Trips tracks where I’m looking. “Should I be worried about Trevor?”
I take the last sip of my sparkling water. “Maybe. Why isn’t he with his lovely bride out east?”
“Because his work is here. He’ll fly out every other weekend to see her until she graduates.”
“Rich people are weird.”
Trips chuckles, and it feels so normal that my heart clenches in my chest. So I take a risk and lean my head against his broad chest. Because I need more. And when his arms band around me, just for a moment, it’s so comfortable, so right, that I remember why we’re doing this.
We all deserve to feel safe, to be loved, to choose our futures. And when it comes down to it, I choose Trips. Just the same as I chose Walker, Jansen, and RJ. They’re all mine. And if it takes surviving five months in hell to keep them, then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
Chapter 59
Clara
Fireworks sparkle over the lake as the boat turns back toward the mansion. Trips and I mostly stayed away from his father’s guests, content just to be near each other. One more day of this farce and I won’t have to worry about an unplanned pregnancy. Tomorrow I’ll get to see my other guys. We’ll be back at school; I’ll have access to a computer and have a chance to check in and see how things are moving on their end.
One more day.
Trevor has been eyeing me all afternoon, which has Trips gripping the rail like it’s the only thing keeping him from tearing his brother to pieces.
“You know I could take him if I needed to,” I whisper, running my hand over the tight muscles of his arm.
“I know that. It’s just when he looks like that, there’s a reason. He’s planning something, but he’s shit with secrets.”
I glance up at the man in question. He winks. I shudder. “Remind me why your dad made him the golden child?”
“Because my brother can meet with his sketchy-ass business partners without brutally murdering them?”
Falk covers a laugh with a cough.
“Touché,” I mutter.
Apparently, we’re joking about killing people now. Honestly, it’s probably the best coping mechanism, at least while we’re stuck in this mess.
“Ah, here’s the happy couple.” The cheerfulness of Trips’ dad’s voice adds a second shudder to my first, but I turn with a demure smile glued to my face, my hands folded in front of me. He marches up, wrapping an arm around each of us, and it takes everything I have not to break his fingers like chubby twigs. “You know, I was just telling your mother that we should do something special for you kids before you’re back at school tomorrow. And do you know what she said?” He turns to a group of men and women who followed him, their smiles sloppy as they look between us. Six hours of straight drinking will do that.
“No, sir,” Trips says, answering what might have been a rhetorical question.
“She said young folks like you could use a little privacy, if you know what I mean.”
The leader and the sycophants all chortle, and if Trips’ dad didn’t have such a tight grip on my shoulder, I’d consider throwing myself overboard.
Luckily, Trips’ dad likes to hear his own voice. “So, I thought that you two could have the boat for the night. Once we dock, it’s all yours. The stateroom is lovely.” He slaps Trips’ back, hard, knowing that Trips can’t fight back in front of all these people without serious consequences. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he says, his voice teasing, but his eyes hard as he glances at me.
Then he takes his entourage away, leaving Trips and me to exchange a confused look.
Is this a reward? A punishment? Is he drunk and not thinking things through?
Falk steps forward between the two of us. “The room doesn’t lock.”
That statement, said blandly in my ear, is simple, but the look Falk gives me is anything but. He wants me to run. Me. Not Trips.
Trips said that Falk would try to help in whatever way he could, within the constraints of his own leash. This is him helping. I pat him on the arm, trying to convey that I understood the message, but I’m not taking the chance.
I don’t know if he understands.
The boat bumps against the slip, and the guests stumble back to dry land, Trips and I staying on the deck for as long as reasonable. Then we go below deck, Trips’ head brushing the ceiling, the whole set-up leaving him looking like a giant that crawled into a dollhouse. Something about the small space brings me back to the RV, and as I step into the bedroom, it feels homey. Although, Trips never slept in the RV bed with me. He either passed out in a chair, or later, in his hammock.
