My mouth opened and closed silently as I tried to formulate some kind of response for the alpha.
Instead, I just got mad.
“Agent Brady was a decorated member of the Secret Service,” I snapped indignantly, re-clipping Ginny’s leash to her harness. “And unless you went to his funeral and comforted his widow and children, I think it’s best if you keep your mouth shut about your opinion on how he did his job.”
With that I turned and hurried away from them, wishing I couldn’t hear the quick clip of their footsteps coming after me.
Somehow I was pretty sure that the next four months were going to be filled with much of the same and I was not looking forward to it.
“This is ridiculous!” I told Carter later as I paced the long length of his bedroom.
While I’d kept my own bedroom relatively the same when we’d moved into the White House, Carter had covered his walls with posters of rock bands and indie musicians, making sure that none of the fancy striped wallpaper underneath could peek through.
Everyone always pointed out that, despite being siblings, Carter and I were as different as night and day.
Where I took after our mother with our blonde hair and short stature, he was the spitting image of our dad. They both had willowy figures with dark, curly hair that seemed to defy gravity, sticking up in all directions.
The only trait we actually did share was our gray eyes—something we had inherited from the Holloway side of the family.
He was also a beta like our dad had been, simplifying his life in ways that I would never be able to understand.
Carter sat where he usually did: at the bench of his electric piano, his fingers resting on the keys like he was waiting for me to finish my rant so he could go back to whatever concerto he was conjuring up in his mind.
“What’s ridiculous, Lennie? That they are going to be following you around… which is their literal job, or that they won’t let you sweet talk them into going off their set routine? Well, welcome to my world, little sister, it sucks.”
I wanted to tell him that there was a reason he was watched so closely by his team, but I also didn’t want to start a fight and that would definitely start a fight. I could talk circles around my brother, but he wasn’t opposed to putting me in a headlock no matter how old we were getting.
Instead, I ignored his words and continued my tirade. “It’s just silly that they even felt the need to split up and follow me around the residence, like the kidnappers will come snatch me from the kitchen or something!”
Carter just shrugged as he looked away from me and jotted something down on one of the half-blank music sheets in front of him.
Despite my irritation, I couldn’t help the flush of warmth that I felt watching him work. It was nice to see him finally getting back into music again after not touching it for so long after his last relapse.
Especially to see him actually writing it this time—something he had rarely done since our dad died. Carter seemed to stay more in the classical sphere than our father did, but I knew it made him feel closer to him anyways.
It was the main hobby they had shared, Carter learning the piano on our dad’s knee and eventually outpacing his talent and growing from there. Then they had started to go to our father’sbeloved heavy metal concerts—a hold over from his younger years when he had played in a rock band during the nineties.
Ashton “Ash” Carter had been the last man my grandfather would have ever picked for his daughter, but even I knew that he had loved the cheerful beta who seemed to light up every room he walked into.
It had also probably helped that he’d eventually chilled out in his later years and gotten his doctorate in sociology and began teaching in Massachusetts. A much more respectable career for the husband of the future president of the United States than a guy with a mullet who could shred on an electric guitar.
He had been the grounding force in our family, and even three years after his death there was still a huge gaping hole that he’d left behind.
“Whatcha writing?” I asked, changing the subject, finally done with my rant about the alphas that were about to rule my life for the next four months.
This was as good a time as any to get a temperature on Carter’s mood before I left tomorrow and I loved a good segway.
This would be the first time I was away from him for more than a couple of days and because I’d volunteered to be his point person for the first time I felt weird about it. Before this my parents and grandparents had outright refused to let me be a part of Carter’s recovery processes in any way, shape or form.
But this time, with the campaign and how busy everyone was going to be I had insisted.
So this would be a test for the both of us and as I watched him not look at me and continue to scribble on his paper, I shifted from one foot to the other anxiously.
“Carter,” I said again, prodding him.
“A sonata,” Carter finally replied distractedly as he frowned at the paper before erasing what he’d just written and re-wrote it.The dots and dashes looked more like morse code to me than any actual music, but to Carter they meant everything.
“Sad? Happy? Upbeat?” I pressed, hoping to pull him out of his own little world for a moment.
