“Stella,” I clarify.
I don’t mention Lucy, concussed, on crutches, at a bar. I definitely don’t mention the almost but not quite flirting.
Bennett looks disgusted. “Stella isnotmy girl.”
Mom walks in with a fresh bag of chips, clearly catching that last part. “Stella Beauford? I’ve never seen anyone get under your skin like that girl.”
“If you’d met her, you’d understand.” My brother pops another chip in his mouth, shaking his head like he’s contemplating all the evils of the world. “Ninth grade, student council posters, she drew devil horns and buck teeth on mine.”
“The horror,” I deadpan.
“Mock all you want. That election mattered to me.”
“Clearly.”
“So I retaliated,” he continues, totally unbothered. “Told everyone she made out with Peyton Lancaster under the bleachers. Not her scene—high all the time, total rage case.”
He grins, and I sigh. “Yep. That explains the vendetta ten years later.”
A chip sails past my ear. Beau lifts his head, considers chasing it, then flops back down with a huff like even he thinks we’re bothidiots.
Mom’s dinner table would look strange to the uninitiated. Three places set—one for her, one for Bennett, one for me—plus a laptop perched on three hardcover cookbooks at the head of the table. The screen waits for one or both of the twins to call in. Something we started during the pandemic, a virtual dinner to keep us tethered when the world frayed. Mom still puts one together every week and sometimes Aunt Violet, Uncle Simon, and any number of the cousins show. Supposedly, in-person attendance is “optional,” but Bennett and I haven’t had the guts to test that theory. Besides, the food alone is worth showing up for, if not avoiding the guilt trip.
Grayson’s face fills the laptop screen a few minutes after the three of us sit down. His hair’s a mess, stubble thicker than usual, and the camera’s angled so we’re looking up at him like he’s trying to sell us miracle supplements.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, voice a little hoarse. “Just got out of a session, plus, if I’m being honest, I’m four hours behind you guys and lost track of time.”
He flips the camera around and gives us a brief tour of the hallway he’s posted up in—industrial carpet, fluorescent lights, a sandwich half-wrapped in tin foil on his lap.
Mom clucks her tongue but smiles anyway. “I’m just glad you made it, honey. Any word from Gideon?”
Grayson’s face softens. “He’s on a private detail. Some socialite with too much money and not enough common sense. He’s good. Grumpy, but good.”
Mom’s smile falters for half a second, then she nodsand turns back to her plate, tucking a napkin into her lap. She doesn’t say it, but I know she misses him. She clings to these dinners like they’re the only thing holding us all in orbit and Gideon’s not the most communicative guy out there. I know she wishes he’d show up more. Or call more, at the very least.
Bennett dives into the roast with the enthusiasm of a man who didn’t just finish off a whole bag of chips. We’re halfway through dinner, Mom recounting a story about a neighbor’s overgrown bougainvillea, when he sets his fork down and smirks at me across the table.
“So… if you saw Stella last night, did you also see Lucy?”
I frown. “Why?”
Grayson perks up, his face filling the laptop screen. “Wait,Gabby’sLucy and Stella?”
Bennett doesn’t even glance at him. His eyes stay fixed on me, that cocky grin sharpening. “I just wondered if you got a chance to see your girl.”
“Lucy is my patient,” I correct, slow and deliberate. “Not my girl. Lucy’s gotten herself into a bit of a pickle and I’m helping.”
Mom’s face glows like someone lit a candle under her. “Wait,Lucy Calder? Oh, she’s such a sweet girl. Is that who we’re talking about?”
“Helping,” Bennett echoes, dragging out the word like it’s got four syllables and at least one eyebrow wag. “That what we’re calling it now?”
Grayson leans toward his screen. “Okay, wait.What’s going on with Lucy and Stella? Is Gabby okay? Did I miss something?”
“Gabby’s fine,” Bennett says, waving him off. “Lucy sprained her ankle, bad. I knocked her over at the gym, crutches and all, so I took her to Nash to make sure I didn’t make things worse, andsomehow, next thing I know, Nash is offering her free physical therapy.”
Grayson blinks. “At the ER?”
“At hishouse,” Bennett says with a grin so smug I want to throw my dinner roll at him.
