Balls. If she’s pissed, I can’t even imagine how facing my parents is going to go. Probably not good. Not that I can blame any of them. I’ve made a mess of my life. I’ve thrown myself into alcohol and meaningless nights of sex because choosing both of those was something I could control. My parents have had to bail me out of bad situations and have made their disdain over my chosen way of life well-known.
Don’t get me wrong—my parents are great people. Both born and raised in Turner Cove. They have a high reputation to uphold, and until that party two years ago, I was a part of that. Since then, I’ve been the stain on an otherwise pristine canvas.
Mrs. Williams’s dark dress is perfectly pressed, her eyebrows lowered down over hooded eyes. If her expression is any indication, I am super in for it.
The door opens once more, and relief floods me as I lay eyes on my best friend, who also happens to be my older brother. I fling open the driver’s side door of my bright red Audi and jump onto my brother. “Judson!”
He wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me, spinning me in a circle. “Hey, sis!”
I can’t even remember the last time I hugged my brother. Thanksgiving? He hadn’t come home for Christmas because they’d gone to his wife’s family’s place in Manhattan.
He sets me down, and I look up at him, unable to erase my smile. Damn, I missed him. “When did you get here? How’s Sylvia?” I ask, referring to the woman I dubbed my simpleton-in-law. She’s a damned moron with absolutely no class and zero morals.
His expression changes, smile faltering, and he shakes his head, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Sylvia and I split up.”
“What?” I feign shock even though I’m really not that surprised. She’d already cheated on him once and had her face slammed into a container of sweet potatoes by yours truly.
“She ran off with someone else two months ago and sent me a text telling me it was over.”
“A text?” I growl. Rage bubbles inside me, and I clench both fists at my sides. Where the fuck are sweet potatoes and the bimbo when you need them? I’m really not a violent person, but when you mess with my family, all bets are off. My brother is the sweetest human on the planet and deserves a hell of a lot better. “She still local?” I ask, anger deepening my voice.
Judson narrows his gaze. “No. And you’re going to leave her alone.”
“Why? It’s about time she gets her ass kicked. It’s been coming for a long time.”
He chuckles. “Don’t you think you’re already in enough trouble? Besides, I’m happy, Kleo. For the first time in a while. I probably shouldn’t be—failing marriage and all that—but I feel good.”
I’m relieved, of course, but him being happy now doesn’t erase the shit she put him through. It was awful, watching my brother get stepped on day after day. And when she’d cheated—"Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I ask curiously as I study him. He really does look happy—his eyes are clear, no stress evident in his smile.
“You’ve had a lot going on, and I know you needed to blow off some steam. Putting that on your plate wouldn’t have been fair.”
A vice squeezes my heart. My brother needed me, and I was too busy getting hammered and trying to forget what happened in Turner Cove. “You’re my brother,” I insist. “You should have told me. I could have helped.”
“I wanted to give you time.” He smiles, his blue eyes and blond hair so like mine we could have been twins if not for the seven-year age difference.
My stomach twists as remnants of the night he’s referring to slip into the forefront of my mind. He’s not wrong. That night—the whole year really—had taken time to shrug off.
I’ve partied, drank heavily, and tried to unsuccessfully dance those memories away for the last two years. I shiver, feeling the dark cloud that I carried with me after that night trying to settle above me once more.
“He’s still gone?” I ask, and my brother nods, jaw tightening.
“Dad saw to that one. He won’t be coming back here—ever, Kleo.” Judson reaches forward and grips my hand. I catch sight of the scar on his right forearm. A jagged line the result of going through the second-story window right along with my attacker. I glance up at my now-unbroken window. I can still see him—falling—can still feel the fear that I had lost my brother.
I swallow hard. It’s been two years. Maybe one of these days, the ghosts will no longer bother me.
“You okay?” Judson asks, and I nod, forcing a smile I’ve actually spent time practicing. If I don’t show anyone what’s inside, it’s not real, right?
“Perfect. Just not looking forward to dealing with Dad.”
“Cut him some slack,” Judson warns. “That call really got to him. I mean, skinny dipping in Mr. Phillips’s pool? Seriously, Kleo? After everything you’ve been through, to hear you were out with—”
“It wasn’t my fault the assholes stole my clothes. And I wasn’t naked,” I interrupt. I know what he’s getting at, but that doesn’t mean I want to relive it. I was the one who was stalked and groped in my childhood bedroom two years ago.
I was the one who was nearly raped by someone who’d watched me grow up.
So, if I need to forget by drinking myself stupid and acting like someone I’m not, then that’s what I’m going to do.
Judson nods, knowing I don’t want to talk about it now. Probably not ever. “Want me to kick their asses?” he asks, only half-joking. I know that without a doubt if I asked him to, my brother would put aside his career as a high school history teacher and drive to Florida State to punch their teeth in.
Shaking my head, I chuckle. “Nope. All good. Karma is a bitch after all.”
“That’s true. How was the drive?” Judson asks, walking around me and opening my trunk to retrieve my bright red suitcase.
“Long,” I answer honestly. “As you well know, I drank a little too much last night, so it was entirely self-inflicted.”
Judson chuckles. “You okay?”
“I will be.”
We head up to the front door, hearing the wooden porch creaking just slightly. I’m grateful that Mrs. Williams has disappeared inside. I’m already in for it with my dad. Facing her too would be a little much at the moment.
Judson pushes the door open, moving to the side so I can step into the foyer of my family’s estate. A round table holding a crystal vase that’s overflowing with bright roses greets me, and I can’t help but smile at the orange blooms. My mother loves her roses—as long as they aren’t red.
A double staircase flanks both sides of the entrance, the hallway on the right leading to a large kitchen, the one on the left to the family sitting room. And straight ahead, through the large wooden doors, is my father’s study.
I can picture him there now, sitting behind his mahogany desk as he pours over his many responsibilities as the great-great-great-however many greats-grandson of the town’s founder.
So many days were spent sitting at his feet, playing with dolls while he worked, and I can still picture him looking down at me with a prideful smile as he promised to teach me everything he knew one day.