The SEAL's Secret Heirs(51)

“Shut your filthy mouth.”

Kyle was ready for his brother this time and blocked Liam’s crappy right hook easily, pushing back on his twin’s torso before the man charged him. “Not so fun when you’re on the other side of it, huh?”

Chest heaving and eyes wild with fury, Liam strained against Kyle’s immovable blockade. “What do you care? You ignored Grace to the point where she cried so much over your sorry hide, I thought she was going to dry up like an old withered flower.”

“Aren’t you the poet?” He sneered to cover the catch in his heart to hear that Grace had cried over him. And how did Liam know that anyway? It probably wasn’t even true. This was all an elaborate bunch of hooey designed to throw Kyle off the scent of who was really to blame here. “I cared, you idiot. You’re the one who didn’t care about the big fat line you crossed when you put your hands on my woman.”

“Your woman? I got a feeling Grace would disagree.” Liam snorted and stepped back, mercifully, allowing Kyle to drop his hand from his brother’s chest. Another few minutes of holding him back would have strained his leg something fierce. “What line did I cross? You broke up. You weren’t even together when that happened, remember?”

“She broke up. I didn’t,” Kyle countered viciously. “I was trying to figure out how to get her back. Not so easy when a woman tells you she’s through and then makes out with another guy. Who happens to be my brother. Which never would have happened if you’d told her no. That’s the line, Liam. I would never have done that to you.”

Something dawned in Liam’s gaze. “Holy cow. You were in love with her.”

“What the hell do you think I’ve been talking about?” Disgusted with the circles and lies and betrayals, Kyle slumped against the counter, seriously thinking about starting on a bottle of Irish whiskey. It was five o’clock 24-7 when you found out your twin brother was a complete moron.

“You were in love with her,” Liam repeated with surprise, as if saying it again was going to make it more real. “Still are.”

Well, duh. Of course he was! Why did Liam think Kyle was so pissed?

Wait. No, that wasn’t— Kyle shut his eyes for a beat, but the truth didn’t magically become something else. Of course he was still in love with Grace. That’s why her betrayal hurt so much.

“That’s not the point.” Nor was that up for discussion. It didn’t matter anyway. He and Grace were through, for real this time.

“No, the point is that this is all news to me. Probably news to Grace as well, assuming you actually got around to telling her.” More comprehension dawned in Liam’s expression. “You haven’t. You’re still just as much of a jackass now as you were then.”

Kyle was getting really tired of being so transparent. “Some things shouldn’t have to be said.”

Liam laughed so hard, Kyle thought he was going to bust something, and the longer it went on, the more Kyle wanted to be the one doing the busting. Like a couple of teeth in his brother’s mouth.

Finally, Liam wiped his eyes. “Get your checkbook because you need to buy a clue, my brother. No woman is going to let you get away with being such a clam, so keep on being the strong, silent type and sleep alone. See if I care.”

“Yeah, you’re the fount of wisdom when it comes to women, Mr. Revolving Door. Do you even know how many women you’ve slept with over the years?” Cheap shot. And Kyle knew it the moment it left his mouth, but Liam had him good and riled. He started to apologize but Liam waved it off.

“That doesn’t matter when you find the right one.” Liam glanced up the back stairs fondly, his mind clearly on his wife, who was still upstairs with the babies. “But guess what? You don’t get a woman like Hadley without knowing a few things about how to treat a woman. And keeping your thoughts to yourself ain’t it. Look what it’s cost you so far. You willing to spend the next ten years without the woman you love because of your man-of-few-words shtick?”

Yeah, he didn’t blather on about the stuff that was inside. So what? It was personal and he didn’t like to share it.

Keeping quiet was a defense mechanism he’d adopted when he was little to shelter him from constantly being in a place he didn’t fit into, lest anyone figure out his real feelings. Some wounds weren’t obvious but they went deep.

The old-fashioned clock on the wall ticked out the seconds as it had done since Kyle was old enough to know how to tell time. Back then, he’d marked each one on his heart, counting the ticks in hopes that when he reached a thousand, his mother would come back. When he reached ten thousand, she’d surely walk through the door. A hundred thousand. And then he’d lose count and start over.