Page 15 of Keeping Score

He kept Lily and Cassie as far away as possible from that type of stuff. Sure, he mentioned them in practically every public interview he gave—crediting his family for just about everything—but he didn’t want their faces circulating the internet for the public to comment on.

And honestly, I didn’t blame him.

“What’s the big deal?” Her green eyes narrowed on me oppositionally. “I wasn’t telling him their home address or anything.”

“I just don’t think it’s our place,” I said. “Your relationship with him is one thing, but you know how Liam feels about him.”

“She’s my niece!” Maggie exclaimed. “He’s her grandfather!”

“And he’s never met her for a reason,” I countered. “Mags, come on. You have to respect Liam a little here. It’s his choice, and he doesn’t want that guy in his daughter’s life.”

“I hardly think showing him a picture is going to do anything.”

I exhaled heavily, cursing the stubbornness that ran bone-deep in the girl beside me.

“You’re right, maybe it would be nothing,” I said. “But do you really want to risk ruining your relationship with your brother because you want validation from your father?”

Maggie flinched at my words.

“Maggie,” I started, reaching out to try to take it back—rephrase it in a way that didn’t sound so harsh—but her dad was already coming back to the table.

Her smile snapped back into place, all signs of irritation gone as he made his return, but it wasn’t her real smile. It wasn’t the one that overtook her face and made the corners of her eyes crinkle. This one was tighter. Practiced. The kind she might wear in court while trying not to show her cards.

One thing was clear though:

Tim Brynn couldn’t tell the difference.

The Trap

Brody

Five Years Ago

Fuck, I’d forgotten how beautiful she was.

When Maggie Brynn walked into the bar that night, I felt the air sucked out of me as if someone had taken a vacuum to my lungs.

As if I had summoned her from my sick, depraved fantasies, Maggie Brynn walked into the bar that night looking like every man’s wet dream.

Now, I understood why the fangirls were always gushing about Liam’s eyes. I had just needed a different easel to see them clearly.

His sister served as the perfect example.

God, she was perfect. Long, midnight-dark hair framing a face that made every expression look like a dare.

I wanted to blind every man in the bar to make sure no one else could look at her but me.

I hadn’t spoken more than two sentences to her, but I felt the possessiveness growing in my chest in ways I’d never felt before.

But she didn’t even notice the way they all watched her. Or maybe she didn’t care.

Hell, it worked for me.

I didn’t know what the hell was happening to me, because despite only being two beers deep, I felt drunk and high and on cloud fucking nine as I soaked in the mere presence of her in the bar that night. It was a giddiness usually reserved for a monumental game win.

After a half hour, I stopped caring that every guy in the bar was watching her hungrily, because it wasn’t them she was spending her time with.

It was me. At least for tonight, I was the one making her laugh. A bubbly, infectious sound that trickled out of her, making me act like a fool over and over, if only so I could keep hearing it. Because out of all the men in Boston, I was the one responsible for that smile on her face.