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“I’m good,” I answer and reach for the coffee before he gets in my way.
“It wasn’t a question, Callen. Sit your ass down.” My brothers are all at least twenty years older than me. And for the most part, I’m pretty sure I could take any of them in a fight. But right now, I’m thinking Cooper might be the exception.
I sit, and he hands me a cup of black coffee.
“Drink.”
I look from the mug to him. “You gonna make speaking in single syllables a thing now?”
“You gonna grow the fuck up and talk to someone about whatever the hell is bothering you, smart-ass?” He drops into the seat across from me. “Sorry, I didn’t hear that. In case you weren’t sure, now’s when you speak.”
“I’m not one of your kids, Coop.”
“You’re right. My kids don’t sulk for weeks, Callen. And I know this isn’t about Dad, so don’t try to say it is.”
I groan, not sure how I got here.
“You ever feel like no matter what you do, you’re fucked?” I ask, trying to figure this shit out.
“More times than you’ll ever know. But I’m pretty damn good in those situations. So how about you let me help you. You’ve been angrier than I’ve ever seen you for weeks, little brother.”
Anger is easier to deal with.
Anger I can use. Can channel.
Football is a great sport for angry men.
You get paid enough money for your children’s children to never have to work a day in their lives just to hit someone on a field.
“It’s not just the Dad stuff. That’s not helping anything, but it’s not that. There’s other shit going on that I can’t talk about.”
“Does it have something to do with why you moved in?” He pushes like I knew he would.
“Coop, seriously, brother. Let it go.” I blow out an aggravated breath and watch Coop’s face change as something clicks.
“It wasn’t Bellamy Wilder,” he says slowly as he lifts his mug, waiting to gauge a response I won’t give him. “It was Caitlin Beneventi, wasn’t it?”
I school my face, not wanting to confirm anything.
“Tell me I’m wrong, Callen. Tell me you didn’t fuck over Sam Beneventi’s daughter.”
I shake my head and clench my jaw so damn tight, I’m surprised my teeth don’t shatter.
“I didn’t fuck her over. I broke her.”
CAITLIN
Mozart composed his first symphony when he was five years old.
He played in front of two imperial courts when he was six.
I’m twenty-four, and I just stumbled over my coffee order.
—Caitlin’s Secret Thoughts
“So... how was your date?” Bellamy asks as she stirs a pumpkin cream latte.
“I told you yesterday, it wasn’t a date.” I’m forced to inch away when the cinnamon smell hits me and turns my stomach.
