Love Next Door (Lakeside #1) by Helena Hunting

“Ah fuck.” I let my head drop back against the couch cushion. “Because my dad has loans out the ying-yang, and somehow they know that?”

“Yeah. Looks like someone might have leaked some information.”

“Do I need to come home? Is there anything I can do?”

“No, man, I think you need to stay where you are. If you need to borrow money or anything, I can help you out, interest-free.”

“Shit. It’s that bad?” Frankie loaned his sister twenty grand once and charged her interest at 0.1 percent less than the bank rate, so him offering to help me out with no interest is a big damn deal.

“It’s just media digging around. So as long as you don’t have anything to hide, it’s gonna be fine, but clearly something shady is going on. I wouldn’t be surprised if the board hires someone to investigate it further because they’re worried that you didn’t do it alone.”

“I didn’t do it at all,” I remind him.

“I know that, but they don’t. I think they’re drinking the Kool-Aid, and they believe your dad was in on it. They suspended him from the board of directors until they’ve completed a full audit of the books for the last seven years.”

“Well, that’s not good. When did all this go down?”

“It all kind of came to a head today. So don’t be surprised if you get a call from your sister tomorrow.”

“Okay, thanks for the heads-up. What about my brother?”

“It’s business as usual there. You know how he is—unaffected by pretty much everything. If you’re still good where you are, I suggest staying there.”

“Yeah. Of course.” I hadn’t planned on coming back to the city anytime soon anyway, but it sucks to have the option taken away. I’m worried about Teagan and how she’s really dealing with all of this. She’s always been on the sensitive side, so this can’t be fun for her. And my dad’s go-to response to stress is always to spend money, which in this case isn’t going to help things.

Calling Bradley to ask for an update is basically useless, since the media drama isn’t likely to faze him, unless it affects his ability to access five-star restaurants and hotels.

“Chip and I will come up and visit again in a few weeks. I’ll update you if there’s more news, and let me know if you need anything: money, supplies, whatever. I can have it sent to you if I can’t get it there myself.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

“Talk soon.”

Frankie ends the call before I can respond, which is his way.

A tiny part of me wonders if there’s any merit to what the media is saying. But then I consider how my dad’s been acting since everything happened. Like Frankie, he’s been adamant that I stay here, that it’s better for me if I don’t come back to Chicago, where the media is likely to bombard me. That he’s taking care of things and he’ll get it all sorted out. My dad is a lot of things, and admittedly not the best parent or financial manager, but he wouldn’t sell me out to absolve his debt. I’m being paranoid.

I grab a glass of water and pad back to the bedroom. Dillion has moved into my empty spot and is hugging my pillow. She looks like a fallen angel when she’s sleeping. Blonde curls everywhere, pouty lips parted, long lashes brushing her cheek.

I slide back into bed beside her, trying not to move her around too much since she can be a light sleeper. But she’s not leaving me with much in the way of room, so I stretch out along her side.

She makes a contented noise, and her palm lands on my chest and slides down. She nuzzles into my neck and murmurs, “You’re cold.”

I’m not convinced she’s entirely awake, so I slip my arm under her and try to relax, but my brain is going a million miles a minute. It’s been both a blessing and a curse to be able to turn a blind eye to the mess that is my life and escape up here. But reality is going to come crashing back down eventually, and I need to prepare for that inevitability.

Dillion rolls into me, throwing her leg over mine and nuzzling closer. Eventually I match my breathing to hers. It lulls me to sleep, but it’s not peaceful.




Dillion is gone by the time I get my ass out of bed the next morning. She left a note on my pillow saying she’ll message later, and she hopes I slept okay. I also have a call from my sister.

I listen to the message and realize right away that things are not okay. Her incoherent sobbing tells me that. Which is a shocker, because Teagan doesn’t cry very often. I call her, and she answers on the second ring. I spend the next ten minutes trying to calm her down enough to be able to understand what she’s saying.

“Can I come out and stay with you for a few days? I j-j-just need to get out of the city. I can’t handle this r-r-right now.”

I’m assuming “this” has to do with whatever is going on with the investigation into the missing money and all the society gossip. “Of course you can. Do you need me to come get you?”

“N-no. Bradley said he would drive.”

“Bradley? Our brother?” Neither of us know another Bradley, so it’s a stupid, unnecessary question. Things must be particularly bad for Bradley to agree to drive her, since he thinks Grammy Bee’s cottage is worse than camping in a tent. Which he has never, ever done.