Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 112

BRAYDON’S POV

“Yeah, I’ll be quick,” Katy says, slipping into the restroom, carrying her messenger bag with her.

I tug at my jacket and lean back against the wall, exhaling slowly. Having her here with me in New York, to finally shut down the deal my old man thinks he still has, makes me feel more confident than I expect. I don’t feel as wound up as usual, I feel less on edge and I don’t feel like I’m walking into this alone.

He should already be here with Mr. Park. And when this starts, I’m going to enjoy the moment he realizes that I still have the evidence. That Bryan smashing the pen didn’t erase a damn thing.

“You.”

I look up at the sound of a voice.

Bryan’s mother stands at the top of the stairs, staring down at me like I’m something she scraped off her shoe. Her face is tight with anger, bitterness etched deep around her mouth. Her eyes are also cold but if anyone should be looking like that, it’s me.

Why is she here? In this building? Who invited her?

She walks down slowly, and stops just inches away, too close to me. I shove my hands into my pockets and tilt my head, my eyes narrowing.

“You framed him,” she says and a trace of her French accent slips through. “How dare you hurt my boy?”

I’ve always hated her accent. It feels practiced, like something she puts on when she wants to sound more sophisticated than she actually is. Not that it matters.

“Framed who?” I ask finally. “If you’re talking about Bryan, I didn’t hand him the keys to my girlfriend’s room and I definitely didn’t walk him down the hall. He went in there on his own.”

Her lips press together before she speaks again. “I got him out. My son will be in New York soon.”

“Good for you.” I say dryly.

“I won’t let you ruin his life,” she continues. “That’s what this is to you, isn’t it? He won’t go to jail, he’ll graduate and go pro as a baseball player. And whatever you think you’re doing here?

I scoff. “You really think this is about him?” I glance around the hallway, then back at her. What are you doing here? You always show up where you’re not wanted, just like your son. If either of you knew how to stay in your lane and stop reaching for things that don’t belong to you, maybe life wouldn’t treat you this way.”

Her face hardens and she immediately lifts her hand. I catch her wrist before it can connect with my face and my fingers close around it. She jerks, trying to pull free, but I don’t let go. We lock eyes, my chest rising and falling as everything goes very, very still.

“What kind of nerve do you have to stand in front of me?” I demand. “To stand here, in the same places she walked.”

Her jaw tightens and she shoves at my chest, trying to push me back, but I don’t move.

“Don’t make me take everything you still have,” I warn. “Because none of it is really yours. They are all mine. Mine.”

“Braydon!” My old man’s voice cuts through the space.

I lift my head.

He’s at the top of the stairs, glaring down at me, the veins in his neck standing out like he’s about to burst.

“Let her go,” he snaps.

My grip tightens for half a second longer, then I hear the restroom door open. I feel Katy’s presence before I look at her. Slowly, I release her wrist.

She stumbles back, clutching it to her chest, and staring at me like I’m something monstrous.

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