Disorder by J.L. Weil

Chapter Fifteen

The next few days sucked.

But they also were like the old times, like the last six months were nothing but twisted nightmares.

Except it took only one phone call from Angie to shatter the illusion. I’d been ignoring her since before I got beaten up and still was, which meant she’d taken to calling my father. I sort of felt bad putting him in the middle.

She called to complain, of course, about my staying with him. I could tell by my dad’s face. He pinched the bridge of his nose, dropping his head like he was fighting off a headache. I knew and felt a similar headache induced by Angie.

He tried to keep his voice low as he sat at the kitchen table, but I got the gist of a familiar argument. They were nine out of ten times about me. I sneakily turned down the TV so I could listen, which turned into a toxic idea. Knowing Angie was forcing my dad’s hand enraged me. She could be such a manipulative, control freak.

I wanted to storm into the kitchen and hang up on the phone.

Instead, I sat on the couch, clenching my fists until the call ended. Dad sat at the table for a full minute in silence, presumably taking a moment to compose himself. I’d be cussing her out and throwing shit.

I don’t know he remained so chill.

“You want some pancakes?” he asked, emerging out of the kitchen and leaning up against the doorframe.

“Was that Angie?” I asked from where I curled up on the couch.

“Your mother was checking up on you,” he declared.

I didn’t correct him. “You don’t have to lie to me or pretend everything is okay. I’m not five anymore.”

His expression registered surprise before settling back into something like resignation. “Protecting you is habit. And it doesn’t matter if you’re forty, I’ll still want to shelter you.”

My spine straightened. “Does she want me to go home?”

“She misses you, Josie,” he said like he actually believed that.

Biggest crock of shit.

I pursed my lips.

“She told me you’ve been living with that boy,” he added coolly.

I rolled my eyes. She would try to pit my dad against me. How funny that I couldn’t stomach calling Angie “Mom,” but I couldn’t stop referring to Easton as my father. “It’s complicated. He’s a friend.”

“Your mom told me he is bad news. That you got a detention because of him.”

“She would say that. I’m not comfortable at home. Carter is the one you should be concerned with. Not Brock.” It wasn’t much of an explanation for why such a rift had been created between Angie and me or why I refused to stay in that house.

Dad studied me carefully. “If you’re in some kind of trouble, Josie, let me help you.”

It was too late. There was nothing he could do.

My body slowly started to heal, dampening the pain to manageable aches. All good things, but it also meant that I’d have to go back to school come Monday. A task I loathed as much as going to the dentist.

I hadn’t seen Brock since the first night, since the Elite concocted one of their takedown schemes. My fear was confirmed over the last few days. No calls. No texts. No middle of the night surprise visits. I hated to admit it, but dammit. I missed him. That stupid, cocky crooked smirk. The depth those ocean blue eyes that always saw too much. How his arm always wrapped around me in the middle of the night.

Brock might not know it, but in sleep, he was a cuddler.

Fynn, Micah, and even Grayson stopped by to see me after school, dropping off lecture notes so I could keep up with my schoolwork. The Academy was known for moving at an accelerated pace. The last thing I needed was to fall behind… well, more than I already had. The Elite had been an unexpected distraction.

If Dad thought it odd that my friends were four hot guys, he didn’t say anything.

I peppered them each day with questions, hungry for information about Ava, Carter, and Brock. They weren’t always forthcoming, and I could tell talking about Brock and Ava made them super uncomfortable, which gave me cramps. Not the period kind.

But the real information came from Mads. She became my eyes and ears at school while I was out. I heard all about how Ava and her band of bitches were back sitting at the Elite table, Ava assuming her position on Brock’s lap. She couldn’t be that dumb in thinking he wanted her back.

From what Mads said, she was.

I guessed the Elite were right. She was disgustingly desperate to be on top. For someone who had never been popular nor cared to be, it was unfathomable to me how someone could go to such extremes to be the most envied girl at the Academy.

Fuck that.

Micah showed up at my house after school on Friday, sporting a devilish grin, two dimples winking at me. “Who did you hit on today?” I asked, because he had that look of someone who was about to score.

He lounged on the porch swing beside me, throwing an arm along the back as his lips twisted. “How much time do you have?”

I rolled my eyes, tucking my legs up on the cushion underneath me. “You’re unscrupulous.”

He threw me an arrogant smile. “Thank you. Mads said something about meeting up with me later.” The way he said her name and the goofy glittering of his eyes sent a warning bell chiming in my head.

I narrowed my eyes. “You leave my friend alone.”

“She still has a thing for me, doesn’t she?” He sounded so damn pleased with himself, like God’s gift to women.

I shook my head, narrowing my eyes. “I swear to God, Micah. I’m not joking. Don’t mess with her. Go play with the million other girls falling at your feet.”

He put his hands up in surrender like he was calling a truce before I ripped him a new one. “For you, Josie Jo, I’ll do my best. Any chance you’re included in all those millions of girls?”

“You mean now that Brock and Ava are a thing?”

He winced. “Ouch. You know it’s not like that.”

“Maybe not, but I am still salty as fuck about it.” An autumn breeze kissed my cheeks as I turned my gaze to the house across the street. It was so nice to be outside. Today was one of those rare Indian summer days. The sun still shone brightly in the sky, warming the earth. Bold, crimson leaves stuffed the large tree in the front of our yard, and a robin hopped from branch to branch, occasionally chirping.

Micah shoved his foot against the ground, sending the swing moving. “It’s not permanent. And if it helps, Brock is miserable. I think he actually misses you.”

I snorted. “I find that hard to believe.”

“No one knows Brock better than the three of us. He hasn’t come out and said it, but we all see it. Brock’s different with you.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

He scratched his nose. “Who knows? I can’t figure girls out.”

“But you’re the playboy,” I countered, enjoying the sun and the banter. “I thought girls were your specialty.”

“Only the ones that don’t matter,” he replied, surprising me.

Was he saying that Mads mattered?

As I contemplated, Micah tugged on the end of my hair. “You’re looking better, James. Less like a punching bag and more like a stubborn girl.”

I gave him a mildly amused, mildly annoyed look. “You kind of suck at giving compliments.”

His cockiness knew no bounds. “That’s not what most girls say.”

“I might have to question your taste in women. Mads excluded. You really fucked up there, buddy.” I poked him in the chest.

He chuckled, but the husky sound was cut off by a cop car rolling up in front of my house and parking alongside the curb. Micah’s Hummer sat behind my dad’s car, taking up the small driveway.

Micah’s expression hardened, his light blue eyes sharpening to ice chips. “You expecting company?” The Elite knew about my car getting impounded.

“No.” They already took the Lexus. What could they possibly seize now?

Micah’s arm dropped around my shoulder, pulling me closer to him. “I don’t like this, Josie. Twice in the same week… Something is up.”

I thought the same, but hearing Micah say it sent a chill down my neck, despite the heat seeping from his body into mine.

Micah and I watched as two officers got out of the patrol car together. “You should probably get your dad,” Micah muttered.

With a sense of dread, I hopped off the bench and stuck my head inside the door. “Dad!” I hollered through the house. “There is someone here to see you.”

He made a grunting noise, followed by, “I’m coming.”

“Afternoon,” one of the officers greeted as I let the screen door swing closed and turn back to face the policemen.

Micah grinned, flashing teeth. “Well, if it isn’t Elmwood’s finest. What brings you by?”

The other officer cleared his throat. “We’re looking for Easton James. Is he home?”

Micah remained lounged in on the swing like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Depends.”

“Micah,” I hissed, giving the cops an apologetic smile.

“Are you Josie James?” the other officer asked.

“She isn’t at liberty to say,” Micah answered before I could.

“Ignore my friend. Yes, I’m Josie,” I told the cops, ignoring the frown Micah sent at me.

“If your father isn’t home—?”

“He is,” Dad said, stepping out onto the porch. “What’s this about now?” He sounded exhausted, and I realized the past few days had taken a toll on him. Taking care of me. Dealing with Angie. The cops. Disrupting his routine. The Elite. Trying to keep the peace.

“We’re here to serve you this.” The officer handed over some official-looking documents.

Dad’s eyes skimmed over the first sheet of paper. His brows furrowed, features pinching into something akin to anger. “This has to be a mistake.”

“Dad, what is it?”

At the sound of my voice, his head jerked up like he’d forgotten I was there. I saw something in his face that sent alarm through me. I didn’t want to believe there was anything that could frighten my father, but whatever was typed on that report had him clearly upset.

“Josie, go inside,” he ordered.

“Dad?”

“Just go,” he clipped out. “I’ll handle this.” Dad rarely used that tone of voice with me. It threw me off guard, and I flinched. I turned to leave, Micah straightening to his full height beside me. He had a good four inches over both officers.

They eyed him warily before turning back to my father. “Sorry, sir. Your daughter needs to come with us. She’s been reported as a runaway and we’ve been asked to return into her mother’s care.”

Wait. What? Did they say they were taking me into custody? My heart began to race, pumping hard in my chest.

“Josie is not going anywhere,” Micah stated, adamantly, positioning himself just in front of me.

I clutched the back of Micah’s arm as if it was the only way to keep me grounded, to keep them from taking me. “You don’t understand. I can’t go back there. It’s not safe.” My voice wavered, giving away the panic quickly rising to hysteria.

“Is that who did that to you?” he asked, indicating to the bruises and acknowledging them for the first time.

Lie! Lie! Lie!A voice screamed inside my head. Tell them it was Angie or Carter. “No,” I exhaled. Idiot. You should have lied. Now you have to go back to that house.

The officer gave me a sympathetic look. “We don’t want to make this more difficult than it has to be, but if you don’t come with us, your father could be charged with harboring a runaway.”

“This is insane. She is my daughter,” Dad argued.

“But unfortunately, her mother has full custody.”

But she’s not my fucking mother,I wanted to scream. How had I not seen this coming? Of course Angie would pull some kind of bitch-ass move like this. It was the only way she could get me under her control. For as much trouble as I caused her these last months, I didn’t know why she just didn’t wash her hands of me. I was like a possession she couldn’t let go of. It didn’t matter how many times or different ways she forced me to return to that house. I’d just leave again and again.

“She is seventeen,” my father pointed out.

True. But we were dealing with assholes who used money to manipulate and bend the laws in their favor. Having a runaway daughter wasn’t good for Angie’s image. I was a trophy for her, something to show off. If I didn’t return home with her, she would continue to find ways to make my father’s life hell. I couldn’t let that happen.

“True. And there is nothing we can do to prevent her from running away again,” the officer informed.

“Fuck,” Micah growled, a low rumble that of displeasure.

“Micah?” my voice came out in a soft plea. I don’t know what I was asking him to do, but I wanted him to make this nightmare go away.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get you out of this. I promise, Josie,” he said vehemently. “I’ll call Brock We’ll make some calls.”

“Are you sure there isn’t a mistake?” Dad asked, looking dumbfounded and helpless. “I talked to my ex-wife this morning. She never mentioned anything about calling the police or wanting Josie home.”

“I wish I could help you, but unfortunately, we’re just doing our job. I suggest getting in touch with your lawyer to straighten this out,” the officer advised.

“You better believe she will,” Micah retorted.

Dad ran a hand through his hair roughly, his features solemn. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I’ll get to the bottom of this as soon as I can.”

I almost told him not to bother. What was the point? Steven Patterson’s team of lawyers battling it out with my dad’s small-town guy. My only hope was Brock, but I didn’t want to tell that to my father.

I had only wanted one week with my dad before my entire life blew up. Angie stole it from me. This was probably the last time we’d be together like this, as father and daughter. The next time I saw him, he’d be looking at the stolen girl who wasn’t biologically his.

My gaze lingered over the only dad I had known for just a bit longer. A part of me wanted to fight or make a mad dash. Instead, my shoulders slumped, and I gave my dad a long hug before following the officers down the driveway.

Micah trailed after us. “Can I ride with her?” he asked.

The officer’s boots clattered over the driveway as we made our way toward the squad car. “Sorry, we can’t allow anyone else to accompany her.”

“But you can’t stop me from following you,” Micah speculated.

“No, we can’t,” an officer responded on a huff like he was having a long, shitty day. Couldn’t be worse than mine.

I took one last glance out the back of the cop car at the house I grew up in. Dad stood on the front porch watching me with a forlorn expression. He might not be my biological father, but he was the only dad I knew. He loved me, and this was breaking his heart.

Angie couldn’t be more of a bitch in my eyes.

* * *

I said not a single word as I rode in the back of the police car. My first ride in a cop car. A metal gate separated me from the officers, making me feel criminal. They didn’t handcuff me, but they might as well have.

Micah’s Hummer rolled behind us, offering a thin ribbon of comfort. It wasn’t enough to overpower the anxiety that crashed inside me like a raging storm.

The Patterson mansion came into view. I rested my forehead against the window, my stomach tied in one giant knot. It had been almost a month since I lived under the Pattersons’ roof or with Angie. Just the thought of seeing my insufferable mother made my skin crawl.

I refused to call that place home. It was sure as hell wasn’t mine.

The officers announced themselves at the gate, waiting for it to swing open. How could I live here and pretend everything was normal? I didn’t know how long I could do it, stay under the same roof as Angie and Carter. If I left, how many times would Angie threaten those who helped with harboring a runaway?

Micah parked his Hummer at the end of the driveway behind the iron fence, keeping an eye on me as I was let out of the police car. It was his way of letting me know I wasn’t alone. They hadn’t abandoned me. He had no idea what his presence meant to me. It gave me the strength to walk up to the front door, flanked by both officers as if they were afraid I might try something stupid. Good call, because that was exactly what rolled through my head. Each step closer I took, the louder the panic grew to bolt, to save myself.

Angie opened the door before we got to the porch landing. Her hand flew to her chest in a gesture of relief. There were fake tears in her glittering eyes. “Oh, thank God,” she proclaimed.

She reached out for me, taking me into her arms for a hug. I stood limply frozen in place, not returning her embrace. It took everything inside me not to shove her away, and I bit my tongue. I thought about creating a scene but coming here had sucked all the energy out of me.

“Look at you,” she said like a concerned parent, surveying my face. Her tongue tsked. “What did you do to your face?” The keyword in that sentence was you. Somehow getting the crap beat out of me became my fault, as if I’d somehow caused it or initiated the fight.

My nostrils flared.

“Nothing a little cover-up won’t fix right up,” she said, tweaking the end of my chin with a smile. She then turned those deep red lips to the policeman standing behind me.

“Thank you for bringing my daughter home,” she gushed, batting her eyes. If there was one thing Angie excelled at, it was using her looks to make men forget their names. It was her game and how she moved up in the world. I’d always known she used her body and face like a weapon, but I was just realizing how far she might go.

This woman was unpredictable and every bit as dangerous as Carter.

She exchanged a few more pleasantries with the drooling officers before ushering me toward the front door. I threw a glance over my shoulder, desperately searching for the white Hummer. My chest squeezed when I saw Micah still parked on the street.

How long did he mean to stay there?

Would he try to break me out once the cops were gone?

A brief spark of hope flared inside me.

Then the door closed.

Poetic. And symbolic. It felt as if Angie had just slammed the door shut on my life, imprisoning me inside this massive tomb.

I faced her, my expression resigned. “Well, you got what you wanted. I’m here.”

Angie crossed her arms, some of the sweetness leaving her voice. “Now, honey. Let’s not fight. You’re home where you belong. This is a day for celebration. Not pouty faces and complaining.”

I blinked. “Are you bipolar? Or just insane?”

“Josephine,” she scolded, losing her smile altogether. “This is where you belong.”

My hands dropped to my sides, nails curled against my palms. “You’re wrong. What you did today, to Dad, to me, I’ll never forgive you,” I ground out.

“Of course you will. I’m your mother,” she said dismissively.

Heat flared inside me. “You're not my mother.” The denial was punctuated. She had no idea the truth behind those words, no clue that I knew her deep, dark secret.

Shoulders straightening, she drew up to her full height as if it gave her power over me. “Josephine!” she snapped. “Enough!”

My body jerked from the fierceness in her voice.

She pressed a hand to her temple. “I know you’ve had a difficult time, but living with that boy is not the answer to your problems. Look what happened. And your father—”

“This was not his fault. Both of them are only trying to help me. You might want to point the finger closer to home.”

Exasperation edged into her eyes. “You have got to let go of this vendetta against Carter. Without him, I wouldn’t know how you’ve been faring these last weeks. He’s been a godsend.”

“I just fucking bet. Where is the little angel?”

She smoothed at invisible wrinkles over her white cotton pants. “Out, but he will be home for dinner,” she said, composing herself. It was like watching an actress prepare for a role of a lifetime.

“I’m not hungry. I think I’ll just go to my room,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Good idea, get settled,” she said, remaining a pillar of calm. “Your bedroom has been prepared for your return. You should find clean clothes to change into.”

There was nothing wrong with the cropped sweats and hoodie I wore, but if I told her so, it would open up another battle. Yet, my mouth moved before I could stop. “I didn’t know I’d be leaving the house today,” I snapped back.

Taking a deep breath, I spun around and marched off toward the stairs. If I stayed in her presence any longer, I wouldn’t be able to hold my tongue. Accusations would fly, none of them good.

I rushed up the stairs to my room and went to flip the lock, except… There was no fucking lock. That bitch. She took the lock off my door. I let a shrilling scream of frustration, slamming the heel of my palm into the wood.

Turning around, my back hit the door as I forced myself to take slow, steadying breaths. Breathe, Josie. In. And out. In. And out.

After a minute or two, I came to the conclusion that breathing exercises were a crock of shit. They never worked for me, not for long at least. It could also be that I just didn’t give myself enough time or fully complete the process. Not that it mattered, because no amount of inner chi would help under this roof.

I had to get rid of the tightness in my chest and the dull ache behind my eyes. A swim was out of the question. That would require me to leave this room, which I most certainly would not do that and risk running into either Carter or Angie.

Not tonight.

I dug out my phone, my back sliding down the door until I sat on the floor.

What I wanted was Brock.

But Brock was pretending to date Ava.

Chewing on my nails, I wrestled with the idea to call him, beg him to break me out of this jail. He would come. Once he found out I was no longer at my dad’s, he might very well show up guns blazing, screaming my name. He’d probably burn this place to the ground, which was precisely why I couldn’t call him.

He would do something stupid, irrational, and damaging to his future. That would not be on me. Giving the ideal time to settle couldn’t be a bad thing.

I huffed, dropping my head back against the door. My phone vibrated in my hand a moment later and I glanced at the message.

Grayson: We’re coming to get you.

Me: Don’t bother. She won’t stop.

Grayson: You can’t stay there.

Me: I know.

Grayson: You okay?

Me: Define okay.

Grayson: Brock isn’t going to let you stay there.

Me: It’s my choice.

Grayson: Just don’t do anything stupid. Avoid Carter.

Me: I can’t make any promises.

Grayson: I mean it, Josie.

On a huff, I closed my phone.

Now what?

My gaze panned over the room. It stood exactly the same. Cleaner than I’d left it. Bed neatly made. Not a stitch of clothing thrown on the floor. The bedroom appeared more like a guest room. Nothing of me lived inside, not like my other room.

My chest seized.

Angry tears clouded my eyes.

Before I made a blubbering mess of myself and climbed into the big bed to wallow all day, which I still had plans to do, I made use of the bathroom, one of the very few things about this house worthy of missing. It was spacious and luxurious, with a large white soaking tub that screamed my name.

I drew a bath, and as the water rumbled in rhythm with the ceiling fan, I released the tears. It was stupid, but in a way, it felt as if everything had been taken away from me. Dad. My old life. Brock. My self-respect. Even my mother. How much more could I lose? How much more could they take from me?

Utterly alone.

Utterly hopeless.

Devastatingly broken.

Dipping my toes in the steaming water, I sank into the tub, not bothering to dry my running nose or the tears that streaked down my cheeks. I let the sobs overtake me—let the emotion rip through my body and pouring out from deep in my soul. I stared out the big window overlooking the pool, a beautiful view, but I found no beauty in the world today.

An hour or more went by, and all the bubbles were gone, the water cold. I toweled off, cautious of the bruises covering my body. I stared at my reflection once I got out of the tub, wiping the mirror clear of steam. The girl staring back at me was a stranger.

She looked… afraid. Scared. Alone. Terrified. Damaged. And I didn’t know how long I could stand feeling that way before something cracked within me.

It wasn’t just the bruises that looked worse than they felt.

For a split second, I wished I had snuck a bottle from the liquor cabinet, anything to numb the emotions. I hated that my first thought was to reach for a drink just like Angie. That would not be me. I would find some other way to deal with my shit. Might not be less toxic, but alcohol would not be my vice, I refused to be anything like the woman who stole me—who pretended to be my mother—who lied to me my entire life.

At least I understood where some of her ridicule and emotionlessness toward me stemmed from. The unconditional love I should have felt from Angie had never been there.

I steered clear of the walk-in closet and all those expensive clothes waiting to be worn. Instead, I went straight for the dresser full of comfortable pieces that according to Angie never should be worn outside the house.

After slipping on some clothes, I plopped onto the bed, checking my phone. I don’t know why I expected to hear from someone. I told myself it didn’t matter that Brock hadn’t texted me, but it was a lie.

It did matter.

I did care.

I shot a text off to Micah; I needed information, needed outside contact from the house of horrors. It was stupid to think Micah would sit outside my house all day, but since he was taking too long to text me back, I ventured out into the balcony. Just a quick peek. I also wanted to test how far I could get, test the boundaries. Could I just walk out of here anytime I wanted? Would someone stop me? Would she call the cops again if I took off?

The grounds echoed in emptiness as I walked down the wooden stairs. I welcomed the silence.

I paused at the bottom landing, my fingers gripping onto the banister. Glancing over the lawn, I headed to the patio on the right side of the house.

No Angie in sight.

No staff.

“Going somewhere, Ms. James?” a deep voice asked, stopping me dead in my tracks.

Spoke too soon. I whirled around, staring up at Edmund in his wrinkle-free black suit. His dark hair was slicked back, giving him mafia vibes. “At ease, Sergeant. I just need some air.” I faked a mock salute.

Did his lips just twitch? Certainly not. Edmund was incapable of facial expressions. “I’ve been advised to keep you safe.”

“Is that so?” I choked out. “Or do you mean you’re being paid to keep me inside this house?” My eyes darted to the open patio. Freedom. So close I could smell it. Would he stop me if I made a mad dash to the door? How much force would he use? I had a split-second vision of Edmund tackling me to the ground. It wasn’t a pleasant sight.

From his stony expression, I predicted a big yes to detaining me by any means necessary. “It would be best if you stayed inside.”

“This is utter bullshit, Edmund,” I spat, letting him see my outrage.

Edmund lowered his voice, his eyes bearing directing into mine. “A word of advice. Keep your head low until you turn eighteen.”

“That might be some solid advice, Sergeant. That’s assuming I make it to eighteen. Have you seen my face?” I made a circle around my head.

His expression remained neutral. “All the more reason to stay inside.”

Fists clenched, I made a shrieking noise in my throat before spinning on my heels. I returned to my room, intent on staying there for the rest of the weekend. To pass the time, I texted Mads and Ainsley, the two people who never blew me off. We had a lot to catch up on.

Deep in my bitch-fest texting to my besties, I didn’t hear the door to my room open. Angie announced, “Dinner’s ready.”

I jumped, dropping my phone quickly on the bed, screen down. “I’m not hungry,” I retorted, despite not having eaten anything since this morning. My traitorous stomach growled at the mention of food, and I scowled.

She stepped into the center of the room, her long dark hair gathered into a sleek bun low on her head. In a cream cashmere sweater and tailored black pants, she almost looked sophisticated, but there was something off, something in her face, a sexiness that denied her from achieving the look of polish she craved. “Josephine, it’s your first night home. I had all your favorites prepared; a little welcome home gathering.”

Was she fucking with me?

How many ways did I have to express or say I didn’t want to be here before it sank into her thick-ass skull?

The last thing I wanted to do was sit down to a fancy fake-ass dinner where we all pretended to be a family. Yeah. Not happening.

Couldn’t she see how tired I was?

But no, she kept rambling on, her trilling floating across the room as she came to sit on the edge of the bed. “Carter’s bringing a friend.”

I stopped breathing. “Who?”

She fumbled with the massive rock on her ring finger. “I’m not sure. They should be here in a few minutes.”

“I can’t do this.” I sighed.

She patted my leg, and I forced myself not to flinch or knock her hand away. “Josie, you have to eat. I know you are not happy with the situation, but you belong at home, with me.”

“And you belong in a mental hospital.” The words hurled out of me, like a sword cutting through the air, intending to hurt.

She lifted her chin, eyes hardening. “We’re not doing this. You will not provoke me. Not tonight. Steven just got home. He is looking forward to seeing you. He missed you. Now get up and get downstairs before I drag you out of your room.”

Ooooh, I wanted to argue. It was exactly what I wanted. To rage and scream at each other. I itched for a fight, like a storm brimming on the surface crackling with lightning before the thunder struck.

“Fine,” I reluctantly agreed. “If it will get you off my back. One dinner, then you leave me alone.”

She rolled her eyes as she stood up. “You don’t have to be so dramatic, Josephine. You act as if I’m the one who hurt you.”

Hadn’t she though? I’d spent my entire life being hurt by her. Living with Angie was like watching a yo-yo tournament. It was also like watching a train wreck.

Candlelight filtered into the hallway from the dining room. As I entered the room, the large table was set with polished silverware and gleaming white plates. Flowers graced a white vase at the center of the table.

“I had the chef prepare Chicken Vesuvio for the main course,” Angie informed, babbling as she weaved her way around the table. “Remember how much you loved it at that little Italian restaurant we used to go to?”

I did remember. “You mean with Dad?” The snappy retort rolled off my tongue.

Her lips pinched and she reached for the glass of wine on the table. “Let’s try to have a nice meal, for my sake.” She pulled her chair out and sat down.

I froze not five paces from the table at the sound of the front door slamming shut. The moment I’d been dredging was here. Carter was home. And he wasn’t alone.

A husky female laugh danced from down the hallway from which I’d just come.

That voice. I knew that fucking voice. Only it was usually sneering, full of sarcasm and nastiness. Still, I wasn’t imagining it.

A combination of sickness and rage came over me in one staggering wave.

That bastard. That goddamn bastard.

My first night home, and he pulled shit like this to get under my skin.

What made it worse was, it worked.

The sound of the two of them laughing sent me into a tailspin.

“Welcome home, sis,” Carter said, his eyes practically glowing with sick amusement. The grin on his lips caused my stomach to pitch.

My gaze shifted to the girl standing at his side. Ava fucking Whitmore. She was the friend he brought to dinner.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I spat.