Page 18 of Courage, Dear Heart

He glances at Angela with the same cockiness and his smile widens. “Angela.”

Brock. Even his name makes him sound like an asshole.

“JJ-Jills,” he says, dragging out her name, voice oozing with a forced familiarity that makes my skin crawl. “How are you?” He’s practically leering, his gaze sweeping over her in a way that feels invasive, possessive. She crosses her arms, her expression unreadable, but I can sense the tension rolling off her.

“Jillian,” she corrects him. Her face is hard. “And I’m fine.”

“Yes, you are.” He looks her up and down, getting closer.

As I’m about to step forward, Jamie beats me to it. The kid plants himself directly in front of his mom, arms crossed, chin lifted defiantly. His eyes narrow, staring up at the man with a look that’s equal parts challenge and protectiveness. I can barely keep a smirk from my face. Good kid.

Brock’s smile falters. “Hi there, Jamie.”

A flicker of irritation crosses his features as he looks down at Jamie, clearly not expecting a child to challenge him. But Jamie doesn’t move, his small frame standing tall, his stance protective.

Jamie scrunches his entire face, holding his place in front of his mother.

I settle back but only slightly, staying close to Jillian, ready to step in if necessary. My irritation simmers as I watch the man’s reaction. One thing’s clear—he’s not used to being told no—not even by a child. And if I’m reading Jillian’s expression right, she’s as sick of his presence as I am.

I shove my hands into my pockets and fist them. We stand in a crooked circle, Jamie in the middle, shooting daggers at Asshole Brock. His fake-from-a-bottle-white smile never falters.

Brock tugs at the collar of his button shirt, still looking at Jillian. “This is your lucky day, JJ-Jills. I’m taking you on a date to a vineyard wine-tasting tour upstate this Sunday. You gonna need to get a sitter for Jamie.” His gaze flicks to Jamie. “Sorry, J-dude, no kids allowed.”

Jillian’s mouth drops open. She blinks. And her eyes narrow. “I’m not going on a date with you.” Her tone is icy cold.

Brock leans in closer, a smug grin plastered on his face. “Of course you are, JJ. You can’t keep saying no to me forever. And besides”—he shrugs, glancing around like he’s sharing some great secret—“I already bought the tickets. Cost me a pretty penny. You have to go.”

The way he says it, low and confident like it’s a done deal, sends a surge of anger through me. There’s an unmistakable edge in his voice, a predatory tone that makes my hands itch to grab him by the collar and show him the door. The sheer entitlement is staggering. The gall of this guy—thinking that because he threw some money around, Jillian’s somehow obligated to him? It’s disgusting.

I take a slow, steadying breath, trying to keep my expression neutral, aloof, while every muscle in my body coilstight. Years of dealing with my father’s manipulative tactics taught me to keep my cool, but that calm is hanging by a thread. Inside, I’m close to boiling over.

Jillian’s mouth falls open for a split second, a mixture of shock and anger flashing across her face. Then she blinks, her expression hardening, and her mouth presses into a thin line. The way her eyes narrow, the subtle set of her jaw—she’s furious. “I’m not going on a date with you.” Her voice is like ice.

And yet, Brock barely registers her rejection, plowing ahead with that sly grin like she hadn’t even spoken. That’s when I realize what’s really ticking me off. It’s not that he’s being pushy; it’s the way he’s acting like Jillian’s a prize, something to be won, instead of a person with a right to say no. He doesn’t see her.

I step in a little closer, keeping my face unreadable but making sure Jillian knows I’m right here. Because if this guy thinks he can keep pushing her like this, he’s about to get a rude awakening.

Jamie steps forward, small but fierce, and shoves Brock at the waist. My heart lurches. Brock’s face contorts with anger, and before I can react, he lifts his hand, fingers twitching as if he’s actually considering hitting a kid. My entire body tenses, every muscle coiling tight, ready to move. For a split second, I can see the intent in Brock’s eyes—the line he’s teetering on.

“Jamie!” Jillian’s voice cuts through, her hand moving toward her son, but I’m already there. I scoop Jamie up, holding him close, my arm instinctively wrapping around him protectively.

I lean in, keeping my voice low, steady, as I whisper, “Don’t worry, buddy. If he comes near your mom again, I’ll punch his lights out.”

Jamie’s wide eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the tension melts as a sly smile curls the corner of his mouth. Brave kid.

I tighten my hold on him, and a simmering anger settles beneath my skin. I’m not a violent man—never have been, never needed to be. But there’s a line, and Brock is dancing dangerously close to it. Right now, my priority is Jamie, making sure he feels safe, feels protected. I won’t let anyone lay a hand on him. My jaw clenches as I lock eyes with Brock, giving him a hard, silent warning.

This isn’t about me or even Brock, really. It’s about this boy in my arms and Jillian, who deserves to feel safe in her own shop. If this guy pushes one more inch, he’ll find out exactly how far I’m willing to go to protect them both.

Jillian steps forward, her eyes blazing as she takes Jamie from my arms, holding him close to her side. Her gaze snaps to Brock, and there’s a fierceness in her expression I haven’t seen before. Her shoulders pulled back, chin lifted, she looks ready to unleash every ounce of rage she’s been holding back.

“I don’t owe you a damn thing, Brock.” Her tone is low and laced with fury. “And I’m sure as hell not going on a date with you. Not now, not ever.”

Brock opens his mouth to respond, but she cuts him off, stepping forward, not an ounce of hesitation in her stance. “You’re obnoxious, arrogant, and so far off-putting it’s hard to believe you don’t see it yourself. I didn’t want to date you before and after today?” Her voice drops to a hiss, barely contained. “You’re unwelcome here. I don’t want you anywhere near me or my son, got it?”

She holds his gaze, unflinching, and there’s a wild, protective energy radiating off her—a mother bear guarding her cub. Brock takes a small step back, clearly not expecting this kind of response. Satisfaction thrums beneath my own anger as Jillian holds her ground so fiercely.

I stay close, watching Brock’s reaction, ready to step in if he tries anything. But the fire in Jillian’s eyes tells me he’s already on thin ice. This isn’t a woman who can be intimidated or worn down—not when it comes to protecting her son.

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