Losing Hope

Chapter One
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    My heart rate is signaling for me to just walk away. Les has reminded me more than once that it’s not my business. She’s never been a brother before, though. She has no idea how hard it is to sit back and not let it be my business. That’s why, right now, this son-of-a-bitch is my number-one priority.
    I slide my hands into the back pockets of my jeans and hope to hell I can keep them there. I’m standing behind the couch, looking down at him. I don’t know how long it’ll take him to notice I’m here. Considering the grip he has on the chick straddling his lap, I doubt he’ll notice for a while. I remain behind them for several minutes while the party continues around us, everyone completely unaware that I’m a fraction away from losing my mind. I would take out my phone so that I’d have evidence, but I couldn’t do that to Les. She doesn’t need a visual.
    “Hey,” I finally say, unable to contain my silence a second longer. If I have to watch him palm this chick’s breast one more time without a single ounce of respect for his relationship with Les, I’ll rip his fucking hand off.
    Grayson tears his mouth away from hers and tilts his head back, looking up at me with glossed-over eyes. I can see the fear settle in when it clicks—when he finally realizes that the last person he thought would be here tonight actually showed up.
    “Holder,” he says, pushing the girl off his lap. He struggles to his feet but can hardly stand up straight. He looks at me pleadingly, pointing at the girl, who’s now adjusting her barely-there skirt. “This isn’t . . . it’s not what it looks like.”
    I slide my hands out of my back pockets and fold my arms across my chest. My fist is closer to him now and I have to clench it, knowing how good it would feel to punch his face in.
    I look down to the floor and inhale a breath. Then another. And one more just for show, since I’m really enjoying watching him squirm. I shake my head and raise my eyes back to his. “Give me your phone.”
    The confusion on his face would be comical if I weren’t so pissed. He laughs and attempts to back up a step, but bumps into the coffee table. He catches himself by pressing his hand onto the glass and straightens back up. “Get your own fucking phone,” he mumbles. He doesn’t look back at me as he maneuvers his way around the coffee table. I calmly walk around the couch and intercept him, holding out my hand.
    “Give me your phone, Grayson. Now .”
    I’m not really at an advantage sizewise, since we’re about the same build. However, I’m definitely at an advantage if you take my anger into consideration, and Grayson can clearly see that. He takes a step back, which probably isn’t a very smart move considering he’s backing himself straight into the corner of the living room. He fumbles with his pocket and finally pulls out his phone.
    “What the hell do you want my phone for?” he says. I grab it out of his hands and dial Les’s number without hitting send. I hand it back to him.
    “Call her. Tell her what a bastard you are and end it.”
    Grayson looks down at his phone, then back up at me. “Go fuck yourself,” he spits.
    I inhale a calming breath, then roll my neck and pop my jaw. When that doesn’t help ease my urge to make him bleed, I reach forward, grab the collar of his shirt and shove him hard against the wall, pinning his neck with my forearm. I remind myself that if I kick his ass before he makes the call, my remaining calm for the past ten minutes will have been pointless.
    My teeth are clenched, my jaw is tight, and my pulse is pound ing in my head. I’ve never hated anyone more than in this moment . The intensity of what I wish I could do to him right now is even scaring me .
    I look him hard in the eyes and let him know how the next few minutes are about to play out. “Grayson,” I say through clenched teeth. “Unless you want me to do what I really want to do to you right now, you will put the phone to your ear, you will call my sister, and you will end it. Then you’re going to hang up the phone and never speak to her again.” I press my arm harder against his neck, taking note of the fact that his face is now redder than his shirt, due to lack of oxygen.
    “Fine,” he grumbles, attempting to free himself from the hold I have on him. I wait until he looks down at the phone and hits send before I release my arm and let go of his shirt. He puts the phone to his