Except Frankie.
Me.
Andhim.
Goddamn it.
I slammed the rest of my beer and tossed the broken bottle into the recycling bin. It hit the edge and shattered louder than necessary, but nobody flinched. They all saw this coming.
Especially him.
I stalked across the patio.
"Jake—" Coop started.
"Not now," I snapped.
Frenchy stood as I approached, like he was preparing for a conversation. A calm one. A normal one. That made it worse. That made melivid.
He hadno rightto act like this was anything close to civil.
"You think you’re smooth, huh?" I said, low and dangerous.
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
Coop stepped in, his hand brushing my shoulder. “Let’s maybe not?—”
“Move,” I said without looking at him.
He didn’t. But he didn’t say anything else either.
Frenchy’s gaze sharpened, mouth tight but not surprised. “I think maybe you’ve had enough to drink.”
Oh,thatwas the wrong thing to say.
I shoved him.
It wasn’t a hard push. Not really. Just enough to break his balance, enough to tell him exactly where we stood. The pool crowd quieted around us, sharks sensing blood.
Coop grabbed my arm, tugging. “Jake, c’mon?—”
“I said move!” I snarled.
Bubba stepped in this time, wedging himself between us. “You don’t want to do this.”
“Don’t tell me what I want.”
“Then let me remind you what happens if youdothis.” Bubba’s voice dropped low, his eyes sharp. “You swing on a guest at Archie’s house, and you’re not just dealing with Frenchy. You’re dealing withArchie.”
My eyes darted over Bubba’s shoulder. Archie hadn’t moved. He hadn’t said a word.
But hewaswatching. Still and silent, like a storm cloud just waiting for thunder.
God. That hurt more than it should.
Frenchy straightened his shirt, shoulders square, voice steady. “If you want to talk, we can talk. But I won’t fight you.”
That was the moment I realized: he wasn’t scared of me. Not in the way I wanted him to be.
