Reece groaned. “Fuck me. That’s the last thing I need.”
“Hey, listen. I’m usually the last person to cast stones. People who live in glass houses and all that jazz.” He looked at their childhood home and winced, rubbing the heel of his palm against his chest. A bone-deep sorrow showed on his face for an instant before he smoothed out his features and glanced back at Reece. “But this whole sitch is seriously fucked up. Whatever your end game is—and I know you have one, because you always do—just make sure Shelby’s using the same playbook, all right?” And then Jude walked away, too, leaving Reece standing there on the sidewalk alone, watching the firefighters douse the last little bit of the blaze.
Chapter Eighteen
“All right. What the fuck is going on?”
Shelby flinched at the edge of anger in her sister’s voice. “Nothing.”
“This.” Eva waved at the burning house. “This is not nothing. This is so not nothing. Do you have any idea how much this is going to hurt the guys?”
Shelby glanced away from her, but her gaze landed on the four Wilde brothers standing on the sidewalk, bathed in the orangey light of their childhoods burning to the ground in front of them. She focused on Reece. The rush of relief that he was up and moving around was a fleeting thing, replaced by a gut-aching sorrow for him. She didn’t know about the rest of the Wildes, but he was hurting. That house had been his heart. His home.
And it was her fault it was gone. Her breath lodged in her throat. “This shouldn’t have happened.”
“Why did it happen?”
She looked into her sister’s face. A war of anger and worry and sorrow raged over Eva’s expression. Hurt, too, and when she glanced over at Libby, she saw the same battle. Both women were hurting because their husbands were. That was love, wasn’t it? A form of pain?
She rubbed at the heavy ache in her own chest and for one sluggish heartbeat, she considered spilling the truth, laying all her mistakes out there for the world—and her sister—to scrutinize. Could she do it? Could she finally tell Eva that years ago, she’d dated a pyromaniac who had set the neighbors’ house on fire, and her father had intervened in the worst way possible? Could she detail all the things she’d done for her father out of love, and then the things she’d done to him later out of fear? The things she’d done—and was still doing—to keep herself out of prison?
No. Eva would hate her. Likely turn her into the police—hell, maybe even arrest her herself. She’d lose her sister and the friendship she was building with Libby. Worst of all, she’d lose Reece. He’d never speak to her again, and she honestly didn’t know if she could stand rejection from him.
“Shelby,” Eva said softly when the silence dragged on too long, a note of concern in her tone. “What’s going on?”
“You can tell us,” Libby added. “We’re not here to judge you. Whatever it is, we want to help.”
But they would judge her. People had been judging her one way or another her entire life, to the point that she finally said fuck it and did what she wanted, wore what she wanted, and ignored the things whispered about her. So why would anyone stop judging her now?
Tears burned in her eyes, spilled down her cheeks. She let them fall, unable to muster the strength to hem them in. “You can’t help. I don’t know what’s happening.”
Eva stared at her for a long time. “Goddammit. You’re lying. You’re fucking lying to me. I thought we were past this. I thought—no, forget it. You’re the same as Mom. You’re never going to change.” Her voice cracked and she shook her head. Walked away without another word.
“Eva,” Libby called after her, but received no response. She sighed and spun on Shelby, a spark of anger lighting her blue eyes behind her glasses. “You’re hurting her—and the rest of us—by lying. But worse than that, you’re hurting yourself.” She started to walk away. Stopped. Whirled around in a burst of indignation. “Like it or not, you married into a big family, and families take care of each other. Once you get that through your head, you’ll know where to find us.”
Shelby watched her go to her husband and fold her arms around him in a move meant to comfort. Jude tucked her in against his chest, held her tight. In the moment before he buried his face in Libby’s hair, his expression crumpled with grief. Nearby, the twins were leaning on the hood of a police cruiser, arms and legs crossed in identical positions as they watched the house burn. Their body language was all but screaming “keep the fuck away from us if you want to live.” But when Eva approached, they scooted over and made room. She touched Vaughn’s arm in a gesture of solidarity, then sat between them, circled her arm through Cam’s, and rested her head on his shoulder. Cam kissed the top of her head.
Family.
They were family.