Page 105 of Whatever It Takes
She sighs out like I’m being unreasonably difficult. “Please, Garrison.”
I’m about to do as told, but Hunter kicks my shins from underneath the table.Hard.I drop my fork, the utensil clattering on the lip of the plate.
Fuck.
Dull plain plumes, and Hunter gives me a harsh look likedon’t be a shit.
My jaw clenches, my pulse starting to race.
Mom places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s fine, sweetheart.” Yeah, she knows my brother kicked me, but all she does is smile at Hunter with the shake of her head.
Boys will be boys, she used to tell me as a kid, blowing on my cut kneecaps after being shoved in asphalt.You have to pick yourself up and fight back.
Right.
She collects the dirty plates around the table. Including mine.
Hunter narrows his assholish eyes on me. He jerks his head from me to our mom like,help her.
I glare.
He has two feet.
I haven’t stepped into this house for months. They’re lucky I’m here right now.
“Garrison,” Davis snaps out loud. “Help Mom.”
Our mom waves me off. “No, you boys go relax and catch up. It’s been so long since you’ve all seen each other.”
Shit.
My heart rate ratchets up. “I’m actually going to head out,” I say. “I’ve got an early morning.”
Our dad makes a noise of disapproval. “Connor Cobalt surely isn’t making you work during the holiday.” True—I do have off—but that doesn’t mean I’m actually going to take it. I still planned to go into the office. Because I love my job.
Because it’s keeping me going.
Hunter pushes out of his chair and treks over to mine. “Come on, Garrison.”
Relax, I tell myself, and I stand up. Hunter slings an arm around my shoulder and pats my chest. Once he starts pulling me to the door, he tightens his arm into a fuckingheadlock.
“Stop, man,” I choke. I’m stumbling to catch up with my own goddamn head, and I try to pry off his stupid arm.
“That’s all you’ve got?” Hunter goads.
I attempt to elbow his ribs—he slams a fist in my kidney. I cough.
Davis laughs. “Still can’t get out of it?”
Acid drips down my throat. I didn’t realize I was supposed to become a fucking wrestler.
Hunter laughs with our older brother, then he looks over at Mitchell, who’s busy grabbing his Columbia coat from the hook. Acting like he sees nothing.
Hunter messes my hair with his knuckles, digging hard. Burning my scalp.
Davis snatches his coat while I’m still struggling to remove Hunter’s bicep from my windpipe.
I don’t have time to reach for mine. Because Hunter forgoes his own winter jacket. Front door open, he exits into the cold night in a preppy sweater and collared shirt—forcing me outside with him.
