Chapter 6

Kace

She let him call her darlin’.

Darlin’.

I couldn’t use sweetheart or baby or honey or sugar pie, but she’d let Brent call her darlin’.

What the fuck?

“Fucking hot,” Brent said when I moved to retrieve a fresh rack of glasses from the dishwasher. “I didn’t expect that she’d turn out like—”

“Get on those drinks.” I glared at my friend. “Darlin’,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Fucking darlin’.”

Brent grinned. “Should try it, bro. Brookie girl likes it. Might get you out of this pussy slump.”

I set aside pussy slump for the moment and focused on Brookie.

Gut seizing, I spun to face Brent. “Tell me you haven’t,” I gritted out, getting into my friend’s face and not giving one fuck.

“Haven’t what?”

“You better not have fucking touched her.”

Look, Brent was a good guy. We’d been friends for close to five years, ever since we both got out of the military and our paths had crossed at a mutual friend’s wedding. But Brent was a player and—

Brooke deserved more than a player.

Also, no coincidence that the more-than-a-player was going to be me.

“I’ve known Brookie for almost fifteen years, bud. Of course, I’ve touched her.”

I growled.

Brent’s eyes went serious. “Shit, man.”

I shook my head, shoved a new rack of dirty glasses into the washer with more force than was warranted. I also very determinedly shrugged off Brent’s hand and glared up at him. “I’m not backing off.”

A raised brow in response. “Not asking you to.”

“Good,” I gritted. “Because I’m not.”

I had just spun back to the bar when Brent clamped a hand down on my shoulder. “Bro.”

“What?” I snapped, purposely not focusing on the fact that I was feeling pissed and possessive over a girl I’d known for all of fifteen minutes—because I didn’t think the six months of biding my time counted, even if it had clued me into what she preferred to drink and what she was actually working on.

“I served with her brother,” Brent said. “Her twin.”

Tension gathered between my shoulders, and I knew from the tone, from the look in Brent’s eyes when he glanced over at me. I knew.

“He—” Brent shook his head roughly. “Fuck, I don’t know what to say. It’s not fair to tell you he couldn’t hang or take returning to civilian life because that’s not fair to him and all he went through. And we went through a lot of shit. Brookie, me, the guys, the doctors . . . he was sick, and we couldn’t find a way to help him.” He swallowed hard. “Fuck me, we couldn’t help him.”

Now I found myself grabbing Brent’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

Silence. My friend’s frame remained tense. But after a long moment, Brent sighed and nodded. “Gotta get those girls their daiquiris.” He grabbed a clean blender jar. “Fucking daiquiris are such a pain in the ass to make.”

“Brent.”

He stopped, eyes on the floor. “I know, Kace.” A beat. “Thanks.”

I sighed, nodded when he glanced up at me, then got back to work filling orders. But I wasn’t really there. My mind was on what Brent had said, what I’d now realized about Brooke.

Had she always been shy and hiding? Or had losing her twin done that to her?

And why did he want to be the one to coax her out of her shell?