“My teammate,” Sebastian supplies pleasantly, though I see the evil glint in his eye. “He’s the team captain, actually.”
From the corner of my eye, I notice Mav tilt his head to listen in on the conversation. I’m wondering how expensive these floor-to-ceiling windows are, and how expensive it would be to repair them once I toss myself through. Sebastian is like a dog with a bone, especially when it comes to gossip. Makes me wonder if he saw anything. Can he feel the sexual tension between me and Max? If so, I definitely need to avoid any situation where Max and I would be alone.
“We met briefly,” I explain with a dark look in my brother’s direction. The last thing I want is to stir things up.
“Hm,” says our mother unconvincingly.
Talk turns to other things, mostly soccer, unsurprisingly, and the benefit Mom is helping plan for the local orchestra board. I go in and out of focus. Kellan’s seat is empty, his area of the table clear. No one has said anything about him. It’s fucking weird.
With a heavy sigh, I drop my fork on my plate so it clatters, startling everyone, and sit back in my chair. “Are we going to ignore the elephant in the room?”
My parents share a perplexed look. “What elephant?” says my dad, who was startled out of his email stupor.
“Oh, I don’t know. How about the fact that Kellan’s not here and no one seems to know where he is?”
My mom laughs. It’s a delicate thing, and smooth. I think there’s an art to it. She spends much of her time mingling with other wealthy people, and at some point I imagine you have to perfect a laugh that is not quite poking fun at the person, but softer. “Of course he’s not here. He’s in Mexico.”
Mav’s head lifts. “What?”
At once, everyone goes still. Even Henry, who was entering the room with another glass of wine for my mother, halts with a look of astonished wonder on his face.
The first few weeks following Kaylie’s passing, Mav stayed in his room. Well, his room at my parents’ house. I don’t think he went back to his apartment until the first month had passed. After the first month, he began joining us for family dinners again, but stayed silent throughout the meal. He ate his food, then returned to his room and shut the door.
Three months later, this is the first time anyone has heard a word out of his mouth. It’s a fragile quiet, and I think everyone is afraid to breathe too loudly for fear of sending him back into his hole. The circles under his eyes aren’t as dark as they were. His face, however, still holds a gauntness to it.
I look to Sebastian, who looks to our father, who looks to our mother, who looks to Maverick. He repeats, “Kellan is in Mexico?”
The bubble of silence pops.
“What the hell?” This from Sebastian.
Dad looks like he’s waking up from a bad dream. Notices Kellan’s empty place setting. “What’s this about Kellan being in Mexico?”
Kellan. Mexico. The two words don’t compute, except I remember the picture of the beach he sent me. “How do you know this?”
“He told me, of course.” Our mother laughs as if that’s obvious. I suppose it is. But why is he in Mexico, of all places? Not to mention, his playoff game is in less than two weeks.
He better have a damn good reason to be on vacation. When he first bullied me into trading places with him, I was under the impression that it was an emergency. An impromptu vacation isn’t exactly an emergency.
The rest of dinner is uneventful. I say my goodbyes, resting a comforting hand on Mav’s shoulder as I leave the table. I’m nearly to the door when Sebastian comes crashing into the foyer like a hurricane. He slips past me, blocking my way out.
I stare at him. “What?”
“Something’s going on with you and Max. I want to know what it is.”
My stomach flutters. Again with the lies. “There’s nothinggoing on—” Air quotes. “—between us. I’m covering for Kellan until the game. The end.”
“No,” he says, shaking his head and fighting a smile. It’s almost as if he smells the lie. One of his unruly curls hangs in front of his forehead, and he brushes it aside. “There’s something else.” Slipping his hands into his pockets, he rocks back onto his heels. He wears a dress shirt, as do I, as do all of the sons, plus my father. Friday night dinners are a fancy affair. No jeans, flip flops, or tank tops allowed. Pressed slacks and silk shirts only. “Something I can’t put my finger on…” He trails off, and his smile widens.
Ugh. I really don’t want to deal with Sebastian right now. “As usual, you’re delusional. Excuse me.” I nudge him aside so I can make my escape.
“Noah.”
With my hand on the doorknob, I glance over my shoulder. My brother is pensive. “At the end of the day, you know I want what’s best for you, right?”
For some reason, that makes my chest tighten. I’ve witnessed this side of Sebastian with Aidan—deeply caring, selfless with his time. But never with me.
The words just tumble out. “He kissed me.” Sort of.
