Page 56 of My Ex's Billionaire Brothers

My adrenaline floods away, leaving a shaky cold. I turn and find Anya halfway down the porch steps, trembling hands covering her mouth. Her eyes are huge, rimmed with unshed tears and something sharper—embarrassment.

I embarrassed her. Fuck.

Pain shoots through my sternum. All my jokes, my charm—she sees me crack one slap and morph into the thug who spent most of sophomore year in detention for fighting. I never wanted her to see me like this.

These days, I don’t wantanyoneto see me like this. I’ve always been angry—about how I was brought into the world, about how my mother treated me like I was an accident, and some of our family did too, about how my father was never around. All of that fueled my inner fire, and I didn’t know any better when I was a kid.

I liked being known as a thug back then. When you have a reputation for fighting when you’re a teenage boy, it’s cool. It gets you girls, and it scares the right people.

But as a grown man? It’s a liability. It makes you look weak and aggressive and flat-out wrong. That’s why I developed a sense of humor—so I could de-escalate things like this.

Hitting Calvin…I can’t say I regret it. What he called her, why he came down here, that piece of shit had it coming. But doing it in front of Anya and her family was the wrong call.

I swallow, trying to gather my thoughts. “Anya, I?—”

She pivots, bolts into the house. The screen door bangs like a gavel. Mrs. Markoff follows, calling her name.

Theo exhales, rubs his jaw. Gage squeezes my shoulder. “You okay?”

I stare at my palm. “Stupid,” I mutter. My voice cracks. “I just proved Calvin right about me.”

Gage’s grip firms. “You protected her.”

“Iembarrassedher,” I counter. The weight of every peeping neighbor’s opinion slams into my lungs. Anya values these people’s opinions, and I just gave them every reason to think she’s gone off the deep end. “They’ll brand her wild. Trashy. Her folks werealreadyuncertain about us.”

Theo tucks his phone away. “We’ll handle perception later,” he says, diplomatic as ever. “Right now she needs comfort.”

Gage nods. “Go after her.”

But my legs won’t move. Shame muffs me like wet sand. Every fight I swore I’d left behind—the broken noses, the adrenaline high—surged back the instant she needed calm, cool heads. Fuck.

Theo grips my arm, voice low. “Hunter. She’s hurt, not by you, but by what Calvin said. Go make her feel better.”

Gage backs him with a single nod. I drag in a breath, nod once, and head up the steps. Behind me, Gage lifts the hammer and returns to the fence. Maybe finishing rails is easier than untangling this new chaos.

Inside, the house is too quiet. Distant cabinet doors close softly—Mrs. Markoff giving space. I find Anya in the hallway near the stairs. She’s braced against the wall, shoulders shaking.

“Sweetheart,” I breathe, “I’m sorry. You deserve someone who doesn’t drive halfway across the country to come yell at you.” I pray she doesn’t take that effort of his as evidence that he still loves her.

What if she takes him back?

Truly, that’s what’s been ticking in the back of my mind since I heard his car’s engine. The fear that he’d show up and take what he thinks is his. And that she’d let him.

I let the fear take hold of me, and I made a bad call. I can’t blame her if she wants nothing to do with me after this. My throat goes thick at the thought of it, and my stomach churns. Did I just ruin everything for all of us? Or just me?

She wipes tears with the heel of her hand. “I hate that he gets under my skin.” A brittle laugh. “And I hate that I still care what every neighbor thinks.”

I step closer. “Let ’em think. You did nothing wrong. I’m the fuckup here.”

Her gaze flicks to my reddened hand. “Is your hand okay?”

“The hand is fine.” I swallow. “I shouldn’t have hit him. I just…I couldn’t let him talk about you like that. I’ll do better, if you let me.”

She studies me, reading every line of regret carved into my face. Seconds tick—each one heavier than the last. Then she exhales, shoulders easing. “Thank you for standing up for me,” she whispers. “But next time, try words first?”

Hope splinters into my heart. “Next time? So…there’ll be a next time?”

“You think I’m done with you because you slapped my ex?” She gives a watery smile. “I’m not a quitter.”