Gideon responds with stony silence.
I don’t speak, either. There’s no point, not when East is in a mood.
Running both hands through his hair, he lets out a growl of frustration. “You know what? Screw you both. Keep your secrets and take ’em to hell with you. Just don’t come crawling to me when you need someone to put out the fire.”
He storms out of my bedroom and slams the door so hard it rattles the doorframe. The silence he leaves in his wake is deafening. Gideon looks exhausted. Me, I’m wired. I need a fight. I need to let out the aggression before I hurt someone in this house.
6
I drag myself out of bed the next morning, my entire body protesting the simple act of moving. I wasn’t exactly in top form at the fight last night. Yeah, I had blinding rage on my side, but not enough endurance. I took some hits that make me wince in the light of day.
The bruise on the left side of my ribs is already purple and green. I dig around for a loose fitting T-shirt to hide the injury and pull on a pair of track pants.
Downstairs in the kitchen, I find Brooke perched on my father’s lap. It’s only nine-thirty and Dad’s got his ever-present tumbler of Scotch next to his hand. If I was screwing Brooke, I’d be drinking twenty-four/seven too, I guess, but damn, why doesn’t he see her for what she is?
“Any word from the PI?” I ask my father.
He gives a curt shake of his head. “Nothing yet.”
“I’m just sick to my stomach about all this,” Brooke moans. “That poor girl, all alone out there.” She touches my dad’s cheek. “Darling, you really need to have a talk with Easton about his gambling. Imagine how scary that bookie must have been to spook Ella like that.”
Brooke meets my eyes over Dad’s head and winks at me.
This is a fucking nightmare. I busy myself with breakfast. Sandra was up early and there’s a pile of French toast in the oven waiting to be devoured, along with a stack of bacon. I pile my plate up and lean against the counter, unwilling to take a seat at the table while the she-devil and my dad are making nice.
Dad notices and slides Brooke onto the chair beside him. “Come and sit down, Reed. We’re not animals.”
I glare at him. “Using Mom’s old sayings against me? That’s low,” I mutter, then regret it when his mouth tightens with hurt. Brooke doesn’t look much happier, but that’s because she likes to pretend Maria Royal never existed.
“Any French toast left?” Sebastian’s voice at the door interrupts whatever Brooke is about to say.
“Yeah, I’ll make you a plate,” I offer. “Is Sawyer coming down?”
“Not yet. He’s on the phone.”
A smirk dances around the edges of Seb’s mouth. Sawyer’s probably sexting Lauren, the twins’ girlfriend.
Daniel’s taunts suddenly flit through my mind. “You being careful?” I ask in a low murmur as I hand Seb his plate.
He scowls. “What the hell do you care?”
“Word’s getting around school, is all. I don’t want anyone running to Dad with rumors that would get you sent to boarding school.”
“Because you’re so good at keeping your nose clean?” Seb mocks.
I notice Brooke watching our hushed exchange with deep interest, so I turn my back and lower my voice. “Look, I care about you guys and I don’t want to see anything happen, but your little twin switches aren’t fooling anyone.”
“Mind your own fucking business. At least we can hang on to the girl we have instead of running her off.” The shock must show on my face, because Seb chuckles. “Yeah, we know it’s your fault and not East’s. We’re not that dumb. And we know about her, too.” He discreetly jerks his head toward Brooke. “So keep your stupid opinions to yourself. You’re just as sick as we are.”
Seb grabs his plate and stomps out of the kitchen.
“What was that all about?” Dad asks from the table.
“Boys will be boys,” Brooke chirps. The smile on her face is genuine. She enjoys seeing us fight. She wants us to fight.
I shovel down some French toast, even though my stomach feels full of lead. I don’t know if this family is ever going to recover from Mom’s death. The vision of her sprawled across her bed, face slack, her eyes cold and unseeing, is always at the back of my mind. With Ella, all the noise in my head quieted.
Now everything is falling apart.
The house is quiet. I don’t see Seb again, or Sawyer, for that matter. I don’t want to think about where Gid might be right now. And East is avoiding me—he hasn’t answered any of my texts or returned my calls.
I have a feeling he might not talk to me again until Ella shows up.
Around nine, Wade messages me about a party at Deacon Mills’ house. I have no desire to get drunk or be around drunks, so I decline the invite. But I do send a follow-up message.
Lemme know if E shows up. Can’t track him down.
Around eleven, Wade messages back. Ur bro’s here. He’s wasted.