Page 23 of Protected By Razor

“When,” she says.

“Last night.”

“How long??—”

“Kate. It’s not like that. It’s not??—”

“It’s not what, Darcie. Tell me what it isn’t. Because from where I’m standing it looks exactly like the thing I would have bet a thousand dollars didn’t happen in this apartment.”

I don’t say anything because what am I supposed to say?

She puts her hands on the back of the kitchen chair and grips it hard enough that her knuckles go white.

“You don’t know him,” she says.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t know him, Darcie. You know a version of him. You don’t know what he does. You don’t know the people he knows. You don’t know what he comes home from.”

“Kate?—”

“Do you know why I don’t go to the clubhouse? Because that world is bad. It’s not exciting. It’s men who handle things with their fists and their guns, and the things they handle don’t always wash off. And I love my brother. But I have spent my whole adult life making sure nothing I love ever has to touch that side of him. Now you’re standing in your kitchen in his shirt and I’m watching you walk into it??—”

She stops. She swallows.

“You’re a nice girl, Darcie. You’re a good girl. That’s not a bad thing, that’s who you are. Vet school, top of your class, rescuing animals that didn’t stand a chance without you. That’s you. My brother hangs around with men who — I don’t even want to know what they do. I have spent many years not asking. You’re going to be the one he comes home to after the things I don’t want to know about, and I don’t think you know what you’re signing up for.”

My chest hurts. My eyes are hot. I love her. I love her because she is my best friend. And she isn’t wrong about any of the facts.

“Kate.”

“Don’t.”

“Kate. Look at me.”

She looks at me.

“I know all of that,” I say. “I know exactly all of that. I don’t have illusions about what he does. I’ve never had illusions. I grew up sleeping over at your house. I saw him come home at four in the morning with his knuckles split, and I saw your parents not ask. I saw him disappear for weeks, and you didn’t know where, and I understood even then that I wasn’t supposed to ask. I know what he is. I know.”

“Then?—”

“And I’m still choosing him.”

Her face cracks.

“Darce?—”

“I have spent ten years being exactly the girl you’re describing right now. The good one. The nice one. The sensible one. And I have been quietly miserable for most of it, and nobody ever noticed, because being miserable quietly is literally my entire personality lately. I’m not doing it anymore. I want him. I’ve always wanted him. He wants me. And I’m not going to deny myself that for anyone. Sorry, not even you.”

She stares at me.

I’m shaking. My hands are shaking. I have never in my life said that many words in a row to Kate about anything that mattered.

Her mouth opens. Closes. She looks at me like she’s seeing me for the first time.

“Jesus, Darcie.”

“I’m sorry.”