Page 195 of Revenge Puck

“I need specifics,” I continue. “Not ‘yeah we talked and it went fine.’ Not ‘it’s been handled.’ I need to know when it was, and what was said, and how you resolved it. Because if I’m stepping into something with you, I want to know the two of you can co-exist.”

Before he can respond, I see someone skating toward us wearing black slacks, a crisp white button-down, bow tie, and—dear God—an apron tied around his waist.

As he gets closer…

“That’s my brother.”

Aaron nods. “That is, in fact, your brother.”

“But…”

What the heck is he doing here?

Declan kicks up ice when he skids to a stop near the table, a sparkling mist of ice crystals dusting Aaron’s sweater.

“Oops. I slipped.” He winks at me.

Declan wobbles to the edge of the carpet rolled beneath us, jaw tight like he’s doing advanced math in his head to stay upright. A silver tray is balanced on his hand.

He keeps his attention on Aaron. “Sir, I apologize for the minor inconvenience. Our rink conditions—as you know—can be unpredictable.”

Aaron looks him up and down, a huge grin spreading across his face. “I can’t fucking believe you’re wearing an actual bow tie.”

My brother reaches up and plucks at it. “Thanks, I borrowed it.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa! What on earth is going on?

What is happening?

“Hi. I hate to interrupt this newfound bromance of yours, but would either of you care to explain what the hell is going on?”

“You asked him to talk to me,” Declan tells me. “Obviously, he did.”

Aaron’s gaze drifts to me. “I followed directions.”

Declan straightens, looking far too pleased with himself for a man dressed like a rejected groomsman. “And as part of that agreement,” he continues, “I am contractually obligated to deliver dessert—and refrain from violence.”

Aaron nods. “Appreciated.”

“We’re demonstrating maturity,” Declan adds, jutting his chin out proudly.

Aaron nods solemnly. “We’re showing real growth.”

Right.

Growth.

In thirty-six hours.

There’s a smile on my face as I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from grinning. “You’re both…insufferable.”

“I love you, Jules,” Declan continues. “You’re my baby sister. You’re, like, the only person I can fully trust. The last thing I wanted was for you to be hurt by my stupid mistakes.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, tempted to jump up out of this chair and hug him, as an unexpected wave of emotion floods my insides. It feels a lot like pride. And love. Or maybe it’s happiness? Pure, raw happiness.

These two bone-heads are doing this for me.

Because they care.