Her chin juts out further. “Rachel says you’re gonna ditch me now you have a girlfriend.”

I stifle a deep, disgusted sigh and hold her gaze, my words firm. “I’m not going to ditch you, Annabelle.”

Her brows rise, unconvinced.

How am I supposed to undo years of damage my mother has caused in just a few minutes? Jordan would know what to say. A master of the right words at just the right moment, she would be good for Annabelle. The perfect role model.

Hearing voices and hoof clops coming up behind us, I take both reins and cluck the horses. We begin moving again.

“Jordan doesn’t wear makeup.” Not often, at least.

I glance at my sister. Her eyes are fixed ahead, but her shoulders straighten. She’s listening.

I forge ahead. “She reminds me of you. Jordan speaks her mind. She’s smart and intuitive. Whenever a subject gets too stressful, she cracks a joke, making everything lighter. We both like sports and talking about it and playing it. She’s so talented with a soccer ball, Moo Moo. When I watch her play …” I get lost in her. Completely and utterly lost. And when I think of all the time she spent on me when she could’ve been training, it feels squandered. A wasted effort. Yet I wouldn’t take back a minute of it. “She has a big smile and an even bigger heart, and I like being with her because of that, not because of what she puts on her face.”

That’s it. I’ve got nothing else.

“Are you going to marry her?”

I almost laugh out of shock, but Annabelle’s expression is solemn. My lips press together. I’ve thought about it. I know I want Jordan in my future, but the driving need to prove myself overshadows everything and I can’t make it stop.

“No, sweetheart.” My denial weights me like an anchor. “I’m not.”

We finish our ride and head home. Another wave of glitter decorates the atmosphere when Annabelle gets out of the car. “Are you going to wash that stuff off your face now?”

My sister’s lips twitch. “I don’t know. I think Mom should see it first.”

“I’m not sure that’s smart.” Pocketing my keys, I follow her up the porch.

“Smart is for nerds. I’m a lady in progress.”

My voice is stern. “Annabelle.”

She grins. “Kidding!”

I fold my sister in a hug, picking her up. Our size difference is almost comical. Her feet leave the ground and bump my knees. Bony little arms wrap around my neck, squeezing tight. Mother of god, she is so fucking precious it makes me ache.

“I love you, Moo Moo. Don’t let them change you, okay?”

Putting her back down, I placed my hand on her back and propel her inside the house. I follow behind. Annabelle’s eyes flare wide. “What are you doing?”

My steps are stilted, my voice tight. “I’m walking you inside.”

“You should go, Brody.”

“It’ll be fine,” I lie. “Just run upstairs and wash your face, okay?”

“Annabelle?” Our father’s voice is empty and devoid of warmth, even for his own daughter. “Is that you?”

“Brody,” she whispers, but I can’t placate her now. Fury is building quickly, making me shake.

“Go!”

She jogs up the stairs, her thin little legs carrying her quickly away. Moments later my father appears in the entryway, the click of his polished shoes loud in the silence. Each deliberate step grates on my ears. His suit jacket remains in place, his tie a perfect Windsor knot that I’ve never managed to master.

His nostrils flare, the only indication of his displeasure at my presence. “Son.”

My father’s displeasure means nothing. I’m not here to ruffle his perfectly aligned feathers. I’m here to rip the fuckers out. My voice comes out somewhere between a growl and a hiss.

“You motherfucker.”

He halts in front of me, brown eyes the same as mine narrow. I’ve always thought brown eyes resembled warmth, like the heat of whiskey sliding down your throat, but his aren’t alive—they’re an emotional vacuum.

“A background check?”

His jaw tightens. He knows. “I’ve never begrudged you your whores, Brody, but who you choose to date in an official capacity—”

I cut in. “Is none of your business.”

“—reflects back on all of us. Neglecting to inform my office was a gross oversight. Your choice was made with a serious lack of judgment, and it doesn’t surprise me.”

“A serious lack of judgment? You know nothing about Jordan!”

“I know the facts. I know you need to choose someone who fits in with our way of life. Voters won’t like seeing my son dating a foreigner. It’s not good for the polls. If you need help, contact my office and I’ll have my secretary arrange a vetted list.”

He turns to leave, dismissing me.

My temper rips apart at the seams. “Jordan is not a business decision!”

He turns back. Click, click, click, he strides toward me, teeth bared and temper flaring. “I give you the best chance at an education and what do you give me? Nothing!” he roars, the veins in his throat bulging dangerously. My back remains straight beneath his onslaught. “The least you can do, Son, is what I tell you to do!”

“Screw you, Dad.” My glare is white-hot, rage boiling over. “You’ve given me nothing that matters. Nothing!” I shout, jabbing a shaking finger at his chest. When it comes to Jordan he has no say. I don’t want him anywhere near her, tainting her with his hate. She’s everything he’s not, and that can’t change. Not ever. “And Jordan…” my bellow tapers to a hoarse whisper and my hand falls to my side “…she’s given me everything that does.”

And I did more than just throw it away. I crushed it into the ground.

Brody

Gym shoes squeak, and the sound of boxing gloves connecting with flesh echo through the large space. Loud grunts and laughter compete with thumping heavy metal music and the thick stench of sweat in the air.

Coach believes in keeping our workouts well rounded. The weekly sparring is brutal and this morning’s session couldn’t have come at a better time. My life is a cluster fuck. I’m hopeful a few sharp jabs will knock some sense in my head.

“What’s the matter, pretty boy?” Carter punches his boxing gloves together and comes at me, no hesitation. “Scared?”

I take a deep breath and slam the bars shut on my emotion. We’re both stripped down to gym shorts and headgear, our bodies a sweat-slicked mess. The prominent quarterback boxes balls-to-the-wall, but he hasn’t brought me down yet.

Carter swings a right hook, his big weighty bicep coming at me so fast it’s a blur. I twist out of reach and his fist connects with air.

I give him a mocking grin, displaying my bright blue mouth guard. Carter and I are of similar build, our strength a comparable match, but where he’s quicker, I have more patience. The best way for him to lose his cool is for me to throw out a few taunts.

“This isn’t shadow boxing, dude. You hit like a girl.”

“Yeah?” He taps my cheek with his glove, the move designed to irritate. It does. I jerk my head out of reach. “Well, you look tired, princess. And you hit like a jellyfish.”

My bright red boxing glove connects with his ribs. He grunts, his abs tightening to lessen the impact. “Jellyfish that, asshole.”

Wedging gloved fists between our chests, he shoves me away. I brace and he stumbles backwards. Using the time to recover, I wipe perspiration off my brow with my forearm.

When Carter reaches the border of the mat, I put my head down and charge, tackling my teammate until I drive him right off the edge.

“Brody!”

I turn my head at the shout. Bam! Carter’s fist is a sledgehammer. My vision dims and pain ricochets around my head like a ping pong ball. Before I can blink, my body hits the mat and Carter’s laugh comes from somewhere very far away.