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CHAPTER2
Nixon
16 YEARS OLD
I peekaround the corner of my house, spying on Monroe and her new boyfriend, Drake. Drake is a bitch. Okay, so maybe he isn’t that bad, but he’s currently taking up my time with my best friend. That, I don’t like. He is close to her. Way too close. He needed to back it up and switch the hug to a Christian side hug—pronto. And to think we were just taking our daily friendship selfies just earlier today. Monroe leaning into my face as we smile. One with her legs draped over my shoulders as Easton snapped it.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I jerk at the voice startling me out of my selfie fantasy. I bump my head into Everett’s.
“Jesus… Fuck, bro. Why?” I clutch my chest.
He chuckles. “Ahh, I see what you’re doing. That dude is moving in on your woman.”
“No, he’s not,” I snarl.
“What are you going to do? He’s about ten seconds away from laying his lips on hers.”
Looking back over, I see the fucker has gotten even closer. “I don’t know, man. I can’t just walk over there and break it up. We have rules and she’ll be pissed.”
“Oh, pissed?” Everett gasps. “We can’t be having none of that.”
I elbow him in the gut, and he backs up, grunting. “Kidding. Calm down and remove that stick up your ass, yeah?”
I snort. “The only one of us taking shit up the ass is you. So why don’t you go find Wyatt and do just that.” My brother is a closet gay. I fully support him, but he isn’t ready to come out yet. And, honestly, I’m not sure whether he’s gay or bi. Either way, it doesn’t matter to me. As long as he is happy. Plus, I don’t care what gender you are, I’ll smash anyone’s face for breaking his heart.
“Low blow,” he grumbles, and I shrug, turning back to the problem at hand.
Right before I’m about to throw caution to the wind, I spot Brylan, Monroe’s dad, peeking around the corner. He types a few things on his phone and right before their lips touch the sprinklers turn on, spraying them both in the face. Brylan sinks to the ground next to his house, hiding his laughter, as Monroe darts inside.
I am about to charge Drake before he slips into his car. Gripping his shirt in both of my hands, I slam him down on top of the hood. “You touch my girl?” I roar. Calm, cool, and collected Nix completely gone.
“Your girl? Bro, I didn’t know. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” He stutters as I swing my fist into his nose. Blood gushes out.
“Damn right you won’t. Stay the fuck away from her.” I bend his arm until the sick, pleasing sound of bone snapping rings in my ears. I step back, releasing him as he sinks to the ground, then he gets inside his car and drives off.
Job well done. I pat myself on the back because I was just that good.
“Nixon.” Fuckkkk.
Swinging around, I come face-to-face with Brylan. Scary fucker. Not as scary as my uncle Vince, but still. “You’ve been chasing boys away from my daughter?”
I rub the back of my neck and take a quick inhale. “Yeah?” I’m shaking like a little bitch, like I wasn’t a BurBay heir who has seen and done unmentionable things.
“Good job, son. Here’s a hundred.”
The fuck?“Sir, I promise it’s not as noble as it seems.”
He barks out a laugh. “No shit. You’ve been marking your territory on my daughter for years.” I did have a terrible habit of biting what was mine. She bit me too… “Keep up the good work. Stay in the friend zone and we won’t have a problem.”
He catches my eye and I shiver. Never seen black eyes? Well then, you’ve never met Brylan Davenport. “I can’t promise that,” I mumble as I walk off.
“I heard that, Masterson!” Shit. I honestly just want to go home and let my mom rub my head to boost my bruised ego.
I hear grunting as I swing my eyes to next door, to my aunt and uncle’s. Uncle Vince has Everett in a chokehold, laughing as Everett tries to work his foot behind Uncle Vincent’s leg. It wouldn’t work. It never did. I’m jealous of their relationship. I don’t have that with Uncle Vince, but my momma and Aunt Eliza are crazy about me, so there’s that. Uncle Vince drops Everett to the ground, smirking.
“That all you got, old man?”
Vince lights a joint, putting it to his mouth, scoffing. “You just call me old, boy?”
