Page 33 of Reluctantly You

“Yeah, they’re my brothers. I’m the oldest.”

“What are their names?” I ask, and he scoffs.

“Seriously, why the fuck do you care?”

“I don’t know. Just making conversation.”

“I don’t want to make small talk with you, asshole.” His words are cold, and I bite back a retort. But as we make our way into the park, a large pond in the middle and a cement walkway around the edge, he says, “Magnus is the youngest. Then Matt and Max.”

“All M’s,” I reply.

“Yeah, it’s fucking stupid.”

It is stupid, I think and then watch as a few geese make their way out of the water and waddle near us. I don’t trust geese and they seem to be everywhere around here.

“And do they live close by?” I ask.

His hands fist near his sides. “Yeah.”

“So, when you said you have no one?—”

“Seriously, it’s not your fucking business, okay?” he nearly shouts, making the geese honk loudly at us. Oh no, here we go. “It’s not your business. Why do you even want to know? You want to tuck it away to use as ammunition later? Because that’s fine with me.”

His chest heaves and his nostrils flare.

“My brothers all hate me. They fucking despise me. They had weddings and everything, and I didn’t even know. And you want to know why? Because I’m an asshole. An unlovable piece of shit that no one wants.”

A goose honks at him once more, but he doesn’t even notice.

“They hate me, and I have no one. There. Is that what you wanted to know?” He runs a hand along his jaw. “Even my dad hates my fucking guts.”

My chest squeezes at the anguish in his tone, and yet I don’t reach out. If I do, he may try to snap me in half, and honestly, I’m watching an angry goose that’s aggressively waddling over to us.

“And anyway, he’s not my fucking dad.”

Of course he feels that way after everything his dad did to him. Selling the company out from under him. I’d probably disown my dad too. If he was still alive.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, sounding defeated. “Just…when I say I have no one, I have no one. So please don’t fucking ask me any more questions. Just know that I’m pathetic, okay?”

Just as he says that, he steps to the side and nearly tramples the angry goose. It honks furiously at him as it’s long neck leans forward and pecks at his leg.

Mitchell grunts, kicking his leg out slightly, moving the goose along, but he should know better. You don’t taunt geese. You don’t get in their way.

“Mitchell,” I say warily as the goose returns, honking viciously and trying to poke a hole in his shin. “You should run.”

“I’m not running from a fucking bird,” he says, kicking out his leg again.

Just as he utters that, it spreads its wings out and flaps them at us, making me jump back.

“Geese are notorious for this, Mitchell,” I warn as a few more join the instigator. Mitchell’s eyes meet mine and then he takes off into a sprint. I follow, trying to outrun the geese charging after us. Mitchell looks back at me, his eyes wide, and I let out a small laugh.

“Better run faster, they have wings.”

Just as I say that, all of them honk angrily in unison, like a deranged chorus, and Mitchell curses, his legs pumping faster. I can hear the furious flapping behind us as we cut through some trees, and after a few minutes of that shit show, we finally seem to have lost them. Mitchell leans over, his chest heaving, his hands on his thighs, his face red and sweaty.

“Shit,” he murmurs, and I grin behind my hand, trying like hell not to laugh.

“I told you. Geese are mean fuckers.”

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