Page 122 of Cross Checked
Humiliation and fury exploded through me instantly because this wasn’t affection to Luke. It never had been. Everything with him was ownership. Punishment disguised as intimacy.
The second his mouth left mine, I shoved him hard enough his shoulder slammed against the hallway wall.
“You make me sick,” I snapped, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “And don’t twist that into some warped fantasy where I’m angry because I still care. I don’t. You make me physically sick.”
Luke just smiled that same awful smile that never reached his eyes.
Then his gaze shifted suddenly past me toward the kitchen entrance behind us, and for one horrifying second my stomach dropped so violently I thought Cade was standing there watching everything.
But nobody was there yet.
Still, Luke saw the panic cross my face immediately. That smile widened slowly while his eyes dragged over me like he could already smell blood in the water.
“Fix your face, baby.”
Then he stepped back casually, straightening his shirt like he hadn’t just threatened my entire life inside my childhood home before disappearing toward the backyard where laughter and music still carried through the open screen door like the world outside hadn’t just tilted sideways.
And I stayed there frozen against the wall trying to breathe through the panic clawing up my throat.
My neck throbbed viciously where his fingers had twisted into the soft skin beneath my hairline. I could already feel heat blooming there beneath the loose strands of my hair while nausea rolled hard in my stomach from the lingering smell of his cologne still trapped against my skin.
Outside, somebody shouted Cade’s name followed immediately by my brothers laughing loud enough to rattle the old framed family photos hanging beside me.
The sound nearly shattered me.
Because for a few stupid, beautiful minutes, I’d actually forgotten this was my real life.
Forgotten that men like Luke didn’t disappear just because someone better came along.
17
Cade
The second Pip stepped back outside, something inside me tightened hard enough to feel physical.
Nobody else noticed it.
Not Ryker arguing with Knox near the grill about whether pineapple belonged on burgers. Not Emmitt trying to launch yard hockey balls at neighborhood kids hard enough to “build character.” Not Daniel standing over the barbecue with a beer in one hand and grill tongs in the other while music drifted through the yard and smoke curled warm through late-afternoon sunlight.
But I noticed.
Because at this point, my body had become hyperaware of everything involving her, and the second she stepped through that screen door, every instinct I had sharpened violently.
Her hair was down.
Not twisted up into that messy bun anymore. Long blonde waves spilled over her shoulders instead, soft loose strands brushing against the thin straps of her white tank while sunlight caught gold through the lighter pieces as it fell down to her waist. It looked slightly messy too, not styled but disturbed, like fingers had been buried in it.
Fucking brutal.
I genuinely hadn’t thought it was possible for her to get prettier.
Apparently hair-down Pip unlocked an entirely new level of danger to my emotional stability because suddenly she looked softer somehow. More feminine. More undone. The little cutoff shorts hugged the tops of her thighs while the oversized Furyflannel tied around her waist bounced lightly against her hips when she walked, and damn, every male survival instinct I possessed was hanging on by threads at this point.
Then she looked at me and every bit of heat in my chest went cold because something was wrong.
Most people wouldn’t catch it because she smiled automatically when Kellen yelled something dramatic across the yard about getting gear ready. She still laughed softly when Knox almost tripped over a cooler trying to chirp Ryker. She still moved naturally through the crowd while neighborhood women pulled her into side hugs and little kids attached themselves to her legs like human barnacles.
But I saw it anyway.
