That sets off a round of introductions as each of my brothers and their girls formally says hi.
“Where’s Red and Brad?” I inquire not seeing Kyler’s best buddy and his wife or their daughter, Elodie.
“They’re in Ireland,” Kyler says. “Brad’s been based in the UK for the past few weeks, so it made sense for them to celebrate Easter with Rachel’s dad.”
“Ah, great. Our last guest has arrived,” Mom says as a sleek silver BMW pulls up outside the living room window.
My heart drops to my feet when two car doors open. I curse under my breath at the sight of Whitney’s long purple hair and the predictable scowl on her face. I spin around, pinning a fierce look at Mom. “I thought you said Adam was coming alone?”
Everyone trades wary expressions.
“Whitney is supposed to be at her mom’s,” Faye says, responding before Mom can. She sends me an apologetic look that is of fuck all use to me.
“We can leave,” I tell Presley, because I won’t subject her to this shitshow.
“It’s okay,” she says, reassuring me with her eyes. “I can be in the same room as your ex if she’s okay with me.”
A collective groan rings out because the rest of us knows the truth—there is no time in existence, either now or in the future, where Whitney willeverbe okay with Presley.
“Whitney will be on her best behavior,” Mom says, patting Presley’s arms. “I’ll make sure of it. Don’t worry about a thing.”
Mom storms out of the living room, dragging Dad with her.
“I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation,” Kyler says, grinning.
Faye elbows him. “Don’t be mean. She can’t help how she feels.”
“She can help how she acts though,” Kyler murmurs, and isn’t that the truth.
I know Faye wants to see the good in her half-sister and she tries not to take sides, but Whitney acts like an immature spoiled brat a lot of the time, and it’s one of the reasons why things would never have gotten serious between us. She drives me insane with her whining, and it’s why I can only tolerate her in short spurts. I know this makes me sound like a prick, and it’s not like I haven’t had my immature bratty moments, but I’m moving forward, where Whitney seems stuck in her rebellious teenage phase.
Faye walks toward us, leveling Pres with a direct look. “My sister can be a real bitch, and she’s possessive about Kent even though he’s told her repeatedly where they stand. I’m not as delusional as Alex. She’ll be mean, but let it float over your head. It’s nothing personal.”
“Wow. Make my girl feel at ease, why don’t ya.” I wrap my arm more protectively around Presley, working hard not to glare at Faye. If I glare at Faye, Kyler’s claws will come out, and before you know it, we’ll be fighting. I’m determined to take the moral high ground today, because I don’t want Presley to be uncomfortable.
Or any more uncomfortable than she’s about to be.
“It’s okay,” Presley reassures me, sliding her arm around my back, clutching my waist. “I appreciate the warning.” She smiles at Faye. “I’ll try to bite my tongue.”
“No tongue biting is allowed,” Kalvin says, practically frothing at the mouth. “Give her hell, Presley.”
“Ignore him,” his wife, Lana, says. “We all do.”
Eva sidles up next to us with Matthew cradled in her arms. He’s sick with a chest infection and on antibiotics that make him sleepy. “Make sure you are sitting beside us at the table. I’ll act as a buffer.”
“She’s really that bad?” Presley asks.
“She can be,” Eva confirms, grimacing as she looks over our shoulders.
“I need to speak to you!” Whitney roars, storming into the room like a raging tornado, making a beeline for me.
I turn around, with my arm still around Presley, bracing myself for it.
“Whitney.” Adam catches up to her, whispering furiously in her ear.
Steam practically billows out of her ears as she listens to whatever her dad is saying, and her nostrils flare with unconcealed anger. “Fine.” She stomps her foot, folding her arms around herself as she shoots daggers at Presley. “It can wait till after dinner.” She moves forward, encroaching on our personal space, jabbing her finger in my chest. “But wearetalking.”
“There is nothing left to be said.” I called her after I talked to Presley, explaining I was dating and reiterating there was nothing between her and me anymore, nor would there ever be. But she wouldn’t be Whitney if she didn’t ignore me and she wasn’t hell-bent on causing trouble.
