I KNOW YOU’RE AN ASS SOMETIMES, BUT I NEVER TOOK YOU FOR CRUEL. HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO HER? I’M SO DISAPPOINTED IN YOU.
That one hurts. Sunday is like my sister, and her opinion is important to me. Having her say she’s disappointed in me is so much worse than her telling me to fuck off or calling me an asshole.
Don’t worry, Sun, I’m right there with you. Nobody could be more disappointed in me than me right now.
Deciding to leave it be, for now, I shuffle my sorry ass back to my car and head home, my ruin of the only girl I’ve ever really wanted playing on a loop in my head.
After sleeping like the dead for most of the day, I wake up feeling marginally more human, and a whole lot more upset by the shitty choice I made last night. I drag myself into the shower and stand under the hot, full blast spray, letting it burn my skin as some perverse form of penance.
Though it does nothing to erase the fact that I’m a prick of epic proportions, at least it clears some of the hangover-fog from my head. Wrapping a towel around my hips, I step out and swipe my hand across the mirror, leaving a clear streak in the condensation. Not liking the face staring back at me very much right now, I look away quickly and grab my toothbrush to scrub the taste of stale beer out of my mouth.
A sharp knock on my bathroom door startles me mid-brush, and I jab myself in the gums.
Shit, that hurt.
“Yeah?” I ask, spitting a mouthful of bloody toothpaste into the sink.
“Poe. Downstairs in five, son.”
Dad? He’s not due home for another month.
“Okay, be right down!” I answer and hear him close my bedroom door as he leaves.
Throwing on gray joggers and a faded black shirt, I run my hands through my wet hair and take the stairs to the sunroom my dad has liked to use as the forum for his talks with me since forever. Surprisingly, my mother perches on the edge of the long white couch. Her back ramrod straight, she looks like she wants nothing more than to drive something sharp through the back of my father’s head as he stands staring out the floor-to-ceiling and wall-to-wall windows. The thinly veiled hate in her expression gives me chills.
“You’re home early, sir.” He turns at the sound of my voice and motions me over next to him, reaching to shake my hand with his typical firm grip.
“How are you, Poe? I hear there’s been some excitement lately.” Shifting his eyes toward my mother for a brief minute, she flinches under his gaze and looks away.
Okay, something fucked up is going on. She never yields to him. Never. Not in front of me.
“Excitement? I’m not sure I understand.” Moving to the wet bar in the corner, he pours himself a Macallan, neat, swirling it gently and notably not offering my mother anything.
“The Bradleigh Heir is home now.” A statement, not a question, and a knife in my gut. “She looks quite a bit like her mother, I’m told.” My mother is turning seven shades of barely contained rage, still sitting on the couch like she’s Velcroed to it.
“I don’t know what her mother looked like, but Stella is beautiful.”
“Stella, is it?” Smiling softly, he nods in approval. Handing me his rocks glass, he holds up a finger and leaves the room. I’m so damn confused, I mindlessly take a sip of the scotch and enjoy the smooth heat the amber liquid leaves as I swallow. I try to hand the glass back to him with an apology when he returns, but he waves it away.
“Drink it. A little hair of the dog.” He winks knowingly, handing me the photo in his hand before moving to the bar and pouring himself a fresh drink. Shrugging, I take another sip and look down at the picture.
A group of teenagers around my age is lounging on the front steps of Woodington. I recognize the much younger version of my father, along with Payne’s, Heller’s, Sunday’s, and Aylie’s dads, and Raff’s and Roxy’s moms. The eighth person in the group, the one leaning against Raff’s mom and holding my dad’s hand, could be Stella. Except for the color of her eyes, the resemblance is incredible. The wide smile that lights her entire face and long dark hair stands out like an orchid in a room full of roses. Shocked, I look up and find my father staring at me, a sad smile on his lips.
“Catherine. That was taken seven months before she disappeared.”
I almost forgot my mother was even in the room until she launches off the couch with a howl and grabs for the photo, her long red nails clicking together like lobster claws.
“EUNICE. SIT. DOWN. NOW.” My father bellows before she can rip the image from my hand, and with a feral whine, she turns on him, spewing her filth.
“You’re still carrying a torch for that whore, aren’t you, Holt? After all these years, it’s her perfect little cunt you lust after. I’ve never seen anybody as pussy-whipped as you were. As you still are.” Her eyes wild, she spins and points at me. “It must be genetic, because now, your weak and pathetic excuse for a son is trying to stick his prick in her trash bag of a daughter. Well, I fixed it then, and I’ve fixed it now.” Fluffing her hair like she didn’t just go batshit crazy, she starts to walk away when my father blocks her path with his imposing six-foot-four frame.
“What do you mean you fixed it? Fixed what, Eunice?” The words are quiet but heavy with the threat of violence, packing more punch than anything I’ve ever heard him say. My mother’s eyes widen in the face of my father’s icy calm.
I have never seen him like this before. Beyond angry. Beyond furious. Usually, he’s utterly dismissive when it comes to my mother and her drunken ranting.
Not this time.
This time he looks like he could actually beat her to death and bury her corpse in the yard without a second thought.
Having been asked by my father to leave the room last night before my mother offered any sort of explanation, I spent the night sleepless and confused.
My dad and Stella’s mom? That’s crazy. What the hell am I supposed to do with that information?
By the time my alarm goes off, I’m already showered, dressed, and trying to figure out how to apologize to Stella for my reprehensible behavior at the party. The house is eerily silent as I tiptoe into the kitchen, only to find my father already seated at the island, drinking coffee and reading a battered old paperback.
“Morning, Dad.” My voice is hushed, something about the silence of the house demanding it.
“Good morning, son.” Taking off his reading glasses, his eyes—the same shade of deep blue as mine—are bloodshot and red-rimmed.
“You okay?” I down a glass of grapefruit juice, making him wince and chuckle at my choice of breakfast drink.
“Still have no idea how you drink that stuff. Tastes like paint thinner and feet.”
“Exactly how many feet dipped in paint thinner have you tasted, Dad? Is this some kind of kinky thing I don’t want to know about?” Laughing, I give him a mock suspicious face and sit down beside him after depositing my empty glass in the dishwasher.
“If only that were the extent of my problems right now. The extent of our problems.” He sighs heavily, looking older than I’ve ever seen him look, and scaring me a little. My father has always been larger than life. Strong. Confident. The man sitting beside me this morning seems like a worn out and sad caricature of himself.
“What happened with Mother last night?” The question has to be asked, though I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.
“I’m still sorting a few things out, son, but I promise I’ll tell you everything soon, okay?” He scrubs his hand through his dark hair that’s only recently started graying at the temples. “For now, just know that a long time ago, I loved a girl with everything I was. From the time we were small, we knew we were meant to be together.”
He pauses, momentarily adrift in the sea of memories.
“When she disappeared, my heart broke. I broke. I was inconsolable for the first six months. The next six I spent trying to drown my memories of her in every piece of ass and bottle of booze I could find. Finally, I had to accept she wasn’t coming back, and yo
ur grandparents started pushing me toward Eunice. She wasn’t their first choice—or even their eighth—but her family had a business connection your grandfather was desperate to have, and she was more than willing. It didn’t matter to her that I didn’t even really like her, let alone love her. She wanted the elevation in status that went along with the Halliday name.” He grimaces. “I’ve never stopped loving Catherine, even when she stopped loving me.”
The air around us is heavy with sadness and regret.
“I’m sorry, Dad.” My words are soft but full of sincerity. Seeing my father hurting is something I’ve never seen before, and it’s hard for me to watch. Closing his book, he hands it to me.
“Take this. I’ve had it since I was younger than you are now. It’s gotten me through a lot.” He grabs me by the shoulder and pulls me in for a quick hug. “Find Stella and make sure she’s alright. Apologize for whatever happened between you two and fix it, for the sake of both your futures. Don’t let anybody keep you apart from her. We need to make arrangements to have Stella formally introduced to the families as the Bradleigh Heir as soon as possible.”
Our futures? And how the hell does he know something happened between Stella and me? What am I missing?
“Dad, what the fuck is going on?” Not one to swear in front of my father, I expect some kind of a reaction from him, some sort of reprimand for my foul language, but he just shakes his head.
“Go to school, Poe. We’ll talk later. Go find your girl.” With that, he leaves me alone in the empty kitchen, clutching a worn copy of The Collected Works of Edgar Allan Poe and wondering if this was the end of the nightmare or only the beginning.
Raff and Heller are waiting for me outside the main doors when I pull up.
“Where’d you go Saturday night?” Raff’s concern is evident, but so is something else, something he doesn’t want to ask.
“Had to bail. Couldn’t deal with the bullshit.”
“Did you, uh, leave alone?” Heller shoves him and speaks up.
“For fuck’s sake, stop being a big pussy, Essex.” Leveling his gaze directly at me, he point-blanks it for me. “Somebody saw you leave with Hali. At least somebody saw you leave, with her tagging along behind you in her hoochie dress, and neither one of you came back. So, two and two, you know?” He runs his hand through his blond hair, looking uncomfortable.
Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on around here? Can this day get any fucking weirder?
“No. And no. Oh, and by the way, no. Do you think I’m insane? Give me some credit. She followed me out to my car, looking to get a piece, and I told her to fuck off. Again. I left her in Roxy’s driveway.” Yanking open the front doors, we start down the hall toward my locker. “Did you guys honestly think I left to go fuck Hali?” The thought alone brings a little bit of my grapefruit juice back up.
“Nah, not really, but it looked a little strange. And then when nobody heard from you all day yesterday, we figured maybe you were doing the ultimate walk of shame.” That makes me laugh for some reason, but I nearly choke on it when I see Stella and Sunday up ahead at their lockers.
She cut off all her hair! When the hell did she do that? Why did she do that? And how is it possible that she looks even hotter?
“Holy shit! New Girl looks smokin’ with shorter hair!” Raff’s eyes nearly bug out of his head, and he looks around quickly to see if anybody else heard him. “I said that out loud—really loud—didn’t I?”
“Sure did. Smooth, Raff, real smooth.” Grinning at his embarrassment, I slap him on the back and walk toward the hallway that takes me the long way to my locker, looping around the ones assigned to the girls. “I’m going this way, you coming?” Heller comes with me, but Raff walks straight to Stella, picking her up and twirling her around.
“He does love the ladies, doesn’t he?” Heller smirks as we walk away.
“And the ladies love him right back.” With a last glance back at the three of them standing and laughing together, I watch Stella stand on her tiptoes and kiss Raff’s cheek. Sighing, I fold my heart up in a little box, tucking it away just to get through the day.
Chapter Nineteen
We pull into the school parking lot thirty minutes before our first class, after a nearly silent drive that was heavy with anticipation. Turning off the Rover’s engine, Sunday sits facing straight ahead, her fingers clenched around the steering wheel.
“How do I get through this day without throat punching somebody?” she asks, still not looking at me.
“First we have to figure out for sure who deserves the throat punching. The obvious culprit just doesn’t strike me as clever enough to pull this off on his own. After that, I’m fully okay with setting you loose on them, but only after I get my turn.”
You have no idea the shitstorm about to rain down on you, Bingham fucking Ramsey.
Taking a few exaggerated deep breaths, she finally turns to face me, and I see my need for payback reflected back at me. With a quick ‘wonder twin powers, activate!’ fist bump, we leave the quiet of the Rover and walk into the belly of the beast.
The first thing I notice is the stares my new look is getting. The second thing is that people are no longer respectfully moving to the side for Sunday to pass while she drags the new girl along behind her; they are moving for me now as well.
Okay, this is weird.
We’re almost at our lockers when I’m abruptly lifted from behind and twirled around before being set back down and crushed against a firm chest.
“I forgive you for telling me to fuck off, New Girl. Tell me you still love me!” Raff’s voice rumbles with affection. Hugging him back, I stand on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek.
“I’m sorry, Raff,” I whisper so only he can hear. Letting me go and stepping back, I get the full force of his dancing green eyes and cheerful smile.
“Awww, like I said, I forgive you. Where’d you disappear to, though? We looked but couldn’t find you anywhere.” I’m saved from having to answer as Payne sidles up to us and claps his friend on the back.
“Morning, shithead.” He teases with a big grin. “Good morning, lovely ladies, how was the rest of your weekend?” He really is the best guy, and I could kiss him for what he’s doing, pretending he hasn’t seen us since Saturday night.
“‘Morning, shithead’? How come they get the nicey-nice, and I get ‘morning, shithead’?” Raff asks with mock offense.
“Because they are far better looking than you are, and you are a shithead.” Putting his friend in a headlock, they tussle their way down the hall to class, leaving Sunday and I laughing and shaking our heads.
The morning passes slowly, and the closer we get to lunch, the more restless I get. Bingham is AWOL so far, and I’m wondering if he’ll show his weaselly face at all. Tossing our books into our lockers, Sunday and I walk to the cafeteria, and Payne materializes seemingly out of thin air and is suddenly walking on my other side.
My two saviors making sure I’m okay.
I love them for it, but the main person they’re going to need to check on is Bingham after I smash his face in.
Today I sit facing the room between Roxy and Payne, my back to the wall behind our table, and Sunday and Aylie across from us. From this vantage point, I see the exact moment Poe walks in, flanked by Heller and Raff.
The exact moment he sees me.
The exact moment confusion, desire, and shame all somehow find a home on his handsome face at the same time. Locking eyes with him, I blink slowly once and look away, effectively dismissing him. I feel his anger and hurt flare as he takes his usual spot at the opposite end of the table.
You may not be at the top of my shit list right now, dickhead, but you’re still on it. Let’s see how much you enjoy being ignored.
Heller reaches across the table and ruffles my hair as he sits down next to Aylie.
“Nice lid, New Girl. Looks hot.”
“Thanks, Surfer Boy.” I take a bite of my salad, talking around it. “Still have bi
gger balls than you do.” He snorts loudly, and Sunday reaches across the table to high five me. After giving him a playful wink, I try to focus back on eating my lunch, but I can feel the weight of Poe’s eyes on me constantly, and under the table, my leg starts to do that nervous shake like it did on the plane.
The room around me swirls with conversations, shrieks, and laughter, and I let it flow around me until my ears pick out one voice that brings every nerve ending in my body to attention.
Bingham Ramsey.
My head snaps up, and my face hardens as my eyes rapidly seek him out.
There you are, you sadistic, plastic motherfucker.
Payne feels the shift in my posture, and his questioning gaze follows mine. As soon as he sees the object of my focus, he starts to push away from the table, expression cold and his body coiled tight. Sunday, realizing almost too late what’s happening, kicks me under the table to break my trance and shakes her head ever so slightly with her mouth set in a tight line. My pinhole vision widens back to normal, and I reach for the loyal and protective boy beside me, latching onto his arm before he can entirely leave his chair.
“Payne,” I murmur under my breath, forcing him to lean into me so that he can hear what I’m saying. “Please don’t. I appreciate it, but this is my fight.” His eyes search my face, looking for truth. “Please.” The taut muscles in his forearm relax under my hand, and I know he’s wordlessly agreed. He plants a chaste kiss on the side of my head and pulls back up to the table, shooting Sunday a small, closed-lip smile before turning his attention back to his lunch. Looking back to where Bingham was, all I see now are bubble-headed rich girls making eyes at the rest of the football team.
Dammit. Where’d he go?
My eyes pass over Poe in my quick visual sweep of the cafeteria and are immediately drawn back to him when I notice the raw emotion swirling in his eyes.
Fragile Things (Folkestone Sins Book 1) Page 14
