Or some shit like that.
Dad doesn’t notice their animosity. (Though there’s not really any animosity from Hunter. He gets why Chase is pissed. He accepts that they’re making slow progress on the road to repairing their relationship).
He doesn’t notice anything but the sunlight bouncing off the concrete.
His gaze shifts to his long, white sleeves. Then his dress shoes.
“You come from work?” I ask.
“Yes.” His voice is soft.
Fuck, I haven’t heard that tone in a long time.
He’s always held it together.
Or at least pretended.
If he’s really this frayed…
I swallow hard. Wrap my fingers around the nylon straps of my backpack.
Chase motions to the coffee shop on the right.
It’s empty for a Tuesday at three. I go straight to the square table. Sit. Cross one leg over the other.
Hunter sits next to me. Reaches to pat my shoulder.
I slap his hand away. It’s immature as hell, but what do I care?
This is bullshit.
Everything is bullshit.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” I ask.
“I don’t keep tabs on her.” His eyes betray him. He knows exactly where she is. She’s waiting to console him if this goes to shit. Or celebrate if it goes well.
But this kinda thing—
There’s no well.
Only not a total mess.
Chase and Dad fix cold brews then hand them out.
My oldest brother helps Dad into his seat. Takes his own.
Fuck, there’s all this tension in Dad’s dark eyes.
He looks exactly like Chase, only with darker eyes and less steel in his expression. They’re both tall, broad, handsome.
But Chase is the only one who looks imposing today.
Dad looks pale. Like he’s about to faint.
Maybe he is.
I wrap my fingers around my glass. Take a long sip.
It’s the same thing this place served yesterday—a rich, chocolaty cold brew with just enough milk to make it creamy.
But it’s not good anymore.
It’s bitter and ugly.
“We’ve been talking.” Chase’s steely eyes go right to me. So I know I’m the only one who isn’t in the loop.
“And?” I swallow another sip. Fold my arms in a pointless show of defiance.
Chase holds my stare. “There’s a program in Santa Barbara with an opening this summer.”
“Fuck off,” I say.
“You want to watch her drink herself to death?” Chase asks.
“She’s not gonna go,” I say.
“She might.” Dad turns to me. “She’s proud of Hunter.”
“Based on what? Thanksgiving and Christmas?” I swallow hard.
This is bullshit.
Total bullshit.
“She’s my wife,” Dad says. “I know her.”
“You care now?” I blink and see red.
How can he suddenly give a shit?
My entire life, nothing.
Now that Hunter is sober, he believes in some magical rehab fairy.
“I’ve always cared, Wes.” Dad’s voice gets stronger. “Why do you think I work so much?”
“Why do you think she drinks so much?” I suck a breath through my nose. Push an exhale through my teeth.
I’m not doing this.
I’m not listening to his claims of devotion.
She drinks because he’s not there.
Because she’s lonely.
Because it’s the only thing she understands.
If he pushes her—
That’s going to snip the last thread holding her together.
That’s going to ruin everything.
Fuck Dad.
Fuck Chase.
Fuck Hunter.
Fuck everything.
I stand. Take a step toward the door.
My foot barely hits the ground.
The room is shaking.
I’m shaking.
“Sit down, Wes.” Chase’s voice is steady. Clear. Pissed. “This is happening whether you’re on board or not.”
“If she says no?” I press my palms into the wood. “Then what?”
For a second, his stone expression cracks.
It flashes in his eyes.
Then we abandon her.
Kick her out of the house.
Cut her off from her friends.
Leave her to drink herself to death.
My gaze shifts to Dad.
He nods. “I’ve been talking to a lawyer.”
He’s ready to get a fucking divorce.
Now that I’m twenty-four.
That we’re all out of the house.
Couldn’t do shit when it would have mattered.
But now that he’s free, why not abandon his wife?
I try to think up some response that will get across how much I want my family to fuck off.
Come up with nothing.
Whatever.
These assholes don’t deserve a response.
I suck my last sip of coffee. Move from the table. Drop the glass in the bus tray.
Chase and Hunter exchange one of those looks, one at my expense.
But I’m too pissed to care.
Fuck them.
Fuck everything.
I need something that makes sense.
I jog the dozen blocks to my apartment.
And I call Quinn.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Quinn
Wes brushes his hair behind his ear as he steps inside.
“Hey.” He slides his hand into the front pocket of his jeans. Presses the door closed behind him. Clicks the lock. “You look gorgeous.”
I smooth my dress reflexively. Swallow hard. Try to find some appropriate response. Or at least something besides you look as freaked as you sounded on the phone. What the hell happened? Not that I can handle us having a conversation that honest. Settle on—”Thanks.”
Wes moves toward me with quick steps.
He’s eager.
Shaky.
Anxious.
I try to think up a question that doesn’t probe too much, but nothing comes.
He crosses the room to me. Curls his hand around my hip. Pulls my body into his.