“You might think you’re even, but he won’t,” I point out. “What are you going to do? Just keep going until someone really does get killed?”
“I’m not going to let some asshole walk all over me,” Royal says.
I sit down on the cushy leather arm of the recliner. “I know,” I say with a sigh. That’s not the Dolce way.
“Who called the cops?” Royal asks after a minute.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. I wasn’t exactly watching the crowd when it all went down.
“I guess it won’t hurt us any,” Royal says. “Them getting arrested. It might even make things easier on us.”
I groan and close my eyes. This is never going to end. I realize that now. Until someone really does wind up dead, they’re going to keep fighting. My brothers will never back down, and I have a feeling the Darlings are just as stubborn.
My phone is full of texts, so after Royal assures me he’s fine and begs me to quit hovering, I go upstairs and pull my chair out onto the balcony. Most of the texts are from Dixie, freaking out and dying to know the gossip. I call her anyway.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” she asks in lieu of a hello.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Royal’s fine. Everyone’s going to be okay.”
“Did you see what happened to Devlin Darling’s car?” she asks. “I don’t think anything will be fine ever again!”
I laugh at that. “Don’t you think that’s a tad over dramatic?”
“That’s not a car you can just gobuy,” she says. “Even if insurance replaces the cost, you can’t replace that car.”
“I’m sure someone fixes up old cars to sell,” I say, my throat suddenly tight with nerves. I pick at a scab that’s formed on my knee from this morning.
“He didn’t buy that,” Dixie said. “He and his dad built it. Like, from scratch!”
“Not from scratch,” I say. “I mean, maybe they restored it, but it was already built.”
“I’m just saying, it’s irreplaceable. Devlin’s going to be out for blood.”
“What’s the deal with his family?” I ask, studying the house where Devlin’s pink-heeled mom and elusive dad live.
“His parents are divorced,” she says. “From what I know, it was pretty messy. Both his parents are remarried.”
I hear tires crunch on the gravel drive next door, and I look down to see Mr. Darling’s car pulling into the garage around back. I can’t tell if Devlin’s in the passenger seat or not. He seemed pretty chummy with the woman who brought the pie, even calling her Mom. Now I wonder if the man of the house is not his dad after all.
“Which ones do we live next to?” I ask.
“His dad,” she says. “His mom lives outside town somewhere. I don’t know. It’s not like I’m invited to their parties. Can you imagine, though?”
“Pretty sure all we’ll ever do is imagine,” I say. “Considering I’m a dog to them.”
“Oh, sorry,” she says. “I wasn’t thinking. But you’re right. You’ll never get invited to a Darling party now.”
“Bummer.”
“I know,” she says. “I hear they’re, like, so epic. But like, scary, too. I heard that last year after homecoming, people were daring each other to do stuff, and some girl got dared to jump off the balcony into the pool. She broke her neck and died!”
“I’m sure that’s just a rumor,” I say automatically. I think of a dead girl, floating on top of a pool. I think of her parents finding her. I think of the messages they found on her phone, comments on her social media.
I squeeze my eyes closed and try to breathe.
Not a dead girl. She didn’t die.
“No, it’s true,” Dixie insists. “Homecoming is this weekend. That’s the anniversary. We should go see her grave. I know what cemetery she’s buried in.”