Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)

by Penny Reid

‘People only hold grudges when they can’t forgive themselves.’” I blinked against the sting behind my eyes and nose, glancing away and shaking my head. How many times had my mother said this to me and my siblings when we would fight? I’d lost count. “Billy. You’re my brother.” I exhaled another laugh. “Am I?” “You’ve always been my brother,” he continued patiently, undeterred. “Now, sometimes I’ve been a shitty brother. And sometimes, yeah, you haven’t made it easy for me to make amends. But I honestly wouldn’t’ve had it any other way.” My jaw working, I glanced at him. “Why?” “Because I knew the day I had your respect again, well, I would’ve earned it. I’d deserve it.” A rising wave of sadness and regret finally snuffed out the last of the anger. “I shouldn’t have withheld it in the first place, Jet.” “No. No, you definitely should have,” he said quietly, his gaze sober. “Your intolerance for my bullshit was a great motivator.” I kept shaking my head. “I was too harsh.” “Maybe, sometimes.” He shrugged. “But your unwillingness to compromise your principles, your expectations for all of us, and your example—to reach our potential, to be better, to be good—gave us all something to strive for, to live up to. Especially me.”

Oh, my heart. These boys.