“There’s no guy, because all guys are assholes.”
“We’re not assholes,” Logan responds, squeezing me a little tighter.
“You’re family. You don’t count.” I sniff, the tears building on my lashes too much to contain.
Another whimper pops out of me, and I quickly find myself in a group hug.
Dom and Cole flank me, resting their hands on my back and cocooning me in this protective shell.
It’s so sweet and kind, and I really do love them for it, but we can’t stay like this.
Parents will be coming up to check on us soon, and I don’t want them to see me.
The second Mom finds out I’m upset, she’ll want to try and make me feel better, and I don’t think I can stomach it. I hate that she and Dad were right about Curry. I hate that their concerns were valid.
Shit! Why can’t I just win a round for once!
Being a teenager sucks!
“Someone’s coming.” Dom’s whisper pulls us all apart and we scramble, the boys diving for the bathroom so they can brush their teeth and me ducking into my room.
Portia and Harley are both asleep. Harley’s in the bed by the window, snoring away, while Portia’s up against the wall, her sheets a tangle around her legs.
The night-light that’s on between their beds is totally going to keep me awake, but I doubt I can sleep now anyway.
Still sniffing, I slash away my tears and change into my pajamas as quietly as I can.
Screw brushing my teeth. I’ll just go to bed with a furry mouth. I don’t want to leave this room and risk bumping into anyone.
A noise outside the door makes me jump, and I dive into bed as the handle starts to turn.
The space around me lights up, and I sense an adult walking in.
Shit, I think it’s Dad.
Snapping my eyes closed, I keep my back to him and do my best to act as though I’m sleeping.
“I know you’re awake, kid,” he softly whispers.
I tense, refusing to talk to him, even though all I want to do is slam into his chest, crying and wailing about how my stomach hurts and boys are stupid and I wish Valentine’s Day was never invented.
Gritting my teeth, I stay still, waiting out Dad’s soft sigh, because I have a point to prove.
Apparently.
He brushes the back of his finger down my cheek, and I fight the trembling in my lips when he bends down and kisses the top of my head.
“Love you, Zoey Bird,” he finally whispers before squeezing my shoulder and walking out of the room.
As soon as the door clicks shut, I fist my pillow and turn my face into it, releasing those tears in earnest and hoping like anything that I don’t wake up the girls.
CHAPTER 20
NYLAH
I flip the page of my book and scan the next paragraph, but I’m not taking any of it in. I’m tired, I’m uncomfortable… and my husband is angst-ing. It’s hard to chill when he’s prowling the room like a caged tiger, getting undressed with little grunts and slapping his clothes onto the floor.
Now that our girls are down for the night and most of the kids are already asleep, we’ve all retired to our rooms, and Carson doesn’t have anyone to distract him anymore. He hasn’t told his friends about what his father left for him. In fact, if conversation steered toward us and our news, he made a point of doing quick redirects. I thought it was stupidly obvious, but no one else seemed to notice. Or if they did, they knew better than to say anything.
