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Jonas smiles. I used to see that smile a lot. Right before he struck. And while every old fear in me is shouting to lower my eyes—or better yet, get the fuck out of here—I’m not that little boy anymore.
“You’re getting mouthy with freedom,” he says with a frown. When I don’t answer, he goes on. “You haven’t returned my texts.”
I don’t bother to tell him that I’ve blocked him. If he didn’t look like a burly version of my dad, I’d think Jonas was adopted because he got neither of our parents’ intelligence.
“What do you want, Jonas?” I ask in a bland voice.
At my side, Ivy is quiet but close, her hand yet to leave my back.
“You’re two games away from being draft eligible. It’s time to make plans.”
“As touching as that sounds, I’ve got it covered.” Not that I think my brother has any interest in looking out for me.
His look of disdain tells me as much. “Yeah, well, my agent says you haven’t returned his calls either.”
Which is because I have no interest in signing with Jonas’s soulless bloodsucker.
Not that he’s actually Jonas’s agent anymore. They parted ways when Jonas fucked up his career. But I’m guessing this is a way to get in good with his old cronies.
“Didn’t want to return them,” I say.
“You’re an embarrassment to this family. You will call him.”
Suddenly, I’m just worn out. I hate this. Hate that my remaining blood relatives are nothing to me.
“No, Jonas,” I say in a low voice. “I won’t. I’m signing with Mackenzie.”
“That weak-ass fucker?” Jonas barks out a laugh. “He doesn’t have the balls to get shit done.”
“Hey!” Mac snaps, stepping forward. “That’s my father you’re talking about, so shut your mouth.”
Inside I groan, cursing this whole situation. But my awareness goes on high alert as I sling an arm around Mac’s waist and haul her back against me. Every inch of her vibrates like she’s about to throw a punch, and she doesn’t know who she’s dealing with.
“Ignore him,” I murmur. Not because I disagree. But I know Jonas.
Jonas leers as expected. “I can’t believe this. He has his daughter riding cock to get clients? I underestimated the guy.”
Mac lurches in my arms, unable to get free but doing a good job trying. “You disgusting fucker, you don’t know dick.”
That shuts him up. He pushes off my truck, rage in his eyes. “Watch your mouth, girlie.”
Blood races through my veins, and it feels ice-cold. Not taking my eyes from him, I firmly set Mac behind me, telling her, “Don’t move.”
Something in my voice must convey the seriousness of the situation, because she does what I say.
Jonas, on the other hand, takes a step toward her. “I should shut that mouth for you.”
“You need to get the fuck out of here,” I tell him, standing in front of Mac. “Now.”
“You don’t tell me what to do, Gravy. You fucking obey. As always.”
It burns that Mac hears my shame. That I ever obeyed this asshole. But no more.
“You’re making a fool out of yourself,” I tell him. “Go on. We’re done here.”
Jonas’s nostrils flare. Instinct has me transferring my weight onto the balls of my feet, my thighs clenching, prepping for a tackle. Jonas is a big motherfucker, but he’s been out of the game for years, and I’m stronger, faster, with better balance. He’ll go down and stay down.
Because he is, at heart, still a lineman, he reads my intent with perfect clarity. It’s in the eyes. We’ve been trained to broadcast I’m gonna fuck your shit up with one look.
