Waving his arm dramatically over his head, he took off down the hallway again. He weaved through Pendragon Estate until we reached the small parlor where myStrategylessons with Peter took place.
But he didn’t enter it.
He gestured for me to go inside. “Move it or lose it, sister.”
I closed my eyes and prayed for patience, but then I followed his instructions, turning around once inside.
He still hadn’t come in after me.
“What are you doing?”
Pointing to the photos on the wall, he urged me forward. “Go check the dates.”
My brow furrowed, but again, I did what he said. As I walked along the row of pictures, I understood why Morty hadn’t come inside the room. Glancing at him over my shoulder, he scanned the hallway, the ceiling, the carpets—anywhere but where I stood.
“It still hurts to see her photo.”
He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I told you that’s why he picked you.”
The sudden edge in his tone didn’t surprise me or warrant a response, familiar as I was with avoidance.
Especially with things that hurt most.
“I couldn’t look at pictures of my dad for a year.” I admitted it quietly, my voice wavering as I thought about the photos. “It took even longer with my mom.”
He said nothing in response, but his wandering gaze was fixed on a spot across the hall.
“My therapist said that could be because I was so young when she died.” I shrugged, eyeing the dates along the bottoms of the photos as I walked across the back wall. “I have all their pictures in an album on my phone.”
I paused at the end of the wall when the photos cut off before jumping twenty-three years. “This gap…? Is this when the fire happened?”
Morty nodded.
“What happened?”
“A fire. Fiii-yerrr.”
I spun around, giving him my best droll expression.
He rolled his eyes. “I mean, I wasn’t there.”
“Obviously, Morty.” I sighed heavily. “Do you have to make everything so difficult? Is everything a game to you?”
“You don’t know anything about me, little princess.”
“I don’t need to know anything about you. I get the feeling I’m far too familiar with your type.” I snorted, and when he cocked an eyebrow at me, I expanded. “You and my ex-boyfriend seem cut from the same cloth. Flippant, dismissive, unserious even when the subject matters to whoever you’re speaking to. You could practically be twins.”
“Well, we do share one half of our DNA.”
I gritted my teeth. “Max isnotmy ex-boyfriend.”
“Really? The guy about to be engaged to another girl? What’s that make him to you then?”
“He’s my—He’s—” I growled, furious with myself for letting him bait me. “He’s just fuckingmine. That’s what. Now, stop giving me a hard time and answer the question, Morty.”
He rolled his eyes as dramatically as possible. “Alright, alright. So demanding.”
With an exaggerated groan, he walked over to the couch and plopped down on it, reclining like a patient in a therapist’s office. A subtle nod to my therapy mention earlier, I had no doubt. The goddamn prick.
