“Wasn’t feeling up to it,” I lie. “I’ve got a hangover.”
“I heard,” he says dryly.
Savannah drifts toward the shallow end and dips a toe in. “Water’s nice,” she calls to Gideon. “Let’s swim, Gid.”
“Be there in a sec.” He looks to me again. “Sawyer said your new quarterback carried your drunken ass home last night and tucked you into bed.”
I make a mental note to beat Sawyer’s ass later. Or Sebastian’s. Either twin will do, since those fuckers are pretty much one person. Just ask their girlfriend.
“You need to slow down with the drinking,” Gideon advises me. “You’re getting too old for this shit, East. I thought you wanted to fly again.”
The words grate. Gid can be such a judgmental ass sometimes. “I will fly again. I’m just waiting until I’m out of the house and away from the parental unit. Besides, just because college turned you into an old man doesn’t mean I’m going to follow in your footsteps, dude. I wanna enjoy being a teenager for as long as I can.”
The disappointment on his face grates even more. “Sure, East. Go ahead and enjoy it, then.”
He walks over to Savannah, I sit back on the lounger, the two of them jump into the pool, and we all pretend that I haven’t seen my older brother’s girlfriend naked.
Chapter 22
The rest of the weekend goes by fast. I think about Hartley more than I should, but no matter how bad I want to track her down, I manage to find some restraint. I decide I’ll just wait and talk to her at school. Apologize for being an ass to her and hope she’s not too stubborn to forgive me.
On Sunday night, Ella decides she’s talking to me again. She joins me in the media room, turning her nose up at the TV screen. I’m watching a Tarantino movie, and it’s gory as hell.
“Someone’s in a bloody mood,” she remarks with a wince.
I shrug and keep looking at the screen. “Oh, we’re suddenly speaking to each other?”
“Yes.” Remorse colors her voice.
I hide a smile. Thing about Ella is, she’s not as tough as she makes herself out to be. She’s got the kindest heart of anyone I’ve ever met, and she cares fiercely about people. If she believes you’re worth her time and effort, she’ll move heaven and earth to make you feel loved and appreciated.
“I know I’ve been a jerk to you this weekend,” she admits. “I was doing it on purpose.”
I smirk. “No, really?”
She wanders over and flops down beside me. “I was trying to prove a point.”
“What, that you’re really awesome at giving the silent treatment?”
“No. That your actions drive people away.” She shakes her head in disappointment. “So many people care about you, East. Your dad, your brothers, me, Val, your teammates—we love you.”
My spine feels itchy, like a hundred porcupine quills are pricking it. I instinctively lean forward to grab my glass and then remember it’s soda water. Dammit, I need something stronger.
I start to get up, but Ella clamps her hand around my arm. “No,” she says gently, reading my mind. “You don’t need a drink.”
“Yeah, I kinda do.”
“Every time things get emotional, or a conversation gets a little too serious, you try to distance yourself from it. Numb yourself—”
“I don’t need another lecture.”
“It’s not a lecture.” Frustration shadows her eyes. “I just don’t like seeing you get so drunk that you talk to your own friends like they’re pieces of garbage—”
Sawyer’s voice on the intercom interrupts Ella. “Yo, East. Hartley’s here.”
Equal parts of surprise and joy shoot through me. She’s here? For real?
Without delay, I get up and hurry to the door.
Ella’s voice stops me before I can exit the room. “I love you, Easton, but I’m worried.”
The genuine concern in her voice makes me hesitate. I don’t like making Ella feel bad. She’s one of my favorite people on earth.
I slowly turn to face her. “I’m sorry I said that stuff to you at the party,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know.” She pauses. “It’s just that I want you around for a long time, so…take care of yourself.”
I give her a careless, one-finger salute. “On it.”
When I reach the front hall, I find Hartley peering into the sitting room, where Mom’s portrait hangs over the fireplace.
“That’s my mom,” I tell Hartley.
“She’s beautiful.”
“Want to go in?”
“Sure.”
I push the door open wider. The sitting room was one of Mom’s favorite places. It’s a huge room with two floor-to-ceiling windows at one end and a fireplace at the other. The last time I was in here, Dad announced his engagement with Brooke.
“You look like her,” Hartley remarks, her silver gaze still fixed on the portrait.
I stare up at my mother’s oval face. “We’ve all got her hair and eyes.”
Hartley shakes her head. “No, it’s the shape of the face. And your eyebrows. Your mother has perfect eyebrows and you do, too.”
“I guess?” I’ve never given it much thought. “Who do you look more like—your mom or dad?” I instantly wish I could take the words back. I know she hates talking about her parents. “Forget I asked.”
“No, it’s fine.” Hartley shrugs. “I look more like my dad. Parker, my sister, takes after our mother. Delicate. Sweet.”
I snort. “She didn’t seem delicate or sweet at the diner.”
Again, I want to bite my tongue off. Why do I keep saying dumb things?
But Hartley surprises me. She leans an arm against the mantel, her fingertips rubbing along the lower part of the mahogany frame. “Sweet and delicate are her weapons. You don’t want to make her angry because she’s such an angel. You want her approval. Her love and affection.”
Wow. She could be talking about my mom. “But you’ll never get it because she’s too self-absorbed.”
My turn to surprise Hartley. Her eyebrows raise a notch. “Know someone like that?”
I point to the painting.
Hartley’s pretty lips turn down at the corners. “That sucks.” She twists around to face me. Her hands are clasped. It looks like she’s holding something between them but I can’t tell what it is. “I’m sorry about the other night. I flew off the handle and got mad at you for no reason.”
I exhale as if a giant balloon inside me just popped. “No, hell. I’m sorry. I’ve been pushing you.”
She raises a hand for me to shush. “How about I apologize first and then you go?”
“Okay.” I make a zipping motion across my mouth.
Her lips twitch. “I’m very sorry for being a brat the other night. I’m sorry for yelling at you. I’m sorry for ripping off the necklace. That was terrible.” She reaches for my hand and places something in my palm.
Curiously, and with a lot of excitement, I gaze down at the gift. It’s a thin leather bracelet with a silver buckle.
“I know it’s not much—”
“It’s awesome,” I interrupt. I hold it out. “Put it on for me.”
When she does, her fingers tremble. I want to pull her into my arms and hug her, but I’ll wait until she’s done fixing the clasp.