I miss fighting with her, in class with grades, on the job with her unhinged plans, in my room with foam pads keeping our skin from touching.
I miss her calling me ‘Grumps,’ and the way I’d sometimes catch her looking at me like she wanted to lick me from head to toe.
But I don’t deserve those things. All I can do now is get her out of this mess and clear a path for her happy ending with my friends. And I plan to offer myself up to the altar of evil my father worships to make it happen.
What’s my freedom worth if I’ve ruined the happiness of everyone I care about?
“When we get there, I’m going to meet with my father. I want you to stay with Mattie.”
Her eyes ask more than her words. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Let me try, Clara.”
“What are you planning, Trips?”
“Don’t worry about it, it’s just a conversation,” I say, wishing she weren’t the kind of person who would pick up on the subtext. But she is that person, and she doesn’t seem convinced that all I want to do is talk to my dad. She’s silent the rest of the drive, but her glances at me are full of questions she’s keeping to herself.
Pulling into the garage feels like entering prison, the door rolling behind me, locking me in as well as any iron bars. I find a spot on the lower level, but I don’t get out.
I can’t.
It feels like my damn heart is trying to break out of my chest.
I don’t want to be here. I don’t want Clara here. And I sure as shit don’t want to trade away my freedom. But I’ve got nothing else to trade. Nothing besides the guys and Clara, which is what got us in this situation to begin with. My father stole my friends’ freedom to get me back in his grasp.
Forcing myself out of the SUV, Clara meets me at the tunnel to the mudroom, silently keeping step beside me, dark eyes scanning every foot like the walls will tell her how to get the fuck out of this.
Who knows. With her, maybe the walls really do tell her how to save us all.
I take her coat and stow it with my own, the silence of the house just as ominous as it always is. No one dares to speak any more words than necessary for fear of their futures.
Smart people.
But I miss the buzz of our little house in Dinkytown. Walker’s music drifting out from under his door. RJ’s tapping on his keyboard clear through the walls. Jansen’s chaos always introducing unexpected sounds to the mix. And Clara, wandering from room to room, the soft patter of her feet as familiar as my own.
I lead us both to the dining room, knowing that we’re cutting it close. On time, but only just. I’m not willing to anger Father, not right now. Otherwise, I’d be late, despite my discomfort with the feeling. It’d be worth it to see his lips pinch and nostrils flare.
But not with Clara at risk. Not with the guys at risk.
The room is exactly like I remember: Trevor and father with their heads together, amber liquid in glasses in front of them. Mattie and her mom are on the other side of the room, Mattie waving her phone in my stepmom’s face, obviously annoyed that she’s stuck in here with the rest of us.
I can’t blame her.
Trevor’s fiancée is nowhere to be seen, which doesn’t bode well for Clara and me tonight. I can’t imagine Father will bring Olivia into the fold until it’s impossible for her to leave. Likely after she’s pregnant with the spawn of my brother. Poor girl.
But the asshole progenitor already has his claws in Clara, so here we both stand.
“Archie,” he calls out, a fake-as-shit grin creasing his face as he gets to his feet and comes to meet us. He ignores Clara.
“Father,” I say, dipping my head like I know he wants me to. “I was wondering if you might have a moment to speak before dinner.”
Small fingernails dig into my arm, but I ignore Clara’s silent warning not to do anything stupid. Stupid is my middle name. Grades notwithstanding.
“Of course, my boy,” he says, his hand clapping on my shoulder with enough force that a smaller man would stumble.
Why he’s putting on a show for Clara when he’s already shown his true colors, I don’t know. A tiny part of me worries that he’s excited I’m here with him—the last thing I fucking want to be true.
I peel Clara from my arm, the absurd engagement ring glinting in the light of the obnoxious chandeliers. Another choice we made to not piss off the man who holds our fates in his hands. I follow him to his office, my heart still pounding against my ribs.
