Page 64 of The Right Kind of Wrong

“So, what happened?” Monroe asked, her eyes dragging upward to meet Blake’s stare.

Blake groaned, worrying that, one day, Monroe would realize her complacency made her just as bad as the rest of them. And even if she didn’t want Monroe to see her like that, she wasn’t going to lie. “The Duvalls turned it into this whole thing to change the narrative. They donated an insane amount of money to the school for a brand-new stadium, pretending like that had always been the plan.”

“So they came out smelling like roses?” Monroe scoffed, the bitterness unmistakable in her tone.

Blake sighed, resigned. “They usually do.”

She only wished that it hadn’t taken being chewed up and spit out by the Duvall machine to realize it.

Before she could say anything else, Maisie trotted back up to them excitedly. “Can I do the balloon thing?”

Blake looked about twenty feet ahead of them, to a large plywood board affixed with dozens of small balloons, which kids could presumably throw darts at to win prizes. It must have been what Maisie was staring at while they’d been over here talking.

Monroe put her hands on her hips, and Blake dropped her arms back to her sides, missing the closeness they’d been sharing only moments ago.

She watched as Monroe tapped her finger against her chin, thinking. “Do we know what the going rate for that is?”

Maisie, adorably, peered up at her aunt. “Dunno, Aunt Monroe,” she said, cracking a big smile.

“Well then, we better go find out.”

Blake’s heart squeezed, watching them together. And then, it skipped a beat as Monroe shot her a disarming grin, making Blake’s insides go soft.

Being around Monroe was confusing.

So fucking confusing.

But Maisie grabbed Monroe’s hand, who then grabbed onto Blake, and all that she could do was allow herself to be pulled forward.

They were meandering through the last row of attractions and activities when Blake’s feet turned to concrete.

Maybe it was the Noah-related conversation earlier, but seeing him in the flesh made her feel sick.

Maisie had been walking between her and Monroe. With the multi-inch height difference between them, they’d been swinging her with varying degrees of success.

Now, the three of them stood still while Maisie pulled against their hands, trying to move them forward.

Monroe gave her a concerned look. “Are you okay?”

Blake’s eyes were trained on the dunk tank, which Noah was sitting in, and Monroe’s slowly followed.

“Oh, that asshole,” Monroe bit out.

“Cussword!” Maisie yelled excitedly.

Blake got the sense this wasn’t the first time that word had come up between the two of them.

All Monroe said was, “Sometimes cusswords are warranted, sweetie. Can you run over there and pick out a sparkler for each of us?”

Near the exit, a group of volunteers was giving away small sparklers to everyone heading back to their vehicles.

Maisie didn’t need to be asked twice, and she scampered away with a delighted scream.

“This is fate,” Monroe said, looking at her like they’d found themselves in a life-or-death situation.

Blake didn’t see it that way. “He does this every year. It’s rigged. And even if it wasn’t, no one would ever dare hit the bullseye. I swear to god this is just some weird way to get people to pay their respects to him while he’s sitting on a throne above them. He loves thinking of himself as the prince of Cypress Falls.” She gave Monroe a look. “But there’s never any actual danger that he’ll go down.”

Monroe puffed out her cheeks, like she was thinking. “Rigged how?”