Molly

Shay was right. Working out with her brothers was a terrible idea, and my Monday morning started with fifteen minutes of utter hell. Only fifteen minutes, I thought when they described the workout. How bad can it be?

I drop the barbell and collapse to the floor. My lungs are on fire, and every muscle in my body is screaming at me about my bad decisions.

Note to self: You can die in less than fifteen minutes. And I’m pretty sure I almost did.

“Are you okay?”

I open my eyes and find Carter grinning at me. I would scowl, but even my face hurts. “Do I look okay?”

He hands me my water bottle and chuckles softly. “You did great.”

“Don’t condescend to me,” I mutter, pushing up. “You guys did way heavier weights and twice as many reps.”

“We’ve been working out like this for a while,” Jake says from his spot across the room. I feel a little better when I see he’s on the floor too. He’s lounging against the wall, chest heaving as he catches his breath. Brayden and Levi are already wiping down our barbells, like they just went for a light jog or something. “I promise, when we first started, we weren’t going this heavy or moving this fast.”

Shay was right. The brothers are competitive. And they all pushed to beat each other in the workout, trying to get the most repetitions, but Levi ultimately won today. If the quivering in my legs is any indication, I’m guessing she was right about the other part too, and I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

Groaning, I push myself off the floor. “You’re all evil. I hope you know that.” I sense Brayden watching me but avoid his gaze. I’ve been avoiding him since I moved in yesterday. It was easy enough to do, since I had to unpack last night, but tonight I might not have an excuse. “I need to go shower,” I say to no one in particular.

“Will you be here tomorrow morning?” Carter asks.

I’m not even sure I’ll be able to get out of bed tomorrow morning, but I say, “Wouldn’t miss it.” I turn into the back hallway and am pushing into the locker room when Brayden calls my name.

He hands me a towel.

If my heart weren’t still racing from that torture they call a workout, it would speed up at the sight of him—shirtless and sweaty, his athletic shorts hanging low enough to reveal the indent of muscle by his hipbones.

I mutter a thanks for the towel and pull my gaze away. He thinks you’re broken. Everything he does for you is out of pity.

The reminder makes me nauseated. Or maybe I have the workout to thank for that.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m not dead, so that’s something.”

He runs his gaze over me—quick, assessing—and I’m glad he can’t see just how much my quads are burning right now. My pride couldn’t handle it. “I told you to take it slow.”

I shrug. “I’m fine. You don’t need to protect me.”

He narrows his eyes, but I push through the locker room door before he can say anything else.

Brayden

Ralston & Taylor Investments is two blocks down from Jackson Brews. Far too convenient for me to pass up the opportunity to apologize to Jason Ralston on Monday morning. Unfortunately.

I don’t want to apologize for shit. When Jason arrived at the party on Saturday night, Molly was already drunk, and whether she willingly climbed into the backseat of his BMW seems like a moot point. Drunk women can’t consent. My father taught me that before I ever had a sip of alcohol. Sure, those lines get a little blurry when you’re dating or when you’ve been drinking too—hello, night in New York—but it’s a rule of thumb I’ve stuck by, and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to judge this asshole for not giving it a second thought, for plying her with more beer when I already warned him she was drunk, then for taking her to the back of his car in a cold parking lot, of all places.

Molly might not know she deserves better, but I do, and I’m going to make sure Ralston knows too.

Molly’s been distant, and my reaction with Jason is no doubt part of the problem. I’ll apologize for her sake. If that means we still have our new investor, that’s just an added bonus.

The receptionist beams at me as I walk through the front entrance. “Good morning. How can I help you today?”

“Good morning. I’m here to see Jason Ralston.”

“May I tell him who’s here?”

I’d rather you didn’t. But I smile like I’m not asking to see the guy I assaulted two nights ago. “Brayden Jackson.”

“I’ll let him know.” She waves to the leather couches in the waiting area. “Please, have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

I nod and wander in that direction, but I don’t sit. I’m too restless to be still. I stand by the window and watch the street outside. Snow-covered cars roll by and bundled-up pedestrians rush to their Monday-morning destinations.

“You can follow me,” the receptionist says from behind me.

It’s a power move, I realize. Making me go to him on his turf instead of coming out here to greet me. I was hoping to have this conversation on neutral ground, like the coffee shop across the street, but my temper got me in this mess, so my pride is going to have to step aside while I clean it up.

She leads me into Jason’s office, where he’s waiting, seated behind his desk. The large space has rich wooden paneling, a dual-screen computer, and a couple of leather chairs on the opposite side of his desk. “Would you like anything to drink?” she asks.

I shake my head. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

With a nod, she backs out of the office, shutting the door behind her as she goes.

Jason doesn’t stand. He rocks back in his chair and studies me. I wince when I see the purple bruise under his left eye.

I shove my hands into my pockets. “I came to apologize.”

He arches a brow but doesn’t reply.

“I saw Molly scrambling out of your car, and it looked bad.”

“You made assumptions.”

“I did.”

“You realize how insulting that is? That you think I’d force Molly . . . or any woman?”

“You would have done the same thing in my position.”

He opens his mouth to protest, then snaps it shut and sighs. He drags a hand through his hair. “Hell. I probably would have.”

“I’m sorry about the black eye.” I shove my hands into my pockets. “And I’m sorry about the assumptions I made in that moment.”

Jason studies me and then nods slowly. “Okay. Forgiven.”

“But I don’t want you dating Molly.” That was unplanned, but the second the words are out, I’m glad for the change of direction.

He pushes his chair back and stands. “Excuse me?”

“She’s had a tough year and—”

“That’s Molly’s choice to make. Not yours.”

He’s right. I fucking know he’s right. But that doesn’t stop me from saying, “She deserves better than what you have to offer.”

“You don’t know shit about what I have to offer.”

“You have a reputation.”

He grunts. “So does she.”

Every cell in my body lurches forward at those words, but I force my feet to stay rooted in place. Punching this sonofabitch again isn’t going to put me in Molly’s good graces or do a damn thing to change what assholes assume about her. “You didn’t just say that.” My voice is deadly calm.

He slowly walks around his desk to stand in front of me. When he stops, he tucks his hands into his pockets and mirrors my posture. “You know the difference between you and me, Jackson?”

I hold his gaze but don’t answer.

“You want to pretend she doesn’t have a reputation—that the pretty blonde you’re chasing after isn’t the same girl who got on her knees for half the guys in her high school.”

Adrenaline spikes in my blood, and my hands curl into fists. “Don’t.”

“Whereas I,” he says, his voice low, “don’t give a shit about her past.”

“You don’t give a shit about anything but your dick.” This isn’t going well. I came here to apologize, but now I don’t feel sorry for that bruise beneath his eye. In fact, I’d really enjoy giving him a matching set.

His lips twist into a smirk. “We can’t all be perfect like you, Brayden. And if you try to make Molly into someone she’s not, I think you’ll find she can take herself out of your life as completely as my cousin did.”

I flinch at the mention of Sara, just as he intended me to.

“Is that really what you want?” Jason asks. “To make another woman feel like she has to disappear to escape you and your unreasonable standards?”

He’s trying to piss me off. Trying to pick a fight here, where Molly isn’t watching and he can swing back. But his words—and the mention of Sara—make the fight drain out of me.

I turn around and leave his office without another word.