His to Protect: A Brook Brothers Novel

by Delaney, Tracie

  “Cole, talk to me.”

  His gaze inched back to hers. “There’s nothing else to say, is there?”

  Icy tentacles closed around her heart, and a fat tear rolled down her cheek. She scrambled to her feet. “I can’t imagine being without you for even one day. I’ll be thinking of you every second we’re apart.”

  As she moved past him, he caught her arm. The desolation in his eyes tore her apart.

  “Don’t go. Please. Don’t leave me. I’m begging you.”

  She almost lost it. Almost. She dug her fingernails into her palms, the pain momentarily detracting from the screaming inside her head. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll never leave you.”

  His face crumpled. “I won’t give up on you. On us.”

  She bent down, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “I’m counting on it.”

  Chapter 23

  Millie yanked her arm out of Tanner’s grip as they walked down the Jetway. She’d been resolutely mute on the flight from New York, despite his multiple attempts to engage her in conversation. It was as though they’d undergone a role reversal. She’d changed her approach, and so far, he’d changed his. But this was Tanner. His nicey-nicey attitude wouldn’t last long, and when he broke, she’d better be ready, because the backlash would be vicious.

  Cole’s face played on a loop in her mind, sending crystal-clear pictures of his utter devastation when she’d left him sitting in that bar. God, was it only yesterday? His distress and anger sliced through her—the memories so raw, it felt like her brain had been pickled in acid. She’d chosen to present an outwardly cool and calm façade to Tanner, but she was screaming on the inside.

  Despite the hurtful words they’d thrown at one another, Mille knew Cole. He was one of the most tenacious, determined people she’d ever met. Sure, the outer shell showed a chilled, relaxed guy who played the role of peacemaker in his family to perfection. But peel back the layers, and beneath was a passionate, strong-willed, forceful personality with an inclination to want to help people. Either her plan would work and she’d save herself, or Cole would find a way to save her. She refused to contemplate any other outcome.

  She shot a sideways glance at Tanner. She hated him. Hated him, with every fiber of her being. She’d spent the last twenty-four hours fantasizing about stabbing him while he slept. She wouldn’t be able to carry out such violence, though, on another human being, not even Tanner.

  The airport was heaving with people returning home from the holidays, and their luggage took a while to arrive. They both stood in silence, Tanner having clearly gotten the message she wasn’t up for talking. He might win the world series when it came to sulking, but she was learning fast. After all, she’d had a great teacher.

  A half hour later, the taxi pulled up outside her former home. Millie waited for a tinge of nostalgia to hit her. There had been some good times here, at least in the very beginning. Instead, an overwhelming feeling of rage pulled at her stomach. She was trapped and out of control, and right then, she couldn’t do a damned thing about it.

  Tanner unlocked the front door and dropped her suitcases in the hallway, then carried on into the tiny kitchen at the back. She closed the door with a quiet click and peered into the living room. The place looked untouched from when she’d left almost five months ago. She sat on the worn leather sofa, panic growing like an out-of-control weed. Tension locked her spine, and her breathing became shallow, rapid, her body urging her to flee. She drew in a lungful of air. Calm down. This is not your life. This is a temporary aberration. Closing her eyes, she pictured Cole, and gradually her heartbeat returned to normal.

  Tanner waltzed in, swigging a beer from a bottle. He flopped into his usual chair, rearranged the cushion behind him, and grabbed the remote control.

  “I’ll allow this mood you’ve got going on,” he said, his gaze on the TV, not her. “It’s been a long day, and we’re both tired, but tomorrow is a different story. So, get it out of your fucking system, because if you don’t greet me with a smile in the morning, you’ll find out just how mean I can be.”

  Millie schooled her expression, her stare flat and cold, despite her irregular pulse. “Do your worst, Tanner. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

  “Maybe I’ve got a new trick or two up my sleeve. You want to take that risk, darling?”

  He wouldn’t get a rise out of her. He could push and push, and she’d respond with apathy, boredom even. Let his scathing words bounce off her like raindrops on the ground during a heavy thunderstorm.

  “Sticks and stones, Tanner,” she said, rising to her feet. She spun on her heel and left him sitting there with narrowed eyes and flaring nostrils while she grabbed her suitcases and hauled them upstairs. She paused outside her old bedroom, wishing she had a hundred razor blades she could tuck inside his sheets.

  She slipped into the spare room. She had no idea what Tanner would do when he came upstairs and found she wasn’t in their bed, but surely, he couldn’t be so stupid as to think she’d sleep beside him? Still, best to err on the side of caution. She picked up a chair and wedged it underneath the handle. It wouldn’t stop him if he really wanted to get inside, but at least it would give her some warning.

  Her stomach growled painfully—she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and even then, barely—but hunger wasn’t a stranger. Tanner had often refused to give her money for food when he’d wanted to punish her. He’d come home after work with takeout and sit in front of her, licking his fingers as she looked on with a starved gaze.

  She opened her suitcase and pulled out a pair of pajamas. It wasn’t quite seven yet, but she may as well get some sleep. She’d need all her energy for the oncoming battle. Besides death and taxes, the only other certainty in her life was that she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  Chapter 24

  “Again.”

  Cole tapped his finger beside the empty shot glass. The bartender gave him the stink eye, but that didn’t stop him fetching the whiskey bottle and refilling Cole’s glass. They’d already had words. Cole had flashed his badge and asked if the bartender would like Cole to take a good look around the place. Funnily enough, that had shut the guy’s mouth and opened the whiskey bottle. Yeah, it made Cole a dick, but what was the point in being the nice guy? Nice guys always lost. He should fucking know.

  Thirty-six hours had passed since Millie had walked out of that bar, leaving him wrecked and alone. Thirty-six hours since he’d had the shit kicked out of his heart. Thirty-six hours in which he’d wandered aimlessly around Manhattan, furious with himself, terrified for her, ravaged by feelings he couldn’t control. Finally spent, he’d decided to numb his pain by getting blind drunk. He’d called in sick to work—his first ever sick day. Not exactly something to be proud of, but he could hardly take a shift in this state.

  Calum had sent him a raft of texts asking what was going on when Millie had turned up the previous day to pick up her stuff. He hadn’t replied. If she hadn’t told his brother, then he wasn’t going to. Further texts had rolled in from Jax. Also ignored. He had sent a brief one to Draven with sketchy details but hadn’t answered any follow-ups.

  Instead of the alcohol dulling the terrible ache inside, the drunker he got, the angrier he became. At Tanner. At Millie. At himself. He should have gone to the airport, told that bastard to do his worst, called his bluff, let him release the damned video, and then hauled ass with Millie in tow. If it had only been his career on the line, he wouldn’t have given a shit, but he couldn’t do that to Jax. Millie was right. The press would descend like a pack of vultures on any sniff of police brutality, even though he’d barely touched the guy. Perception was everything, and videos and pictures could all be made to look a lot worse than reality.

  His brother had put his heart and soul, not to mention their entire inheritance, into the business. They were still in hock to the venture capitalists, even if they were paying them back at a rate exceeding all expectations. But if they didn’t have a going concern, th
en the value of the property would plummet.

  He slammed his fist on the bar at the unfairness of it all. He’d finally made her his, only for Tanner to steal her away—again. He rubbed his face hard, his mind playing terrible images on a continuous loop of Millie cowering in a corner while Tanner pounded her with savage words and cruel untruths, stripping her of her hard fought for self-worth.

  Then he shook his head. She wasn’t that woman any longer: the determined slant to her mouth; the resolute and firm manner in which she’d stood by her idea to break Tanner until he no longer wanted her; the way she’d held herself as she’d walked out of the bar, spine erect, shoulders back.

  The feel of her lips on his cheek as she’d whispered her goodbyes, not a tremor or waver to her voice, despite the storm that must have been swirling through her gut.

  His cell lit up, catching his eye. A text from Draven.

  If you don’t tell me where you are, motherfucker, I’m going to get every cop in Manhattan looking for you. Imagine the embarrassment. D

  He didn’t expect to be capable of a smile until Millie was safely back in his arms, so his twitching lips came as a bit of a surprise. Anyone who didn’t know Draven might think he was making an idle threat. He wasn’t.

  Cole stabbed out the name of the bar and hit send. He gestured to the bartender once more.

  Surprisingly, it took Draven two hours to arrive. Cole got unsteadily to his feet as Draven tossed his jacket over a nearby chair, but instead of shaking Cole’s outstretched hand, Draven took a swing and punched Cole in the face, laying him out on the deck.

  Cole clutched his nose, warm blood oozing between his fingers and onto his lips and chin. Damn, that big bastard had a hell of a punch. His nose hurt like a bitch. Cole staggered to his feet.

  “What the fuck was that for?” he said, his voice sounding thick and muffled, probably because his nose was broken.

  “I don’t want no trouble,” the bartender said.

  Draven silenced him with a single glance. Yeah, he had that effect on a lot of people.

  “Two things,” Draven said, glowering at Cole. “Firstly, do you know there are seven bars with the same name in Manhattan, and this is the sixth one I tried.”

  Cole grabbed a handful of napkins off the bar and began to mop the blood off of his face and hands. “You should have texted me back.”

  “I did. You didn’t reply.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, fucking ‘oh’. And secondly—which really deserves another punch, but as I can’t break your nose twice, I’ll let it slide—you really gonna simply let Millie walk away? Again? Fuck’s sake, Cole. Fight for her, man. Step up to the goddamn plate. You keep doing the same old shit, you know what you’ll get? Yep, same old fucking shit. Your woman is out there with that creep, and you’re in here drowning your sorrows in bourbon. Get off your sorry ass and protect her, or so help me God, I will.”

  Cole scowled at his friend. It hurt like a bitch because of his bloody nose, but he did it anyway. “What the fuck do you want me to do, huh? If it was only me who’d suffer, I’d have knocked Tanner on his ass before Millie went anywhere near him. But it isn’t. If he puts that video online, Jax could lose everything. I can’t do that to him, not after what he gave up when Mom and Dad passed away. I have to find another way to get Millie back.”

  Draven shook his head. “Well, sitting here ain’t gonna solve anything, is it? Anyway, I call bullshit on this fucker’s ass. Smelly, stinky, dog-crap-on-your-shoe bullshit. You’re a cop. I’m a cop. Let’s dig until we get some dirt on this bastard. Coz don’t tell me someone who abuses his wife, who attempts to blackmail her into going back to him, is all hearts and fucking roses. Well, two can play that game, and I’m guessing we’ll play it a lot better than that shithead. Now get me a goddamn whiskey and let’s get planning.”

  Cole stared at him in stunned silence. Draven was a man who didn’t like to waste oxygen, yet he’d made two impassioned speeches in as many minutes. But he had a point. Several, in fact.

  With his tail up, Cole ordered another round of drinks, and the two of them took a seat in a booth away from the flapping ears of the bartender.

  “You’re right. Sitting here isn’t going to do jack shit.” He curled his hands into fists. “When I’ve finished with that bastard, he’ll be eating through a goddamn straw for the rest of his life.”

  Draven gave a crooked smile. “Cool your jets. You’ll get your chance, but having your ass thrown in jail is hardly gonna help now, is it?” He tapped his temple. “Let’s be smart about this, think it through. We need some leverage.”

  “You really think he’s hiding something?” Cole asked, the first stirrings of hope burgeoning within him.

  Draven shrugged. “We won’t know unless we dig. But ask yourself this. How many times did he come to New York since Millie left him?”

  Cole twisted his lips. “Three or four?”

  “That we know of.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “How is he funding those trips?”

  “No idea.”

  “What does he do for work?”

  “He’s a small-time coach for the Chicago Bears. Helps out with the juniors and the younger kids.”

  “So, they’re not exactly rolling in cash, yet Tanner made the trip out here four times, at least?”

  “Maybe he earns more than he let on to Millie.”

  Draven leaned in. “Or maybe his earnings aren’t all that kosher.” He got to his feet and shrugged into his jacket.

  “Where are you going?” Cole asked.

  “I’m going to find out where he stayed while he was here. Might give me a bit more intel. You are going to the hospital to get your nose fixed and then try to make contact with someone on the Chicago police force. Let’s see if the name Tanner Fuckhead means anything to them.”

  Cole knocked back the rest of his drink in a bid to control the tornado swirling in his gut. Draven’s plan of attack was the right one, although that didn’t quell the urge to jump on a plane to Chicago and go get his girl. His insides were wound tighter than a coiled spring, but he had to play the long game, even if it killed him.

  The hospital confirmed his nose was broken. They reset it and made him a follow-up appointment, warning him to expect a couple of nice shiners. Bastard Draven. He’d wait until Draven least expected it and then return the favor. If Cole had to put up with a crooked nose for the rest of his life, his best bud was going to suffer the same fate.

  Now he’d begun to sober up, his head pounded with one hell of a hangover. He’d go home, crash for a few hours, then call Chicago PD. He could hardly do much in this state. He could barely keep his eyes open.

  He knew he’d made a mistake going home, because the minute he walked into the hotel, Jax and Calum descended on him. They must have been keeping watch, waiting for him to turn up.

  “The fuck you been?” Calum bit out, face like thunder. “And what the hell happened to your nose?”

  “We’ve been worried,” Jax, the much calmer and pragmatic of the two, added.

  Cole ignored both of them, but when they followed him downstairs, with Calum snapping at his heels like a rabid dog, Cole rounded on them both.

  “Fuck off and leave me alone.”

  “What’s going on? Why did Millie pack up all her stuff and leave yesterday?”

  Cole shoved Calum hard in the chest. “I said fuck off. I don’t need this shit right now. Give me some space.”

  Cole stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door. Calum burst through it, Jax at his shoulder.

  “What the hell is wrong with you? You go AWOL and expect us to carry on as normal? You call in sick to work—don’t bother denying it because I phoned them when you didn’t come home. You stink of booze and you need a shower, and your girlfriend has packed up and shipped out.” He sneered. “What is it, Cole? Had a spat? Was she the one who broke your nose? Don’t tell me, you’ve been steppin’ out.”

  As
Calum railed on him, all of Cole’s pent-up anger and fury spilled over. He was sick of being the reasonable one, the peacemaker, the one they all expected to fix their shit and resolve their arguments. He’d had enough. And as Calum was the closest…

  He slammed his fist into Calum’s face. Calum staggered backward but somehow managed to stay upright. Not for long. Cole flew at him, and they both ended up on the floor. He got at least two more punches in—one to the face and one to the stomach—then Jax hauled Cole to his feet. Calum scrambled upright and lunged, but Jax got in between the pair of them, a palm on each chest, keeping them apart.

  “Enough! You’re grown assed men, for Christ’s sake. Act like it.” Jax turned to Cole—not Calum, Cole noted—and said, “What’s gotten into the both of you?”

  “He started it,” Calum said childishly.

  Cole poked his finger in Calum’s direction. “No, you started it with your constant questions and nasty remarks about me and Millie. I’m sick of you. In fact, I’m sick of this whole goddamned family. I’m sick of always being the good one, the quiet one, the one who doesn’t really matter because, oh well, it’s just Cole. He’ll be fine whatever the fuck happens. We don’t need to consider his feelings because he’ll just go with the fucking flow.”

  He only realized he was shouting when the red mist cleared long enough for him to see properly. Jax and Calum were both staring, open mouthed, with an expression of genuine dismay on their faces. Cole’s chest heaved, and he struggled for breath. His legs gave way, as much from exhaustion and over-indulgence in alcohol as the argument with his brothers. Luckily, he was standing by the bed, so the mattress broke his fall.

  Jax was the first to move, scraping a hand through his hair, but Calum remained frozen to the spot.

  “How long have you felt like this?” Jax asked quietly, coming to sit beside him.