I suck in a sharp intake of air through my teeth.
My parents hardly ever swear, and to hear it from his lips now feels like a slap. Worse than the throbbing in my palm, and the fact that he didn’t apologize for trying to hit the guys, accidentally hitting me.
My dad stands in front of me, and despite how rocky our relationship has been since I became a teenager, he’s still my dad. The first man to pick me up when I fell down, the man who taught me how to change a tire in the driveway. Insisting I know how to do it, just in case.
My dad, who loves whiskey balls and German chocolate cake. Who keeps trying to make his own bottled hot sauce, no matter how poorly it turns out.
“Dad,” I choke out, taking a step toward him, thinking there’s enough shared history between us that I can get through this if I just remind him that it’sme. “It’s not…”
I’m going to say,it’s not what you think,but stop myself.
Because it is. It’s exactly what they think, and it’s far worse than just working for Ember, or moving to the city. It’s worse than even just dating a man from the city, dating a man much older than me.
For a moment, all the bright, shining happiness from the island and the past week is completely gone, dampened by their perception. Shame floods through me, dark and sticky and suffocating. It clings to my airways, makes my blood feel thick, like tar rolling through me and turning me into something else.
“Get out,” Dad growls, his voice stern and low and not breaking like mine. “Get the hell out of here, and don’t come back until you’re ready to leave this unholy behavior behind. Find Jesus, Lucia.”
“But… Christmas,” I rasp, which is silly, considering the fact that Thanksgiving comes first. My father doesn’t even flinch at the fact that if he kicks me out now, I won’t be home for the holidays.
“Brett—” my mom starts, having always been the more lenient of the two, but Mary is still crying, and the nurse is still trying to get us to leave, and my entire body feels numb.
When Nico puts his hands on my shoulders, my parents flinch back like they’ve been struck. And when he leads me out of the room, Dane and Cole following just behind us, I don’t even try to resist.
Chapter 35
Lucy
I’ve never cried this hard in my life.
After Frankie died, I’d expected to cry like this. The gasping, suffocating sobs that wrack your body and leave you feeling completely wrung out. But after Frankie died, the feeling was more empty, hollow. Like my soul had vacated and I was just a husk walking around, pretending to be myself.
Now, I sit in the plush leather seat of the fancy private jet owned by my three beautiful, rich boyfriends. And I cry so hard into my hands that Dane keeps having to get down on his knees, pleading with me tobreathe, Lucy, breathe.
I want to talk to them about it. About what happened. I have the feeling that if I could just tell them about my tumultuous teenage years, about the pressure to be perfect. About the heart-wrenching feeling of not beinggood enoughfor my parents, that it might actually make me feel better.
But every time I take deep breaths with Dane, accept a sip of water from Nico, and steady myself enough to open my mouth and talk about what’s happening, I picture my father’s angry face, and the crying starts all over again. It’s like I’m a washing machine stuck on an endless cycle, even though I long ago ran out of soap and water.
So, instead of talking, I just let go. I slump into my seat and oscillate between napping and crying. Dimly, through the sadness, I’m aware of the plane landing, of one of them, I think Dane, picking me up and carrying me to the car. I’m aware of the fact that it’s raining, dampening my clothes and frizzing up my hair.
I’m still wearing the burnt orange corduroy skirt, the dark tights, the turtleneck I thought made me look so sophisticated, like an art student. Surely, the outfit with the black boots did not help endear my parents to me.
Surely, in their minds, I should be constantly dressed like it’s Easter Sunday. Their perfect girl in perfect pastels, every inch of skin covered.
“It was like this my first day,” I hear myself saying as I notice the weather, voice muffled into Dane’s chest. I’m remembering the way it had stormed outside his office windows, making him feel like a movie villain. Like he was in his high-tech, spooky lair.
And it was stupidly sexy.
If Dane hears what I say, he doesn’t acknowledge it. I’m carried inside, riding in an elevator up to a penthouse apartment, then, briefly, I’m on my feet. Together, three pairs of hands on me, my men undress me. Cole kneels at my feet and carefully scoops off each of my boots. Dane gently unclips each barrette from my hair. Nico holds the neck of my shirt wide so it doesn’t snag on my earrings as it slides over my head.
I shiver for just a second before a large shirt is pulled down over my head, and I’m scooped up again, deposited on a bed. One of them is always with me as the others get undressed, and then it’s all three of them, cuddling in around me like they can make a barrier against the world with their bodies.
Still crying, still shaking a little from the adrenaline and the sobs, I drift off into a deep, sticky sleep.
I wake up the next morning to puffy eyes, a sore throat, and Cole sitting in bed next to me.
The moment I stir and roll over to him, he sends off a quick text and pulls me into him.
“Good morning,” he says, gently, pushing a lock of hair out of my face. His hands are cool while my skin feels feverish, and I shiver in appreciation at his touch.
