Chapter Sixty-Two
Griffin
When I’m home, I set up my laptop on the dining table and check my emails. Keith sent me one with some notes on our research. There are some personal items as well—he’s a typical friendly California type—but he doesn’t say anything about my parents or sex toys.
Either he hasn’t seen the article—knock wood—or he’s just too polite and considerate to bring it up.
I open the attachment and try to focus on Keith’s points, but it’s impossible. Apprehension crawls over me like ants, and I can’t shake it off.
Is it the lack of apple scent? Did I get so used to smelling it at Sierra’s place that now it feels weird not to?
The living room has nothing but the scent of air freshener used by the weekly housekeeping service. A faint aroma of coffee from earlier lingers in the kitchen. I walk up to my bedroom. Just my laundry soap.
My home as it should be.
But something’s still off. The prickling sensation strengthens, and I scratch the back of my neck.
Wait a minute…
Where are the reporters crawling outside? A few local ones writing for scandal rags contacted me over the video. There’s no way they’re lying low after finding out about my parents and the sex toy thing.
A paparazzo could be hiding in the walk-in closet. It happened to Mom once.
Ready to deliver a kick powerful enough to knock out a man with even the hardest skull, I jerk open the door to the closet and am confronted by—!
Nothing.Just clothes, belts and shoes. No paparazzo.
All the bristling energy drains away. I should be thrilled that I’m being left in peace, but instead I feel slightly unnerved. When is the other shoe going to drop?
I pull out my phone and turn it on to see what’s going on. A gazillion notifications pop up. Lots and lots of texts, several from Charles—not worth checking, since I already saw him—a few from Lori—not checking those either, since I don’t want to talk to her ever again—and four from Dad, probably speaking through Joey’s fingers. I read those first, wondering if the lack of reporters has anything to do with him, and if so, which kidney I’m going to end up owing him.
–Dad: In case you’re in a snit, I didn’t confirm to anyone that you’re my son. I’m not that bad of a father.
–Dad: But I also didn’t specifically deny it.
–Dad: The exact quote was “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, boys. Now think sex toys and use your imagination.”
I can hear Dad’s self-satisfied laugh. I should’ve broken Joey’s fingers when I saw him, so he could never text again.
–Dad: Feel free to thank me at your convenience.
When donkeys start fucking frogs I’ll thank him. Until then, he can go piss up a rope.
Then I remember the previous text from him about making him a grandbaby. Fuck. I can’t let him know I already did. And not just one, but three. I massage my temples in an effort to get more blood flowing around. It doesn’t do anything to lessen my headache.
Okay, mental note:Figure out a plan to keep Dad away from the triplets when I can think more clearly.
There are also several texts from my brothers.
–Grant: Fine, you want to ignore us? I got it. But we need to talk about a bachelor party for Emmett. He’s going to get married ASAP. We can’t let that happen without a proper party.
–Huxley: He just wants to marry her before she changes her mind.
–Sebastian: He better hurry. The supplies for decent diamonds are limited these days. If you want to get at least four carats, that is.
–Noah: He’ll aim for at least eight carats. The bigger the rock, the bigger the love.
–Nicholas: Absurd.