Brittany snorted.
Brooke shot her twin a you’re-not-helping glare.
Her impish twin crinkled her nose with an unspoken sorry.
Brooke nodded briefly before stepping deeper into the room, forcing her tense facial muscles to smile, damn it. Just pretend things were normal. She paused in front of her chair at the table set for seven, ever aware of the looming man at her back. “I realize this is likely a bit of a shock, but for the sake of family unity, I would appreciate it if we could be civil adults and welcome a guest.”
She gauged the noiseless diners around the table. Stunned silent? Or quietly accepting? For a woman who didn’t do confrontation, she figured she was making a heck of a good show. “We’ll all be seeing a lot of each other in the future since …” She swallowed down the lump in her throat and avoided looking at her mother. “Since …”
So much for her bold approach.
Jordan’s hand fell to rest on her shoulder. “I’m the father of Brooke’s baby.”
She glanced back at him in a quick moment of gratitude that he was there to speak the words she found so hard to say.
Bonita moaned and reached for her Bloody Mary resting by her full water glass while a maid still hovered around the broken glass at her feet. Where was she finding all these drinks? Her brothers usually did a better job at keeping them out of her hands. Things were definitely spiraling out of control.
Parker’s chair scraped back as he stood. “Brooke, move.”
She shook her head. “Not a chance, Parker.”
Her brother kept his eyes pinned on his rival. “Damn it, Brooke, I said move.”
Jordan’s fingers twitched on her shoulder. “Don’t speak to her that way.”
A vein throbbed in Parker’s temple. “Who the hell are you to tell me how to speak to my sister?”
“I’m the man who’s going to marry your sister.”
Before she could remind Jordan she’d only agreed to date him, he’d gently moved her aside as Parker shouted, “Like hell.”
In a blink both men launched across the table.
The candelabra toppled into a crystal serving dish of asparagus. Gasps echoed. Someone yelped. China and silverware clinked and scattered.
She’d seen her brothers scuffle in their younger years, but that had been simple roughhousing. She’d never seen an all-out fight before. An honest-to-God, muscles bulging, men-out-for-blood pounding on each other.
It wasn’t pretty. And it wasn’t sexy. All the polish of their everyday ways negotiating deals in boardrooms peeled away to reveal the true cutthroat nature that had propelled them to the top. Their rawness scared her as they rolled off the edge of the table onto the floor in a crash of shattering glassware and honed bodies meeting tile.
The women shot to their feet, advanced a step, then backed away. The other two men at the table simply lounged back. What the hell was wrong with them?
Brooke stamped her heel. “Adam, Emilio, step in before one of them breaks something vital.”
Her brother and Jordan’s lumbered to their feet as if in no big hurry to end the show.
Adam strode past, leaning toward her. “This has been a long time coming between them. Sure you don’t want to let them just work it out of their systems for a while longer?”
“Adam!” she warned a second before Parker landed a punch to Jordan’s jaw, not that Jordan even flinched. Instead, the father of Brooke’s child flipped his rival on his back in a move that slammed them both into the serving cart.
There went dessert.
Emotions swirled through her—guilt over bringing Jordan into this lair without more forewarning. Annoyance at him and Parker for not staying civilized.
And ohmigod, divided loyalties.
Adam sighed. “Okay, okay …”
Her brother, the middle of the Garrison brood, nodded to Emilio for assistance. The two men made their way toward the pair still duking it out.
Bonita whimpered between gulps of her Bloody Mary. “Another Garrison bastard.”
Brooke grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself. The last thing she needed right now was condemnation from her mother, even as much as Brooke wanted to defend her child and her illegitimate sister Cassie. Focus on getting the men quieted down first so she could sit and rest her throbbing feet. Her aching heart.
Emilio and Adam dodged flying fists to grab an elbow and haul the two apart, no easy task given the thrashing men were hyped on adrenaline.
Brooke kicked her way through the shattered remains of the meal on the floor. “Stop it, Jordan. Now.”
Somehow her calmly spoken words in conjunction with the reverberation of her stamped high heel must have penetrated his rage. He turned to look at her.