Patrick grabs my hand and tugs me towards him, giving me his jacket and putting an arm around my shoulder when I’m still shivering. “Did Gerald take your phone?”
I silently nod, relieved we’re onto easier subjects.
“He’s probably left it in the lockbox near the door. We’ll go out the front, then.” He sets off at a fast pace and I scurry after him, struggling to keep up with his six-foot-plus-however-many-inches frame.
“Do you…?” I ask once I get within talking distance. “Have you been drinking?”
“You caught me on my first.” He shrugs and shakes hishead, grinning a little. “Unlike some people, I know better than to get off my face at a family event.”
At the doorway to the foyer, he pauses, sliding across a wooden panel and tapping a code into the keypad hiding underneath. The door unlocks with a thump, and he slides the cover back in place, then waves me through.
The marble tiles are cold underfoot, my toes curling for entirely the wrong reason. I crouch, putting on the heels, though they’re more strap than shoe, so offer little protection. Patrick shakes his head as he crosses over to a table and picks a wooden chest from the shelves beneath it. “Yours?” he asks, waggling my phone.
“Yes, thank you.” I grab hold, eagerly clicking into it. Battery level is under fifteen percent, earning a nice red exclamation mark, but that’ll be plenty if I really need help.
Meanwhile, he’s moved to the outer door. Another keypad, then we’re outside, the rain picking up in intensity, hitting against the outer steps so hard that the droplets bounce back into the air.
“Mine’s the blue one,” he says, pointing to the far side of the sealed parking bay in front of the house. It’s two over from the one I drove here, and there’s a pinch of regret that his is a sensible boxy SUV instead of something sporty.
I take a few steps across the rough tarseal, then Patrick must grow sick of my pace because he lifts me into his arms, jogging through the pouring rain.
The sudden change in position makes my head spin, a sensation that continues even as he helps me into the passenger seat. He runs around the back of the car and jumps into the driver’s seat.
“Should have bought a towel,” he says with a laugh, shakinghis head and scraping a hand over his hair to get rid of some of the moisture.
I do up my seat belt, miserable as I see a rivulet of water find its way down the back of his neck, making him shudder. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”
He frowns deeply, shaking his head as he starts the car. “Compared to some of the high-maintenance people who’ve been through our house over the years, you are no trouble at all.”
Music blasts from the stereo and he pushes the off button, grimacing. I wouldn’t have minded having some sounds going, no matter what he listens to, but I keep my mouth shut, shoulders hunching.
“Where in town are you?”
I list my address, and he nods. “Yeah, I know it.” He glances over at me, before refocusing his attention on the road. “Your suburb’s zoned for Kingswood?”
My suburb isn’t zoned for shit. “They accepted me in one of their charity spots.”
“You’re a smart cookie, then?” His eyes sparkle as they dart across to me, then return to the road. “Those placements are hard to get.”
“Everyone at Kingswood has to be smart,” I answer. It’s true. Every student has to pass the competency exams to earn a place. Although, given Lachlan’s earlier answer to my question about him taking art, perhaps some people receive a different set of questions than mine. Something like, can you pay? And if the answer is yes, step right in.
“Have you and Lachlan been friends long?”
There’s a weird note in his voice and I don’t know what it means. Given the marks on my body, I shouldn’t have any allegiance to Lachlan, but I hedge my answer just the same. “A while. I’ve only been in town for three months.”
Patrick smirks. “So, you didn’t know him prior?”
“Prior to what?”
We come to an intersection and Patrick’s eyes rest on me for longer as he obeys the red light. “Prior to the upgrade. His mum only married Creighton eighteen months ago.”
“Really?” I trawl through my brain, trying to find evidence I knew this before. It doesn’t find anything, then I think of the pair, standing toe to toe, both filled with fury. “But Lachlan looks so much like him.”
“Oh, yeah. He’s Creighton’s son. Just from the wrong side of the sheets.” Patrick glances over to check on me again. “Creighton’s wife and eldest son died. Luckily, he had a spare family ready-made to replace them.”
A spare family.
The dismissal in the words makes me wince in sympathy. I know what it’s like to come second with someone you love; with someone who’s meant to love you.
