yesterday knowing where I was going, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

I open my mouth to speak but close it.

“How?” he shouts.

I square my shoulders, letting out a long breath. “She told me.”

Captain’s body goes stiff in front of me. “Mallory. She told you. When? What did she say?” He can’t hide the dreaded hope in his heart, and it continues to murder mine.

He hears it, his family hears it, and everyone’s shoulders drop a little lower.

“She wanted me to tell you not to wait for her, that...” I trail off when heavy creases form around his eyes. “She changed her mind.”

Captain studies me a long hard moment, his hand flying from my elbow in the next.

He jerks away.

A switch is flipped and suddenly his guilt and embarrassment is too much, clouded with anger and resentment and confusion.

He has no clue how to channel all the emotions flying at him at once and he knows it, the realization only makes this harder for him.

He deals with it the only way that makes sense to him in this moment, by pointing a finger at someone else in hopes it dulls the ache building inside him.

“You think I trusted her?” he asks with disgust, and I get the feeling it’s directed at himself. “I would never trust a word she says, not that I believe a fucking word you’re saying either.”

Fair enough.

His words are lies though, it’s why he’s coming undone in this exact moment—hearing the truth, that she didn’t simply get caught up or have an emergency she couldn’t get out of. She chose not to meet her daughter, turning her back on her for the second time, that’s how he sees it and it’s killing him.

“What did you do, go looking for her?” he asks, shaking his head spitefully, but doesn’t let me answer. “You knew I was with her the other day, you been following me again?”

He throws the coffee cup, sending it shattering into the sink, but I don’t jump like I imagine he wanted me to.

“You need to mind your own fucking business,” he barks, stepping back only to creep in again. “Stay out of things that don’t concern you, especially something like this. You don’t know what’s best for her. You’re not her fucking mom!” he shouts.

My muscles grow stiff and as if I swallowed a lump of flour, I fight for air I can’t get.

He keeps going, and in my peripheral, both his brothers move closer, fearful their calm and collected brother might be losing his balance.

“She might like you, Victoria, but she’s three! She likes everyone!” His voice carries across the house, echoing along the halls and ricocheting against my temples. He drives it home, pushing a hard finger into my chest as he tips his chin, staring at me through his lashes. “You are not her mom.”

I never tried to be her mother, I only wanted to make sure she forever had someone in her corner when he couldn’t be, but I can’t say that to him now.

So instead I nod my head and say, “You’re right. I’m not.”

But my surrender to his words has a triggering effect, and the anger and pain he was trying to push off onto me, soaks inside his own soul.