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Hunter scowled. Marshall was right, and he hated it.
Marshall let out a long breath. “Look, you’ve been back for two weeks, and it’s been rough.”
“Yeah, it’s been really rough for you. You pay me fifteen bucks an hour to turn some wrenches. I just finished that bike yesterday and you probably made … what, forty thousand off of it?”
Marshall, to his credit, didn’t look ruffled. “You don’t have to work for me, bro. In fact, why don’t you ask Stan for a job? Is that what you would want?”
It wasn’t what Hunter wanted. He didn’t know what he wanted. “Fine, I’ll quit.”
Trent used this tactic all the time. Whenever people thought they had you over a barrel, just take the barrel away.
Marshall pursed his lips. “Don’t act like Trent.”
It wasn’t surprising that his brother picked up on what he was doing, but it still annoyed him to be called out on it. “Shut up.” He picked up his bottled water and downed the rest. He didn’t need this. “Do I have a job or not?”
He got to his feet and marched toward the door, but Marshall was right on his heels. He hurried past Hunter and opened the door for him. “Let me get that for you, Hunter. What else can I do for you? Wipe your butt?”
“Stop it.” Hunter passed through the door.
“What? You don’t like being waited on? Oh, I don’t think that’s true. You’re living in Trey’s house, working at my shop. Sure, you put in your hours, but you’re not living like a man.”
It was a good thing they were outside the little deli, because Hunter turned on him with a raised fist.
“Do it.” Marshall stepped closer. “Do it.”
Hunter’s heart thudded in his chest, and he longed to act on the violent urge. To feel his knuckles make contact with Marshall’s nose.
“Hunter!” someone called out from across the street.
He turned.
Kensi. She was pregnant with her second baby, and her hand rested on her small bump. She scowled at them. “Stop.”
If Trent was still alive and Kensi had yelled at one of them that way, it would have been funny. They would have made fun of her and told her she wasn’t their mother.
But Trent wasn’t alive.
“We’re fine,” Marshall called out.
Cheryse rounded the corner and walked toward Kensi. Then she stopped and stared at him.
Gah. The woman he’d dreamed about kissing last night.
No. No. No. He didn’t want to deal with this. He bit back on the testosterone and anger and stalked off toward the motorcycle shop.
Marshall followed. “See what you did?”
“What’s that?”
“Made a spectacle.”
Hunter didn’t respond.
“And Kensi isn’t in any shape to be worrying about you.”
Hunter stopped so abruptly that Marshall smacked into him. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with Kens?”
Marshall scowled at him.
