Page 12 of Changing Lanes

Jesse surges forward, practically spitting, “Same here, bro.”

The wire whines from the taut pull now, and I place myself between the two men, giving it some slack before it snaps completely.

Before anyone snaps completely.

I put a hand on Jesse’s chest, nudging him. Once he tears his heated glare away from Beckett’s, I shake my head, silently telling him to back the hell down already. I don’t need my brother, or my roommate, bloody before my shift even starts.

Is that full moon over yet?

“He’s just a mechanic.” My eyes widen, conveying his alpha male bullshit is unnecessary. “And you’re gonna be late.” For that date, right? At a place that obviously doesn’t offer salads.

Jesse opens his mouth to argue but I lean up to kiss him on the cheek, stopping him in his blood-sniffing tracks. I used to kiss all my brothers on the mouth until I saw a clip online of a certain A-list actor make out with her brother on the red carpet. Now, I don’t.

“Thanks for your help. I’ll talk to you later.” Hopefully. Hopefully he answers again, and not just because it’s an emergency. Hopefully there are no more emergencies.

We can only take so much.

He pushes past Beckett then, bumping into his shoulder when the taller of the two refuses to move and more death glares are exchanged.

Really?

Once Jesse’s out of sight, Beckett turns back to me, asking, “Do you work tonight?”

I throw up my hands, remembering I still don’t have a ride, and stomp back inside to grab my phone, groaning when I see my forgotten dinner.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

The deceptively deep voice behind me causes goose bumps to sprout like weeds in a neglected garden and I turn to watch Beckett drop his stuff on the counter next to Jesse’s deserted dinner. He eyes it, disgust marring his handsome features.

“Uh, yeah. I was just calling my friend for a ride.” Even though she’s one of those crazy employees that arrives thirty minutes early for her shifts, I still might be able to catch Cynthia before she leaves.

“I’ll take you. I can look at your bike while I’m there.”

Beckett’s eyes sharpen on mine.

The sincerity is there but he’s working like hell to mask it. Why?

I work my bottom lip, letting the moment stretch, then say, “I don’t want to put you out. I can find someone else.”

“Who? Who else can take you to work and fix your bike?” At my silence, he continues, “I’ll take you. Let me eat something and I’ll run you over there.”

He glares at the salad again before opening the fridge with more effort than necessary.

“Okay, thanks. You’re welcome to this.” I push Jesse’s untouched plate across the breakfast bar.

His acidic gaze lands on the food before lifting to mine. “Nah, I don’t do sloppy seconds.”

What?

Jesse didn’t even touch it.

With a shake of my head—I don’t even know what to say—I take my dinner to my room then eat with the background noise of my roommate banging around the kitchen. Call me crazy but I’ve never heard of a recipe that called for every cabinet, drawer, and door to be opened and slammed closed.

What’s his problem?

Is my brother stopping over really that big of a deal? If so, this living arrangement will go from mildly uncomfortable to downright unbearable quickly. My brothers may irritate the hell out of me sometimes and overstep boundaries I’ve been trying to set for years, but they’re nonnegotiable. There is no me without them. That’s what they still don’t get. If they did, they wouldn’t be treating me to radio silence over the decisions I made for our last remaining parent.

Losing our dad hurt. Slowly losing our mom is taking our legs out from under us, one by one. They’re all I have left to lean on and when I get them within reach, I’m not letting go. Not even for some anti-green giant.