Page 25 of Let it Sizzle
"Don’t you fucking touch her," he roars, voice shaking with fury. "Don’t you dare fucking touch her."
I spit blood into my hand, wipe it off with the back of my sleeve, and finally lift my head to meet his eyes.
“If you touch her again…” he growls, voice low and vibrating with rage. “If you even look at her again, I swear—”
"It’s not what you think," I say, voice rough. "Just—listen—"
But Byron doesn't want to listen.
He wants blood.
"You fucking betrayed me!" he roars, slamming his hands against the wall beside my head so hard the frame rattles. "You were supposed to protect her, not—" He cuts himself off, choking on the words. "Not use her."
The accusation slices through me like a goddamn knife.
"I’m not using her," I snarl back, my hands fisting. "How the fuck can you even say that?"
"You were supposed to look out for her, Levi!" he shouts, shoving at my chest. "Not screw her behind my back. Jesus Christ, how long has this been going on?"
"Since she came back," I grind out, not flinching when he shoves me again. "And don’t you dare talk about her like that."
He freezes, eyes wild, chest heaving.
"You think this is some summer fling?" I spit, stepping closer, my voice sharp and cutting. "You think I'd risk everything—our friendship, this job, my fucking soul—for a goddamn hookup?"
"You sure as hell didn’t tell me you were planning to put your hands all over my sister!" he throws back.
"I wasn’t planning anything!" I bark, fury bleeding into every word. "It just fucking happened. Because she's not some fragile thing you get to shove in a closet and protect from the world. She's a goddamn force, Byron. She’s strong and brilliant and fierce and she chose me. You hear me? She chose me."
He stares at me like he doesn’t recognize me anymore, like the foundation we built our lives on is crumbling right under our feet.
"And you—you’re looking at me like I’m dirt," I rasp, my throat tight. "Like I’m some piece of shit who’s gonna break her."
"You are," he hisses, his voice low and guttural. "You’re gonna wreck her and walk away. Just like every other fucker did."
That’s the moment something inside me snaps.
I shove him back, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him see I’m fucking serious.
"I would rather cut out my own heart than hurt her," I snarl, voice shaking with the force of it. "I have loved that woman since the goddamn day I pulled her out of hell. She's not a fling. She's not a mistake. She's it for me. You get that? She's fucking it."
For a second, Byron just stands there, breathing hard, his hands balled into fists at his sides.
Then he shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
Like he doesn't want to.
"You should’ve come to me," he says finally, voice raw. "You should’ve told me. Trusted me."
"I couldn’t," I whisper, feeling the words splinter inside me. "I was afraid if you knew, you’d rip this apart and send her back home before it even had a chance to be something real."
He closes his eyes for a second, his whole body sagging like someone punched all the air out of him.
"You were supposed to be my brother," he mutters, and that—that right there—hurts worse than any punch he could’ve thrown.
I swallow hard, the taste of regret bitter and thick on my tongue.
"I did," I whisper. "Iam."
