by Chloe Walsh
“You’re a strange one, Six,” he finally said. “I’ll give you that.”
“I’m a strange one?” I shot back, but Rourke didn’t answer me. He was already half way out of the room.
Rourke
I DEDICATED THE whole weekend to football. Working out with Daryl, going through drills and plays with the guys; basically running myself into the ground.
When I finally walked my stinking ass into the house late Sunday evening, I was met with the sound of my sister crying in her bedroom.
“Amelia?” Immediately my hackles rose, and I was on the war path. Storming down the hallway to her bedroom, I shoved the door inwards and stalked inside, ready to kill the motherfucker that had made her cry. “Mills? You okay?”
When I walked into her bedroom and my eyes landed on her empty bed, confusion swept through me. I could have sworn I heard crying. Stilling my body, I listened carefully, straining to hear the sound again.
And I did.
I fucking heard it again.
Except it wasn’t coming from Amelia’s room like I had thought.
Confused and feeling edgy, I trailed back down the hallway to the main foyer.
More crying filled my ears.
Louder this time.
Goddammit.
Swinging around, I barreled towards the living room door and pushed it open. Immediately, my gaze locked on Six who was sprawled out on the couch and crying like a freaking baby.
“What’s wrong?” I demanded, feeling oddly worried.
She looked away from the television screen she’d been glued to. Big grey eyes full of tears met mine. “Oh m-my g-god,” she cried, wailing uncontrollably. Tears were pouring down her cheeks as she heaved uncontrollably.
“What?” I looked around frantically. “What the fuck happened?”
“They killed him,” she screamed, pointing back to the TV. “They fucking killed him, Rourke!”
I tore my attention from her face and looked at the television screen. Immediately I recognized the program Six was watching as an episode from that fantasy TV show everyone seemed to love so much – myself included. Instantly, the penny dropped.
“Are you fucking serious?” I demanded, shaken up. “You’re crying over a goddamn TV show?”
“You don’t understand,” Six wailed, still crying. “I’ve invested all this time into…and they…they just…omigod, I can’t! I can’t cope with this.”
“I thought you were hurt in here!” I growled. “Goddammit.”
“Turn it off,” she squeezed out, tone pleading. “Please, Rourke. My heart can’t take it.”
I gaped at her. “Are you serious?”
She nodded frantically, still crying.
Shaking my head, I muttered a curse and walked over to the TV set before switching it off. “Happy now?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be happy again,” she whispered, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her sweater. “If this is what mourning someone’s death feels like, I don’t want to form another relationship for the rest of my life.”
“Christ,” I muttered dryly. She was such a drama queen. “You do realize that it’s just a TV show, right?”
Six leapt off the couch, still clutching her chest. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that,” she half growled, half sobbed as she hurried out of the room.
What the fuck was I living with?
And why the hell was she making me smile?
Mercedes
WHY THE HELL WAS he making me so nervous?
Over the weeks, I had grown accustomed to feeling disgust and loathing whenever I was in Rourke’s’ presence, but this nervous anxiety I had pumping through my veins tonight? Not so much.
Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was dressed only in a pair of tight black boxer shorts and I had the best possible view of his tight as hell butt.
Or maybe it was him standing half naked in my bedroom that was causing me so many issues?
Either way, I was a nervous freaking wreck.
“Are you deaf?” Rourke demanded, snapping me out of my daydream. “Or did you really not hear a damn thing I’ve just said?”
I hadn’t been listening to him; I’d been too busy staring at him. Clearing my throat, I looked up at him and said, “Actually no. I wasn’t listening to you. I was too busy trying to work out what the hell you’re doing in my room.”
“You wanna get pissy with me?” He was staring at me, his blue eyes boring into mine with so much heat I could hardly stand the intensity. “Seriously?”
“What do you want, Rourke?” I was in no mood to fight with him tonight, especially when he was almost naked. It felt like he had some twisted advantage over me. Those cut muscles wielded a sick power over me and I was disgusted with myself for it. Goddamn, every part of that boy’s body was chiseled and hard.
“Dad called,” he reeled off impatiently. “He and your mother are spending the night in Tampa.” Shrugging, he added, “Wanted me to let you know.”
Tampa. I shifted onto my knees. “Why?”
Rourke glared at me. “How the fuck am I supposed to know?”
“Okay,” I bit out, choking down the sarcastic remark on the tip of my tongue. Asshole. “Why didn’t Mom call me herself?”
“Again,” he shot back flatly. “How the fuck am I supposed to know?”
“Fine.” I threw my hands up in defeat. “Whatever. You’ve told me, so you can leave now, Rourke.”
He didn’t leave.
Instead, he continued to stand in the doorway of my room, looking too freaking good to be true.
“What?” I snapped, feeling the blood rush to my face from his weighted stare.
Rourke tipped his head to one side, studying me. “What are you doing?”
I looked down at the scissors and newspaper clippings on my bed and shrugged. “I’m couponing.”
“Couponing?” Rourke raised a brow. “What the hell is couponing?”
I fought back the urge to roll my eyes. Rich prick. “It’s something us normal folk do,” I replied sweetly. “You know, in order to keep the wolves from the door.” When he continued to stand there, I grew impatient. “You can go now.”
Of course, he didn’t do that. Walking over to my bed, Rourke sank down on the edge and grabbed my folder of neatly organized clippings. “So, how does this work?”
“Why do you care?” I replied, confused.
He looked at me and offered me a rueful smile. “Just show me.”
Shaking my head, I exhaled an impatient sigh and swiped the folder out of his hands. “So, I usually dedicate one evening a week to clipping out coupons and organizing them in here.” My ears burned as I opened the folder and swiped through page after page of discounted offers. “I move the ones with the nearest expiration date to the front and then, when I’ve listed all the items Mom and I need or might need in the coming weeks, I compare the list to my coupons and work out the cheapest way I can get everything.”
“Why?” he repeated and it pissed me off.
“Because we’re not all born with a silver spoon in our mouths, Rourke,” I snapped.
“No,” he said gruffly. “Why do you do this?” He stared at me as he spoke, like I was a big puzzle he had to solve. “Why not leave it to your mother?”
I threw my head back and laughed harshly. “Trust me, if I left this to my Mom, we would have starved years ago.”
Rourke didn’t laugh.
He didn’t even crack a smile.
“How long have you been doing this?” he asked, looking down at my folder with a frown. “Couponing?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged, uncomfortable. “Since I was eleven or twelve. Why?”
Rourke didn’t reply, but from the look of incredulity on his face, it was pretty obvious that he didn’t approve. He sat on my bed for another minute or so, staring down at my coupon folder before abruptly jerking to his feet and stalking out of my room.
“Goodnight to you, to
o,” I muttered under my breath. “Ass.”
Rourke
“HEY, DARYL? HAVE you ever heard of couponing?” I felt like a fucking tool asking my best friend that question, but ever since I walked in on Six the other day and saw her messing around with her coupon folder thingy, I’d been curious as hell.
“Don’t you have enough money?” Daryl shot back with a smirk, as we ran side by side down the sandy beach at the back of my house. “Like the TV show?” he added, noticing my serious expression.
I shook my head, maintaining the brisk pace. “Nah, man, like real life, living from a folder, couponing?”
He turned to face me and said, “Sissy?”
I nodded.
“Damn.” Daryl let out a whistle. “That’s rough.”
Tell me about it. “She said she’s been doing it since she was a kid, man.”
“She’s still doing it?” he asked, slowing to a jog.
I nodded.
“Maybe it’s a habit or something?” he offered.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“What about it? What does it matter to you if she’s fucking around with coupons anyway?”
“It doesn’t matter to me.” At least it shouldn’t…
Daryl grinned. “Sissy’s getting under your skin, aint she?”
“Nope.”
“You like her,” he pressed, chuckling. “Admit it, Dude.”
“Got nothing to admit,” I shot back coolly.
“You’re a terrible liar, man. Always have been.”
“She’s just another number to me.” I meant it. Soon enough, my father would move on to the next woman and Six would be a distant memory to me. “It’s temporary.”
“Sure, Rourke,” Daryl replied with a wink. “Whatever you say, man.”
Mercedes
TWO WEEKS INTO my new job at Madame Jory’s and I was grinning all the way to the bank – well, to the spot under my mattress.
I’d made almost ninety dollars in tips during Thursday and Friday’s shifts alone and another fifty bucks earlier in the week.
Feeling like a splurge, I stopped off at the convenience store on the way home from work and bought my weight in candy bars.
Was it bad for me?
Without a doubt.
Was it worth it?
Every damn piece.
When Amelia walked into the living room late Saturday night and found me sprawled out on the huge sectional couch, I was one candy bar away from a sugar coma.
“Hey, Mercy,” she said sweetly. “Mind if I join you?”
“Oh hey, Amelia. Sure.” I waved her over, though she’d have to sit on the other couch. There was no way I could move. Goddamn, why had I done this to myself? “Want one?” I offered, holding up my paper bag towards her.
There wasn’t much of a selection left to choose from, but still, it would have been rude not to offer. She shook her head, politely declining, before curling up on the couch opposite me. “So, how’s the job going?”
“Good, though I’ve just eaten my entire salary.”
Amelia giggled. “I like having you here.”
She did? I cocked a brow. “Why?”
Sitting cross-legged, she rested her elbows on her legs and smiled. “You’re so…different to who we were expecting.”
Oh? “And who were you expecting?” And who’s we?
“Well...” Nervously, she tugged on one of her long golden curls. “You’re funny, for one. And you don’t take Rourke’s crap. That’s surprising. The others, they… I don’t know, they didn’t take him on like you do. It’s weirdly refreshing. You know, you’re the sixth step sibling we’ve had?”
“Yeah.” I scrunched my nose up. “Rourke filled me in on that little giblet of information.” Grabbing another candy bar, I ripped off the wrapper and took a bite. I was so full. “He christened me Six, remember?”
“Yeah,” she mumbled, red-faced. “It’s nothing personal. Truly.” She re-tucked the hair she had just tucked behind her ears again – an obvious nervous trait. “He does that to all of them.”
I cocked a brow. “All of them?”
“All of our father’s wives’ children.” She blushed bright red again. “There’s been a Five, a Four, and a Three before you. The two previous to that were twins belonging to wife number two; Ellery and Edward.” Amelia sighed heavily. “Rourke just referred to them as Thing one and Thing two.”
“Aw,” I muttered sarcastically. “And here I was thinking I was all special.”
The door of the living room flew open then and I heard Rourke call out, “Hey, Mills, you hungry?” in a weirdly soft voice. “I’ve made your favorite. Mac and Cheese.”
The moment Rourke’s eyes landed on my face, the shutters closed down and that tiny fleck of gentleness he’d revealed while speaking to his sister was gone.
“Yeah, I’m starving,” Amelia chirped as she looked at me and smiled, “You hungry, Mercy?”
I opened my mouth to tell her no, I had almost killed myself with candy bars, but Rourke got there first. “There’s only enough for two.”
“Rourke,” Amelia scolded, red-faced. “Be nice.”
“It’s fine,” I replied, flipping him the bird. “I’m sure your Mac and Cheese sucks ass anyway.”
“I’ll plate up,” Rourke bit out before leaving the room.
Amelia waited until Rourke had closed the door behind him before saying, “I know my brother hasn’t exactly been welcoming to you, but I promise it’s nothing personal.”
Nothing personal? I scoffed. “It sure feels personal, Amelia.”
“He hates what you represent,” she whispered, tone low and hushed. “Not who you are as a person.”
“Why?” Pulling myself into a sitting position, I leveled her with an even stare. “What’s his problem?” I didn’t want to be here either. I wasn’t happy about our parents shacking up. But I wasn’t going around threatening to make his life a living hell.
Amelia exhaled a heavy sigh. “It’s complicated.”
I cocked a brow. “Complicated?” Pathetic.
“In Rourke’s eyes, you’re a threat to our lives,” she whispered again. “A problem. He needs control, it’s how he copes with the screwed-up way Dad has raised us.” She looked at me with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. “You and your mom arriving was out of the blue. Your mom getting pregnant was unexpected. Rourke hates this. He feels like his world is being intruded on so he reacts in the only way he knows how.” She shrugged helplessly. “He attacks.”
“But I’m not the enemy here!” I threw my hands up in frustration, forcing myself to lower my tone when I noticed her grimace. “And my mom’s not either. Yeah, she’s a flake and likes shiny things, but she’s harmless.”
“I know that,” Amelia replied softly. “But Rourke?” She shook her head. “Not so much. He’s on a permanent witch hunt. He has some really bad trust issues and sees everyone new as a threat to his family.”
“Why?”
“He has his reasons,” was all she replied. “And… issues. Many of which stem from losing his mother so young.”
“What happened to his mom?” I asked then. “I know your mother lives in the south of France.” Gabe had mentioned how Amelia visited her mother during the holidays every year, but he never mentioned Rourke’s mother.
“Camille?”
“Yeah.” I nodded in affirmation. “Is she –”
“Dead?” Amelia offered before nodding. “She passed when Rourke was a little under three.”
“God,” I whispered.
“He’s never been the same since,” Amelia added. “At least that’s what our father says. Of course, I’ve never known him to be any other way than he is now, but I guess that sort of trauma affects a child.”
“I bet.”
“Rourke blames himself for so many things; especially his mom’s passing.”
“Why?”
“Shortly after Camille got pregnant with Rourke, she was diagnosed with an extremely ag
gressive form of cervical cancer,” Amelia explained. “The doctors treating her were confident if she started treatment right away they could save her. But starting treatment meant…”
“Getting rid of the baby,” I whispered.
Amelia nodded. “She continued with her pregnancy, choosing to keep her baby. By the time Rourke was born, the only thing the doctors could do was give Camille time and keep her comfortable.”
“That’s horrendous.” Pain speared through me. “Surely he has to know that he’s not to blame for any of that?”
“I was born three weeks before Camille passed,” Amelia added with a grimace. “A product of an affair our father had while struggling to cope with the impending death of the love of his life.” Shrugging, she smiled. “At least that’s what my mother told me.”
“So, your mom and Gabe weren’t–”
“Married?” Amelia shook her head. “God no. Mom was just a shoulder for Dad to cry on.” She scrunched her nose up at the thought. “My mother is a retired dancer. Back then, she was doing a tour of the East coast with the dance company she worked for and met Dad. It was a fling that had been fueled by alcohol and grief, lasted some three weeks, and resulted in her getting pregnant.”
“Damn,” I muttered, unsure of what else to say.
Amelia nodded. “When I was born, Mom came back here, to Ocean Bay, and looked my father up. By then, Camille’s fight was coming to an end. She’d fought the cancer as best as she could but she was weak and hooked up on a morphine pump right here in this house.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “My mother wasn’t in the position to care for me, the life of a dancer no place for a baby, so she gave me to my father.”
WTF? “She just handed you off to him?”
“Uh-huh.” Amelia half sniffled, half laughed. “At first, Rourke hated me. He struggled a lot after his mom passed and took it out on me. He even tried to blind me with a flashlight once, and another day he took me out of my basinet and put me on the neighbor’s doorstep.” She grinned. “Of course, they brought me home – much to his dismay.”
“What changed?” I whispered. Something had to. They were close now. Rourke loved his sister. He adored her. It was as obvious as the nose on his face.
