“You’re one to talk. You have a girlfriend.”
“I didn’t when I was taking the bar. It’s in less than a month.”
“I’m aware.” Jude boxed his trash and tried to keep the grit from his voice. Warner knew how to push his buttons. It was just a matter of staying calm. Staying in control. Not giving in.
Warner ignored the hint, per usual. “You know me and Dad both scored a—”
“I said I was aware.”
“Don’t get testy. Sometimes I go weeks without seeing Madison. We all have to pay our dues to get where we’re meant to be.” Warner set his bottle of sparkling water hard on the table. It’d always aggravated him that things came a little easier for Jude in school—he got his master’s six months faster than Warner had. It wouldn’t be a competition, except that Warner insisted on making it that way.
Jude swiped a stray piece of cheese from the table. “And I’ll pay mine.” At the moment, his entire life felt like paying a debt—or maybe more like prison labor. The cutthroat lawyer blood didn’t run in his veins. But carrying the last name Strong didn’t give him a choice.
“When?” Warner refused to drop it. “I haven’t seen you crack a book in two weeks. I breathed law for literally nine months in preparation for my bar.”
“I don’t see how you could breathe at all, with your head so far up Dad’s—”
“Boys.” Hollis’s voice boomed. “Enough.”
Boys. Exactly how they were acting. His brother always brought out the worst in him, and Jude hated that he let him. If he tried hard enough and passed the bar with flying colors, then maybe—maybe—he could earn their respect. Even earn Dad’s favor over Warner, for once.
He just wasn’t sure he wanted to anymore.
What did he want? Not the bar. Not another plaque on the wall. Not another rat race paired against his brother, striving to earn their father’s empty praise.
And somehow, under all that, he couldn’t stop wondering about that dang quesadilla. What was that other ingredient?
He offered a halfhearted apology to Warner, more for the sake of his own conscience than for any true attempt at achieving peace. Warner brushed it off, as expected. And naturally, his brother didn’t return the gesture but rather set his jaw and averted his gaze.
Jude shoved away from the table. He’d had enough, alright. Enough of all of it.
Betsy St. Amant is the author of more than fifteen inspirational romances and a frequent contributor to iBelieve.com. She lives in north Louisiana with her husband, two daughters, a collection of Austen novels, and an impressive stash of pickle-flavored Pringles. When she’s not composing her next book or trying to prove unicorns are real, Betsy can usually be found somewhere in the vicinity of a white-chocolate mocha—no whip. Learn more at www.betsystamant.com.
BetsyStAmant.com
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Table of Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Contents
Dedication
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Acknowledgments
Excerpt from Betsy’s Next Romance Novel
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
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