He’s going to lose,” Bentley announced, tossing more money into the pot. He and Brant had started betting once they heard that Brock and Jane were playing checkers, and now they were sitting on Jane’s bedroom floor being annoying as usual.
They had gone from making a simple five-dollar bet to five hundred dollars.
Which, all things considering, was pretty tame for his brothers, given the last thing that Bentley had won was an ass.
“Shh, you just take your time,” Brant coached Jane. “In and out, there you go, deep breaths, make your decision then stick with it, stick it to him hard.” He gave Brock a wicked smirk and mouthed fuck you.
“Don’t listen to Brant, Brock. Just focus.”
Jane moved her black checker forward. It was a bad move; he could easily jump it, so clearly he was missing something. He glanced around the board. Impossible. She’d just given him the game!
And this was their tie-breaking game.
The first she’d won.
The second he’d won.
“You’ve just lost.” Brock smiled arrogantly.
Her poker face stayed completely unreadable as she gave him a noncommittal shrug and glanced down at the board. “Then move.”
He moved his red checker, hopping over the black and stealing it. “The way I see it, you have two left. I have three.”
“Mmm-hmmm.” She smiled sweetly and then, very quickly, jumped one of her other black checkers, one he hadn’t noticed because he’d been so focused on that damned stupid move she’d just made. All in all he lost two checkers. Leaving him with a lingering thought that he’d completely underestimated her ability at board games. “What was that? About losing?”
“Son of a bitch!” Bentley yelled. “The hell, man! I told you to focus!”
“You mean you saw that?” Brock roared.
Bentley held up his hands. “Rules are rules, no audience participation.”
“Thank you.” Brant grabbed the pot of money on the floor and threw it in the air. “Hey, if we have dollar bills I bet the cock will dance for us.”
Brock rolled his eyes. “And Grandfather wonders how you guys end up in every newspaper in the country.”
Bentley shrugged. “We’re hot and rich. Two plus two, man; two plus two.”
“It’s good that humility runs in the family.” Jane nodded while Brant gave her a kiss on the head and a pat on the back, like she’d just won him a freaking car or something.
“How’s the ankle?” Bentley moved to her side. There were entirely too many people in this room. Brock wanted to shove everyone out but that would look bad. Him forcing his brothers to leave so he could do what? Kiss her again? Stare at her? Watch her kissable lips pout?
“It’s good.” Jane yawned behind her hand. “Sorry, all the excitement must have worn me out.”
“Checkers. Almost like running a marathon with your hands.” Bentley winked. “Lay down; it’s dudes’ night to clean up.”
Brock had no choice but to stand.
And follow his brothers out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
But the minute he turned from the door, both Brant and Bentley gave him dumbfounded looks.
“What?” He crossed his arms. “Why are you both looking at me like that?”
“You’re an idiot.” Brant shook his head slowly. “Did you really just…leave?”
Brock glanced back at the door then back at them. “She said she was tired! She yawned!”
“That doesn’t mean you leave!” Bentley slapped a hand to his forehead. “You’re such an idiot.”
Brant just continued shaking his head in disappointment.
Brock lifted his hands into the air. “What the hell was I supposed to do? Fluff her damn pillow?”
“Yes!” They both yelled in unison.
“Offer a massage,” said Bentley.
“‘Do you need a glass of water?’” offered Brant.
“‘More blankets?’” added Bentley.
“How about a fucking bedtime story?”
“What’s that? You want me to stay with you until you fall asleep, get naked under the covers? What? You want me to touch your sweaty naked body and—” Bentley had always been the storyteller in the family.
Brant coughed.
“Sorry.” Bentley exhaled. “I got carried away.” He pointed in Brock’s direction. “Stupidity does that to me.”
Brock ran his hands through his hair and turned to re-open the door.
“No!” Brant shoved him back. “It’s too late. Now you seem creepy and unsure.”
Bentley nodded his head in agreement. “Completely wasted opportunity. I’ve never been so disappointed in a brother, and I live next door to this asshat.”
“Thanks, man.” Brant nodded.
“Anytime.” Bentley flashed a smile. “Brock, go to bed. Think about all the bad choices made in just the past ten minutes and for fuck’s sake fix them. Do you really want to spend the next seventeen days without seeing her naked?”
“It’s not about that,” Brock said defensively.
“Even better.” Brant suddenly grew serious. “Even better.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Brock clenched his fists.
“It means”—Bentley stood between them, pressing a hand against Brock’s chest—“that it’s about damn time you do something for you. Not for us. Not for our dead parents and sure as hell not for Grandfather, but for you. And that girl in that room? She’s for you.”
Stunned, Brock could only gape at Bentley as if his brother had grown two heads.
“There’s always tomorrow,” Brant encouraged. “’Night, guys.”
“There isn’t,” Brock whispered under his breath. “We aren’t promised tomorrow.”
Bentley paused in the hall, his expression pained. “Then why the hell are you allowing someone else to control your life? If you died tomorrow, what would people remember about you? How easygoing you were? How controlled? How rich? Is that what you want, boring Brock?”
The old nickname was a solid hit to his chest. His brothers hadn’t called him that since college.
“Well?” Bentley’s eyebrows shot up. “Boring Brock would walk away, but I don’t think that’s what you want anymore.”
“It’s all I know. It’s for him. For them.”
“Never for you.” Bentley sighed. “Look, man, I get it, believe me. I get the pressure, but do you ever wonder who put it there in the first place? Because the way I see it, it sure wasn’t Grandfather. It was a scared twelve-year-old boy who took the baggage and cheerfully carried it out the door, refusing to let anyone help him along the way. And for what? Did anyone throw you a parade? Did anyone notice how hard it was? No, just you.”
“When the fuck did you get so wise?”
Bentley laughed. “Let’s not let that get around. If Grandfather ever found out he’d auction me off next. God help the poor woman saddled with me for the rest of her life.”
“Nothing wrong with commitment.”
Bentley paled. “We all have our demons.”
“Goodnight, Bentley.”
“Night…Boring Brock.”
Brock smiled the entire way back to his room.
Tomorrow, after all, was a new day.