That sentence might sound nonsensical to a guy, but any woman understands the distinction. Given her scream, I thinkit was the latter. If he’d politely expressed feelings to her, she’d have asked him to leave, not screamed,“Louis, no!”loudly enough to bring the household running.
“Is she kicking the shit out of him in there? Is that why they’re all just standing in the hall instead of helping her?” Janessa asks.
“How would we know?” Sydney asks in exasperation.
“I don’t think she’s well enough for that,” I say.
“One of us has to get in there and make sure she’s okay,” Sydney says.
As a unit, they turn assessing eyes on me. I stare back warily. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You have to volunteer as tribute,” Janessa says. “I’d have to try to shove my way in past three McRae men, and that’s never going to work.”
“But you wantmeto? You’re tall,” I say to Janessa. “Can’t you just look over or through the cracks or something?”
“They still have a few inches on me, so, no, I can’t.”
Sydney plants her hands on her hips and says, “I barely know them. I can’t force my way in there, but you’re practically family. They treat you like you’re their little sister. It won’t be weird if you do it.”
I almost choke. Henry’s hand on my boob four minutes ago didn’t feel very sisterly.
“Come on,” Sydney’s dark eyes bore into me. “Take one for the team.”
“You were the soccer player, not me,” I argue.
Just then, another muffled scream of outrage and the vague sound of male threats emanate from the room at the end of the hall.
“I’m going in. You better appreciate that I am about to attempt to breach a barricade made from 100 percent McRae,” I say.
Janessa gives me a gentle nudge. “Go forth and conquer, then report back for your award ceremony.”
I hesitate and Sydney starts humming a song fromLes Misérables.
I wave her away. “Stop pressuring me. I’m thinking.”
I start by trying to find a space to wedge my way into. Charlotte allows me through the first line of defense, probably because she’s too startled to stand her ground, but then I reach Henry, Arden, and Gabriel. When I try to slip between Henry and Arden, neither budges. Arden gives me a pat on the shoulder, but otherwise ignores me. Henry scowls back at me. “I told you to stay in your room.”
“Don’t speak to me like I’m a dog, Henry,” I snap.
Horror floods his face. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was concerned for your safety.”
“Is something dangerous happening?”
He glances into the room then back toward me, a glint of amusement entering his eyes. “Not for Bronwyn and Dean.”
To hell with it. I crouch down onto all fours, ignoring my sore knees, and insert my hands between Henry’s thighs. He looks down at me, and there’s no question now that he’s amused. He also probably feels guilty that he spoke to me in a way I found offensive.
“Let me in,” I whisper.
“Will you stay with me until Louis isn’t likely to accidentally catch you in the crossfire?”
What is the creep even doing in there that Henry’s talking like that? “I’ll stay with you,” I promise.
Henry widens his stance, and I pop my head and shoulders between his knees, holding on to his calves, just in time to see Bronwyn poke Louis in the chest with a finger and hiss, “My husband saved me from you.”
Dean puts his hands around Bronwyn’s waist, and, with what looks like no effort whatsoever, picks her straight up and sets her on the bed before he turns back to Louis.
Bronwyn’s husband is back to being “scary Dean.” If that man ever looked at me the way he’s looking at Louis, I’d definitely cry.