Page 71 of My Grape Crush
“You blew the entire family off because I didn’t fix your problem. Grow up, Rhys, and deal with it.” He jabs a finger into my sternum. “And if this shit blows up, you can kiss your reputation—whatever’s left of it—goodbye. Don’t expect me to clean up your mess.”
My heart is thundering now. Maybe I was stubborn. Maybe I knew my tiny talents would never change the world. But Sawyer glided down the gold-paved road that was his life. No one had to go to bat for him.
And he tucks his fifteen-hundred-dollar shades into the V of his starched shirt with all the smugness of Sawyer. Mr. Righteous.
Maybe that’s why I shove him. Hard. He staggers back in his pretentious Adidas Tiger sneakers, the rubber soles squeaking on the laminate.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I blaze back. “I’m good enough to pad out your profit margin as long as I remain a robot going through the motions? Maybe if you weren’t a twice-divorced miserable piece of shit who became Dad’s puppet without a fight, you might understand. Sometimes you need to follow your heart. Do what you think is right, instead of being a spineless yes-man.”
Sawyer doesn't speak, but I can feel the weight of his silence, and his face clouds with something I’ve never seen.
Hurt.
I just threw down a grenade with the pin pulled out of it. Worse, I smashed his ego. Pain, he can suck up, but he won’t stand for that.
Sawyer swings first, air whistling past my face as I dodge him just in time. He spins and flails, trying to recover, but I’m faster. A quick karate-chop to the back of his knee, and he goes down in a graceless swan dive. I slam into him, landing hard on his ribs.
“Fuck you, Rhys,” he growls, pushing against me.
He’s bigger and stronger, but I continue to punch him, so much anger fueling my fists. He rolls, trying to escape, but I go with him. We crash into a side table, toppling over a glass-bottomed lamp that shatters into a million shrieking pieces.
Seconds later, the bedroom door bangs open, and Dani cries, “Rhys! Don’t fight.”
But our old wounds have festered to the surface. No Band-Aid can stem the tide of our anger. Not with Sawyer, one arm lynched under my neck, trying to choke the life out of me.
“You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed for you and JC,” he huffs.
I twist and turn, rolling out of his grip, shards of glass biting into my skin. I wince, but the rush of adrenaline dulls the sting.
Bloodshed feels appropriate.
“Don’t guilt-trip me,” I lash back. “You’ve made a ton of money off the backs of your brothers.”
I kick at the sofa for leverage, trying to scramble away, but Sawyer thrives on an audience. With a gawking Dani frozen on the sidelines, unsure what to do, he crouches, then leaps—two hundred and twenty pounds of solid muscle pile-driving into me, knocking the air from my lungs. And he’s panting hard, sitting triumphantly on my chest like an alpha gorilla before he looks me dead in the eye.
“At least I didn’t destroy Mom.”
I blink back tears of frustration and struggle to breathe, an invisible pressure curling tighter around me. His comment is both cruel and correct. And it cuts deep, stinging more than the unfinished business crackling between us. Dani stands motionless in the kitchen, mortified, hand clamped over her mouth. Deeply immersed in the second-rate drama, none of us clocks the fourth person who has joined our party.
Not until theclank-clankof a suitcase rolling over the threshold snaps us back to reality.
Three sets of thunderstruck eyes swivel onto the five-ten ticking time bomb who sashays in on thigh-high, sequined platform boots and not much else, as if she confused noon in Osoyoos for midnight at the hottest club in Ibiza.
Sawyer squints at her like she’s a mirage about to swirl away into the desert once he blinks. Dani takes a startled step back, sizing up what she must think is a fangirl who breached security.
Me? The day morphing into something unfixable becomes a brutal reality when Myla lifts her oversized sparkly sunglasses.
Eyes aimed squarely at me and sheened with a scary kind of mania, she squeals, “Hiiii! I’m here!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
DANI
Who isshe?A lingerie model dragged out of a club at three in the morning? A raver? Because this is no ordinary fangirl. The hard lines of a professional partier pushing mid-thirties are etched deep across her forehead and pulling at the sides of her mouth. Pieces of what looks like confetti sparkle in her purple pixie cut, and barely containing the best boobs money can buy are a collection of see-through crochet panels that comprise her dress.
The tension running through me makes me feel like my heart will explode. I can tell from Rhys’s stricken expression that he knows her.
He shoves Sawyer off his chest and staggers to his feet.“What are you doing here?” he asks in a low, spooked voice.
