The Bachelor Auction(45)
“You’re an idiot.” Brant shook his head slowly. “Did you really just…leave?”
Brock glanced back at the door then back at them. “She said she was tired! She yawned!”
“That doesn’t mean you leave!” Bentley slapped a hand to his forehead. “You’re such an idiot.”
Brant just continued shaking his head in disappointment.
Brock lifted his hands into the air. “What the hell was I supposed to do? Fluff her damn pillow?”
“Yes!” They both yelled in unison.
“Offer a massage,” said Bentley.
“‘Do you need a glass of water?’” offered Brant.
“‘More blankets?’” added Bentley.
“How about a fucking bedtime story?”
“What’s that? You want me to stay with you until you fall asleep, get naked under the covers? What? You want me to touch your sweaty naked body and—” Bentley had always been the storyteller in the family.
Brant coughed.
“Sorry.” Bentley exhaled. “I got carried away.” He pointed in Brock’s direction. “Stupidity does that to me.”
Brock ran his hands through his hair and turned to re-open the door.
“No!” Brant shoved him back. “It’s too late. Now you seem creepy and unsure.”
Bentley nodded his head in agreement. “Completely wasted opportunity. I’ve never been so disappointed in a brother, and I live next door to this asshat.”
“Thanks, man.” Brant nodded.
“Anytime.” Bentley flashed a smile. “Brock, go to bed. Think about all the bad choices made in just the past ten minutes and for fuck’s sake fix them. Do you really want to spend the next seventeen days without seeing her naked?”
“It’s not about that,” Brock said defensively.
“Even better.” Brant suddenly grew serious. “Even better.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Brock clenched his fists.
“It means”—Bentley stood between them, pressing a hand against Brock’s chest—“that it’s about damn time you do something for you. Not for us. Not for our dead parents and sure as hell not for Grandfather, but for you. And that girl in that room? She’s for you.”
Stunned, Brock could only gape at Bentley as if his brother had grown two heads.
“There’s always tomorrow,” Brant encouraged. “’Night, guys.”
“There isn’t,” Brock whispered under his breath. “We aren’t promised tomorrow.”
Bentley paused in the hall, his expression pained. “Then why the hell are you allowing someone else to control your life? If you died tomorrow, what would people remember about you? How easygoing you were? How controlled? How rich? Is that what you want, boring Brock?”
The old nickname was a solid hit to his chest. His brothers hadn’t called him that since college.
“Well?” Bentley’s eyebrows shot up. “Boring Brock would walk away, but I don’t think that’s what you want anymore.”
“It’s all I know. It’s for him. For them.”
“Never for you.” Bentley sighed. “Look, man, I get it, believe me. I get the pressure, but do you ever wonder who put it there in the first place? Because the way I see it, it sure wasn’t Grandfather. It was a scared twelve-year-old boy who took the baggage and cheerfully carried it out the door, refusing to let anyone help him along the way. And for what? Did anyone throw you a parade? Did anyone notice how hard it was? No, just you.”
“When the fuck did you get so wise?”
Bentley laughed. “Let’s not let that get around. If Grandfather ever found out he’d auction me off next. God help the poor woman saddled with me for the rest of her life.”
“Nothing wrong with commitment.”
Bentley paled. “We all have our demons.”
“Goodnight, Bentley.”
“Night…Boring Brock.”
Brock smiled the entire way back to his room.
Tomorrow, after all, was a new day.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lying awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling and wishing she’d packed some sort of sleep aid—not that it would work, because for the most part she knew the reason behind the no sleep—was becoming a new habit for Jane.
Brock.
If only she could walk. Maybe sleeping on the couch would help, or maybe she’d just raid Brock’s whiskey closet.
After another hour of tossing and turning, she finally made the decision to hobble downstairs. So what if it took an hour? At least the slow journey would exhaust her.
Once she sat up in bed she was careful not to put any weight on her foot. Rather, she hobbled, loudly, toward the door. Her tank top and shorts didn’t really hide anything but it was dark and everyone else would be sleeping.