"It's nothing, Dane. I'm sorry. I shouldn't even be here. We weren't ever really friends. The point was to try and mend things between the two of you, and things seem to be going great. I'm happy about that. Really, I am."
The sadness in her eyes doesn't match her words. I believe she's happy about Rain and me, but there's something wrong.
"Tria." Rain's voice surprises us both.
I turn to see the girl of my dreams wearing nothing but my T-shirt, and I have to shift to make room for the growth in my shorts. She very slowly makes her way farther from me, but I don't want that to happen.
Without any reservations, I make my way to her and lean down, pressing my lips to hers and catching her off guard. She doesn't fight me, and she melts in my arms. Rain is mine, and it's official.
"I should go. Thanks for letting me crash," Tria says softly in an effort to retreat.
She tries to escape as Rain walks toward the coffee. I promised to help Tria mend fences with her sister, and I actually want to do that. I've just been distracted with my own Rain issues.
"Hey, do you think you could come to dinner Friday?" I ask.
She looks from me to Rain's back several times, but Rain doesn't turn around. I can see the defeat in Tria's eyes, and I know she's about to decline, but her phone buzzes in her hand, pausing her answer. Her eyes get wide, and the sound from a video message echoes through the house.
Someone's yelling, but it's all muffled and distorted. Tria is pale, shaking her head as she looks up to Rain. Blonde-haired sisters stare at each other, one looking confused and the other seeming sick.
"Mom's throwing Dad out," Tria says at last. "We should probably—"
"I'll drive you both over there," I interrupt, inwardly cursing Edward.
That son of a bitch has done something terrible to make Eleanor mad enough to kick him out. I should kill him for his timing.
***
RAIN
Living in denial is apparently not working out for my stepmother right now, considering the quiet, impassive, reserved woman is making the biggest, craziest, wildest scene this part of Sterling Shore has ever seen. In nothing but a pink silk gown and a matching robe, Eleanor is wreaking havoc like the Tasmanian devil.
It'd be comical, if it wasn't my family. Being that it is, well, it's just a little embarrassing.
When Tria got the video message from one of our neighbors, I hurriedly dressed and we raced over here. I'm not even wearing a bra right now, since Dane really did rip it off me. It wasn't salvageable. Tria and I are standing out here in the dresses we wore last night, looking as though we are taking a walk of shame, but that's the least of our concerns. The main focus points are the two lunatics we're related to.
Edward is pleading with Eleanor to stop, but every time she gets her hands on something, she sends it flying toward his head. Reality TV would kill for this show.
Dane is doing his damnedest not to laugh, but every so often a snicker sneaks free. Usually it's when my bastard father catches a well-deserved shot to his head. Eleanor has impressive aim.
"Eleanor, please, honey, don't!" he yells, but she does.
She smashes the window of his BMW with a cast iron skillet on her third swing. That's one severely pissed woman. I've researched bashing windows—for my books, of course—and it's not easy. My hands took a harsher beating than the actual windows because every tool I had vibrated viciously in my grip after each unsuccessful strike.
But Eleanor... that woman is a badass on a mission.
Tria's face is barely showing through the cracks of her fingers as she shields her embarrassment with her hands. I'm sure this is less entertaining to her. Personally, I hope Eleanor beats the hell out of the bastard.
He's cheated on her with every woman that would give him the slightest bit of attention, so I have no idea why she's just now losing it. I would have chopped his balls off the first time I caught him bed hopping.
"Call me honey again, Edward. I dare you," Eleanor hisses.
My respect level for her just shot through the roof. Please, God, let her scalp the prick.
"Should we attempt to break them up?" Tria asks timidly, nervously glancing around at all the ritzy neighbors who aren't even bothering to hide their amusement.
People are actually sitting on their front porches, casually sipping their morning coffee and watching as though this is a paid-for event. They'll be jealous of my backstage passes.
"Probably," I mutter dryly.