Boy, that was a fun morning.
Watching Clementine grapple her steaming hangover while Max was being extra himself was the best part of my day. Was the second croissant and hot chocolate I allowed Max to have as a Sunday treat necessary? No. But she puked on the doorstepandcalled me an arsehole. Not to mention the position I’m in now with her secret, whether she wanted me to know it or not.
Therefore, her punishment was dealing with a sugared-up Max while she mainlined black coffee and bacon sandwiches like they were a newly discovered hangover cure.
The worst part of my morning was dropping Story off at home before Max saw her. I still can’t believe I get to kiss her, but the lingering one I planted on her halfway down her parents’ driveway didn’t curb the feeling that I was hiding a dirty little secret. I arrived back home ready to burst with all the information I’m holding.
I have new empathy for Miles and his intolerance for keeping anything to himself.
But he’s the one I’d normally share everything with, which is making things a thousand times harder. I can’t tell anyone until I know what it is I’m dealing with, and catching our baby sister and his sworn enemy in a compromising situation isn’t something you bring up in casual conversation.
No. I need to speak to Clementine once she’shangover-free. Though it did occur to me that a three-day recovery was more of an avoidance issue so I’d leave her alone.
“Have you seen Clemmie?”
He shakes his head. “Lando and Holiday caught me up on what happened. Did anyone get a photo?”
“No, Milo.” I laugh, knowing exactly why he wants it. “You already used her for last year’s Christmas card, two years in a row, and you’re asking for serious trouble.”
“Hmm.”
I can tell he’s thinking about it. Every December, Miles, because he clearly hasn’t done enough shit stirring throughout the year, sends out a personal Christmas card to everyone he knows with an—let’s just say—unflattering photo of one of us on it. I usually come out fairly unscathed, but that’s only because Miles and I are identical.
It briefly occurred to me that’s why Clementine is conversing with Torres, before dismissing it as an extreme reaction. I know she was mad about the Christmas card Miles sent this past year featuring her, but going after Miles’s arch nemesis is not Clementine’s style.
Moving past my twin, I fetch a bucket of grass for Daisy and leave it in the stall for her to enjoy before she’s taken back to the fields with all the other cows.
“So . . .”
I pick up my equipment and walk out. “So what?”
He frowns again, annoyed. It’s an emotion Miles very rarely feels. “Hendricks, what’s going on with you? Is it Story? Because I think you should go for it. Fuck everything else, it will sort itself out.”
I weigh my answer. I never hide anything from Miles. My developing relationship with Story is definitely something I would have talked about with him. But I just don’t know whether I’ll pull it off so that he thinks that’sallI’m concerned about. Lying isn’t a skill I was blessed with.
In the end, I swallow hard and spill. I do it while washing my hands in the big outdoor trough. If I’m not looking at him, he can’t see that it’s not all that’s bothering me.
“Things progressed with Story over the weekend.”
He leans back against the wall, arms crossed. “How so?”
I go into detail without going intotoo muchdetail, starting with collecting Story and Clementine from the pub, and ending with taking her home.
“So she told you she was staying? Good, I was worried she’d drag it out.”
I look at him, confused. “You knew?”
“She told Clem and me when I went to collect Max the day you went into London.”
I shake my hands dry, not caring in the slightest that I get Miles with the drips. “I can’t believe you knew. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I would have, but she said she wanted to tell you, and it was better coming from her anyway.”
Huffing, I pick up my bag and walk toward my car. He’s right. It was better coming from her, but call me a hypocrite because I’m annoyed he didn’t tell me.
“Fucking Clementine,” I grumble to myself, deciding right there that she needs to tell Miles. Or I will.
“What?”
