“Let me get that,” Vander says, reaching over me. While he is careful not to press up against me, he is so close I can feel his body heat, and my knees almost buckle. I hold my breath, grabbing the counter to steady myself as my heart skips a beat and all manner of physiological tells happen inside me.
“You want me to fill it?” he asks in that low, deep tone of his, and it’s a miracle I don’t melt into a puddle of goo at his feet.
“I’ve got it.” Getting a grip, I take the vase and smile up at him. “Thank you.”
Moving to the sink, I conduct a stern inner talk with myself as I fill the vase with water. I’m acting like a lovesick teen with a huge crush, and I need to get over it.
“Has something happened I should know about?” West asks as I twist the faucet off and turn around to grab the bouquet of roses.
Vander shrugs, but the casual movement is out of sync with the taut pull of his shoulders. “New day. Same ole shit.” He rubs the back of his neck, and my heart aches for him as I fill the vase with flowers. I don’t think Vander has ever had the opportunity to be a normal child because his parents are too fucked up and selfish to think about all the ways they are hurting their son. It makes me murderous every time I think about the shit he has had to endure.
“Are your parents at home?” I softly inquire, setting the vase down on the island unit and smiling at the glorious blooms. Pink is my favorite color, and I wonder if Vander has somehow deduced that. If it’s why he only ever gets me pink flowers.
“Mom’s sleeping. Dad’s away.”
I nod. “That’s right. I forgot Greg was with Leland at the Einhorns this weekend.”
Ernest Einhorn is one of our new prestigious clients. He spearheads a multibillion-dollar satellite communications company that is headquartered in Denver. He owns a massive estate in Boulder, and he invited Leland—the owner of Bentley Law—to spend the weekend. Leland has three senior partners in the firm, but he worships Gregory Henley like you wouldn’t believe. So, it was no surprise he chose him to accompany him this weekend. Greg is most definitely Leland’s favorite child, much to the consternation of the other two partners, who resent him as much as they admire him.
No matter how much I hate Vander’s father—and I loathe him with the intensity of a thousand suns—I’ve got to admit Greg has brought in a ton of new business since joining the company three years ago.
A muscle clenches in Vander’s jaw, but he clamps his lips shut. I know he confides in West—and he has confided in me too in the past—but he is never outrightly critical of his parents, which says a lot about his integrity. I’m not sure I’d be as gracious, given the circumstances.
“I’ll save a plate for Diana,” I tell him, wanting to switch the subject. “You know I always make far too much food.” My mantra is it’s better to have too much than not enough. That, and I rarely use any measuring utensils.
“Thanks, Kendall.” His eyes sear into mine, conveying so much with one look, and I struggle to breathe.
Vander has this way of looking at me that is super intense, and it’s easy to forget anyone else is in the room. We have always had this powerful connection, although I have worked hard to deny it over the years. Things came to a head at his eighteenth birthday party, during the summer, and I’ve been freefalling ever since. Now, with Dee’s revelations, I’m spiraling again. It’s quickly reaching a point where I’m incapable of denying anything when it comes to him, and that is worrisome on a whole other level.
When did my life become so complicated, and what am I going to do about Vander and Curtis? I wish I had answers, but I’m clueless and struggling to keep my head above water.
And, right now is not the time to be thinking these things.
4
KENDALL
Forcing myself to look away, I suck in a deep breath, praying I have the strength to get through this dinner intact.
“You’re acting weird too.” Stella peers up at Vander with knitted brows. “It must be something in the air. I hope it’s not contagious. I have a date for the movies tonight, and if he starts acting weird, I might have to bail and come hang out with you.” She waggles her brows and licks her lips.
“Quit with the flirting, beanpole.” West nudges his sister in the side. “You know I hate you doing that with my friends.”
Stella rolls her eyes. “You’re no fun since you started dating Hazel. It’s like she has sucked all the life out of you.”
West’s face darkens, and I swing into action, moving in between my two hotheaded teens. There are only thirteen months between them, and though they are very close, they fight like cats and dogs a lot of the time. Refereeing is a common requirement to keep the peace. I place a warning hand on West’s chest while I fix my daughter with a chastising expression. “Stella. That’s not a nice thing to say to your brother, and you should apologize. I thought you liked Hazel?”
“I do,” she admits, looking a little sheepish. “But it doesn’t change the fact West is so boring now.” She shrugs, fighting a grin. “Sorry, not sorry,” she mumbles.
“You wouldn’t have said that if you saw him Friday night.” Vander leans back against the counter and winks at his friend. “Boring is not a word I would ever use to describe your brother.”
I hold up a hand. “I think the less I know, the better.” I like being involved in my kids’ lives, and I like that they talk to me about stuff going on, but there’s a limit to what I want to, or need to, know.
“Chill, Mom.” West slides his arm around my shoulders, smacking a kiss to my temple. “I just smoked some weed, drank a few beers, and got a little rowdy with my friends, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” His lips twitch as he stabs his sister with a look that is part mischievous and part murderous. “It’s not as if I went skinny-dipping with a bunch of football players, flashed everyone the goods, and kissed at least two of them.”
That most definitely was on the list of things I didn’t need to know.
I look at Stella. “Do we need to have a conversation again?”
She rolls her eyes while jabbing her finger in West’s direction. “You have a big mouth, and I’ll get you back.” Her blue eyes flit to mine as she plants her hands on her hips and tosses her long dark hair over one shoulder. “It’s nothing to worry about, Mom. I’m pretty sure you and Dad were doing way worse at my age.”
Fuck, we probably were. I met Curtis when I was fourteen—I was freshman and he was a sophomore—and we were joined at the hip from that moment on. I wish I could refute her claims, but I won’t lie to my kids.
Out of all our children, Stella is the one who is most like a mix of me and her father. She’s tall, like her dad and her older brother. Dark like Curtis too, but she has my blue eyes and my stubborn streak. I remember being determined and reckless at her age too, which is why it’s so hard for me to chastise her for doing things I did.
And I can’t say I want more for her from life without sounding like a hypocrite or like I regret the choices I have made. That would be akin to admitting I’m unhappy with how my life has panned out when I would never say that. Not even when I am miserable at the thought my marriage is unsalvageable and divorce most likely awaits me in the future.