Undeserving (Undeniable #5)(55)

Preacher glanced sideways at his brother. "What look?"

"You know, the look. That fuckin' look a chick gives you, tellin' you that you ain't got a choice in the matter. It's do or die, man, do or fuckin' die. That's the look. I get that look every fuckin' day. I married that fuckin' look. That fuckin' look is gonna kill me."

Preacher glanced up at the sky and made a face. "Idiot. That ain't the look she was givin' you. She was givin' you the look that said she knew what the fuck you were going to be doin' up here if she didn't come."

Joe fell silent, and Preacher rolled his eyes. It was no secret to anyone who knew Joe that he wasn't a one-woman kind of guy. He hadn't been faithful to Sylvia when they'd been dating, and anyone with half a brain would know that marriage hadn't changed him. If anything, Preacher guessed Joe's new situation had only increased his brother's appetite for women-he was probably screwing every piece of ass he could get his hands on.



       
         
       
        

"I told you not to marry her," Preacher muttered, shaking his head. "Remember? This is your own damn fault."

Joe had come to visit him in prison to tell him Sylvia was pregnant, and Preacher had told him point blank not to marry her if he didn't love her-and that he'd regret it if he did.

But Joe had succumbed to The Judge's and Ginny's demand that he do right by Sylvia, and if Joe felt trapped now, it was his own damn fault and none of Preacher's concern. What was Preacher's problem was Ginny forcing him to share a tent with his idiot brother.

Gripping his arm, Joe wrenched Preacher to a stop, forcing him to turn around and face him.

"Mom made me," he seethed, his eyes wide and glinting with anger. "She said no grandbaby of hers was gonna be a bastard!"

"Mom made me," Preacher mimicked. He shook his arm free from Joe's grip and shoved his brother in the chest, sending him stumbling backward. "Man, you know you sound like a little girl, right?"

"You weren't there!" Joe shouted, a vein in his forehead throbbing angrily.

Preacher knew Joe was seconds away from hauling off and slugging him. A recreational boxer with fists of steel, Joe wasn't someone you wanted to piss off. But the way Preacher saw it, a concussion and couple of black eyes were preferable to wandering around the park at the ass-crack of dawn bickering like a pair of old women. Balling his hands into fists, Preacher readied to duck and swing.

"Dad told me if I wasn't gonna do the respectable thing, he wasn't gonna have a place for me at the table!"

As Preacher's jaw went slack, so did his fists. "What?"

"Yeah," Joe hissed. "He was gonna take my patch. And then what?" Joe threw his hands up in the air. "And then I'd have nothin'!"

Preacher raked a hand through his hair. "Man, I didn't know. If I woulda known-"

"Joey?"

Both men turned and found Sylvia rounding the corner of a nearby trailer. Appearing freshly showered, she was wearing a blindingly bright polyester number that made Preacher wish for temporary blindness. Then he spotted who was turning the corner behind Sylvia and Preacher suddenly couldn't remember what he was doing out here in the first place.

Debbie's long dark hair was wet and messy in a way that looked sexy. A pair of aviator sunglasses hid her eyes. She wore denim cutoff shorts and the same yellow T-shirt she'd had on yesterday, only today she'd gathered the hem and knotted it off to one side, exposing several inches of flat, smooth stomach. Barefoot, she held her sneakers in one hand and her backpack in the other. 

Debbie paused beside Sylvia and lifted her sunglasses, her gaze on Preacher. He found himself smiling at her and then grinning when she suddenly flushed pink and her bottom lip disappeared behind her teeth.

"Dammit, Sylvie," Joe growled, shoving past Preacher and holding his hand out to his wife. "You can't run off like this! Ain't nobody gettin' any damn sleep!"

"You think this is what no sleep feels like, do you?" Sylvia's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What about when the baby comes? Then you'll see what no sleep feels like!"

Joe's arm dropped to his side. "Fuck this," he muttered, turning away.

"What did you say?" Sylvia shouted, hurrying after him. "Joey, did you hear me? I asked you a goddamn question! Don't you walk away from me! Did you hear me? Joey, you come back here right now!"

"She talks a lot," Debbie murmured, joining Preacher.

"You have no idea."

"She's nice, though. But sad, too."

Frowning, Preacher glanced over his shoulder at Sylvia's retreating form. "Sad? Really?"