Instead, I play to lose. It goes against all my instincts when playing against my brother, but it’s worth it to watch Kyle huff and puff his way around backcourt. I’m betting on him hemorrhaging before the sixth game.
As a bonus, I have plenty of time to admire Ivy’s excellent form. As well as her tennis skills.
Reed manages an impressive dropshot to make it forty-love in our third game — take a wild guess who is losing— and while Kyle is losing his shit, I get the pleasure of seeing Ivy teach my brother an exploding fist bump. It heals something deep in my bones I hadn’t realized was broken.
“What the fuck?” Kyle screams at me. “Do you want to get your balls back from your girlfriend or are you going to keep being useless?”
It’s the wrong thing to say. Ivy’s expression is set to kill, and on her next serve, she shoots an ace that has Kyle twisting to reach it.
He doesn’t make it.
I wince as his foot twists under him, and the next thing I know, he’s on his back, clutching at his leg and swearing up a storm. Fuck.
Felicity is on her feet before I can get to him, running into the house for ice, while Reed pulls his phone out, no doubt calling for a doctor. Kyle’s on the floor, screaming bloody murder, but I barely hear a word.
No. My focus is Ivy, who’s gone white.
CHAPTER45
JOIN THE CLUB
IVY
Kyle gets helped back to the house by Dale’s son (whose name I can’t remember; I’ve been calling Fido because he’s Kyle’s little lap dog), overplaying his injury the entire way. He’ll probably have a lawsuit drawn up before I even make it back inside.
I’m supposed to be here helping Lincoln, and instead, I’m pretty sure I just made shit a whole lot worse.
Beside me, he clearly has no such worries. “Serves him right,” he says, placing his hands on my shoulders and checking me over, even though I’m fine. “Are you okay?”
I nod, the adrenaline still pulsating in my veins. It’s not helping that he looks genuinely worried about me, making my weak heart beat double-time.
“Good,” he says, pulling me into his chest. “Fucking Kyle.”
“No, thank you,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around him and breathing in his sun-kissed heat.
“That was an impressive move.” Reed appears in my periphery. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes,” I answer, stepping back from Lincoln. “Though I think for everyone’s safety, I’m going to quit while I’m ahead.”
Reed offers me a kind smile. It’s the same one I’ve gotten from every one of the Reeveses, and I find I like this side of him. Better than the overbearing and judgy brother act. Maybe there is hope for them to work things out, after all.
“How about you?” he asks Lincoln. “Keen for another round? Best of three?”
Lincoln looks to me, a clear question in his eyes. I lean up on my tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “Keep playing. I’m going to grab a drink of water and hopefully not send anyone to the ICU on the way.”
He tilts my head up and kisses me gently, the graze of his lips against mine sending a thrill through my entire body. “Be good,” he says softly. “I’ll come find you soon.”
* * *
With nothing but my own curiosity to guide me, I do what any nosy person would do in my position. I wander.
There are tapestries on the walls (multiples, what a life) and— no lie— pillars holding up the ceiling in at least two of the sitting rooms. I mean, they’re probably just decorative, but if the designer’s goal was to intimidate the fuck out of every person who walks in, they’ve hit it out of the park.
I swear, if I find a library with a ladder in it, I’m going pre-makeover Eliza Doolittle on that thing.
The ceilings are about twelve feet high, held aloft by cracked plaster walls and damaged joists. My footsteps echo down the long hallway. I’ve never felt smaller.
Deacon’s affinity for opulence is everywhere, although I’m not sure he’d care for the state of things. Dust clings to the draperies. Gold accents have darkened and dulled. And there’s a cold, empty shadow hovering like a ghost in every room.
