Page 43 of Quiet Protector
Besides, the wide-open spaces make it easier for the agents staking the perimeter to keep watch. With the frosts of winter arriving early, the grass is dead and close to the ground. There’s no place to hide—except outbuildings like the one Melody just entered.
My focus returns to Isabelle and Hugo when Isabelle says, “We need all the bags.”
Hugo’s slit gaze darts between Isabelle and me for several tedious seconds before they eventually settle on me. “Do you have a death wish?”
When I shake my head, hoping it will hide the curl of my lips, Hugo slants his head to Isabelle. “He doesn’t have a death wish… so I guess we’re staying at a hotel.”
“Brandon’s mom said it’s fine for us to stay here.”
“Oh, okay, since Brandon’s mom said it’s fine, I guess it’s fine.” Hugo’s sarcastic tone reminds me of the tone Phoenix used anytime Joey pissed him off. “Where’s the phone Isaac gave you in case of an emergency.”
Isabelle takes a step back, disgusted by Hugo’s request. “This isn’t an emergency.”
Their squabble gets interrupted by my mom squealing my name at the top of her lungs. “BJ!”
With her arms spread wide, she gallops down the front stairs of the porch, smiling a blinding grin. I won’t lie, and I don’t care if you call me a momma’s boy, but my heart thuds extra hard when our eyes collide. The last time we were here at the same time, we were saying goodbye to someone we loved dearly. I also haven’t seen her in almost three years. Life got busy, and in all honesty, I got slack.
That’s done with now.
When my mom leaps into my arms, I spin her around and around and around like Joey always did. It floods my eyes with moisture, but her beautiful laugh ensures not a single droplet glides down my cheeks. They’re the giggles of a woman finally on the road to recovery after a few hard years.
“Okay, enough spinning before I bring up the cookie dough I gobbled down before you could sniff it out.”
My mom’s smile doubles when I set her back onto her feet with a pout. I thought I could smell more than cow dung in the air. My mom has been baking, and my stomach is more than ready to make up for lost time.
After whacking me in the gut, intuiting what its hungry grumbles are about, Mom shifts her glistening baby blue irises to Isabelle and Hugo. They, along with my wonky grin, are the two features I didn’t get off her. My hazel eyes are a recessive gene from my grandfather, and regretfully, my smile is one hundred percent accredited to my father, but other than that, I’m a male version of my mother.
“Isabelle! It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.” I scrub a hand down my face when my mom wraps Isabelle up in a tight hug. “You’re even more beautiful than Brandon described.”
Don’t misconstrue. Until you’re a man of ‘prime reproductive age’ desperate to add names to a guest list that filled up over a year ago, you can’t judge anything happening right now. I swore until I was blue in the face that there was nothing going on between Isabelle and me. Did my mother believe me? No, she didn’t. She just did the weird coughing thingamabob she did the morning she tidied up my room after Melody and I slept together for the first time before telling me she’d keep my ‘relationship’ with Isabelle a secret.
If you haven’t worked this out yet, my mom would make the worst spy.
The heat creeping across my cheeks jumps to Isabelle’s when my mom inches back to assess every inch of her face. Its coloring has nothing on the red-hot fury that floods Hugo’s eyes when my mom shouts, “Oh my goodness, my grandbabies are going to be beautiful.”
I’m about to jump to my defense, but before I can, the quickest flurry of color in the corner of my eye stops me. Madden has his shoulder propped against the pole holding a new verandah up. His eyes are locked on Isabelle. They’re brimming with the same interest they held anytime he gawked at Melody when we were kids, and have me moving away from preparing my defense to signing a guilty verdict in under two seconds.
“Mom, she hasn’t even walked through the front door yet, so don’t scare her away with baby talk.”
Madden is a creep, but even creepers have standards. He won’t mow his little brother’s turf. That’s against the bro-code Phoenix, Madden, Joey, and I swore never to break. Moseying in on another brother’s girl was rule number one. Although Isabelle isn’t my girl, something is telling me it’s okay to lie this time around.
I suck in my first breath in what feels like minutes when Madden spins on his heels and walks away. I want to say it’s because he remembered our bro-code as readily as me, but I’m doubtful that’s the case. He only left after his eyes locked on Hugo. Not even the cockiest guy wants to stand across from the man he pinned a rape on.
With Hugo’s glare icy enough to be felt, I rub my hands together before shifting on my feet to face him and Isabelle. As suspected, Hugo is eyeing me like he’s mentally processing my death certificate.
Mercifully, Isabelle’s stare isn’t as dire. She’s frustrated but not enough to deny my silent plea for her to follow along with my ruse. I understand that this puts her in an awkward predicament, but I’d rather have her tussling with Hugo than Madden, which is odd considering one of them is related to me by blood.
I lose the frigidness of Hugo’s wrath when one much more disturbing steals his focus. My mom is staring at him. I’m not talking a hello-there-young-man stare, I am talking do-you-need-a-sugar-mommy stare. It churns my gut enough I’m certain I won’t eat for a week.
“Ma’am,” Hugo greets, as uncomfortable by her gawk as me.
A hope my mom hasn’t completely fallen down the rabbit hole surfaces when she asks, “What squadron were you in?” I thought she was eyeing Hugo like he was her lunch. I had no clue she had noticed a tattoo on his forearm he has attempted to conceal with many.
Hugo tugs down the sleeves of his long-sleeve shirt while replying, “American Hornets, ma’am.”
“Oh…” My mom looks as anxious as I was when I spotted Madden watching our exchange from the sidelines. “That’s nice.” After straying her wide eyes to Isabelle, she says, “How about we leave the boys to unpack the car while we freshen up?”
Not giving Isabelle the chance to reply, she grips Isabelle’s hand in hers then hotfoots it up the front porch stairs. The screen door has barely swung closed when Hugo is up in my face. “What are you playing at, Blondie?”
