He shook his head, like the words pained him. “You were fucking Tristin, and now he refuses to step foot in this house. Given that display I saw the other day, you’re probably fucking Leo, and in return, he’s gotten himself suspended for three games.
“Even Hayle broke up with his girlfriend and is walking around here, pouting like a surly toddler.” His gaze pierced into me, and his voice hardened just enough for me to catch the difference. “It’s not acceptable, Thea. Not any of it. And you’re going to fix it.”
My heart hammered in my chest, and I clamped my jaw shut to keep my chin from quivering. This calm, collected version of Vincent was even more terrifying than the harsher version I’d witnessed a few minutes earlier. Because I no longer worried that whatever pain he inflicted would be physical.
“Fix what?” I forced myself to ask.
His sudden, too-pleasant smile didn’t fool me. “All of it. But you’re going to start with convincing Tristin to move back home.”
I wanted to laugh. Like Tristin could be convinced of anything.
“And, if he doesn’t listen to me?”
Vincent turned and started to walk away, as though his next words were inconsequential. Again, I wasn’t fooled.
“Planes go both ways. I won’t hesitate to ship you back to that dusty wheat field I plucked you from. So, I suggest you go down to that ridiculous boat of his and make him listen.”
I drew in a sharp breath. “You knew?”
He finally removed his hands from his pockets, and I saw them clench into fists. “You seriously think I haven’t known where my son was running off to since the beginning?”
I didn’t have an answer, because this was Vincent Sharpe. Of course, he’d known.
He glanced at me over his shoulder. “Oh, and, Thea?”
“Yes?” I asked between gritted teeth.
“You might also mention to Tristin that if he doesn’t get his ass back here by fall break, Leo can kiss his trust fund goodbye.”
With those parting words, he stalked back the way he’d come, leaving me reeling in his wake.
Leo can kiss his trust fund goodbye.
Leo can kiss his trust fund goodbye.
Leo can kiss his trust fund goodbye.
The words echoed in my head, but that didn’t cause them to make any more sense. If Tristin didn’t move back home, Vincent was going to snatch Leo’s trust fund away. And he was holding me responsible for all of it, including fixing it.
Holy shit.
Somehow, I was supposed to persuade someone who wasn’t even speaking to me to move back to the mansion. And make Hayle change his entire attitude. And I had no idea what he expected me to do about Leo. I couldn’t exactly walk into the athletic director’s office and demand that he reverse his decision about the suspension.
And if I couldn’t manage all of that?
Vincent would send me back to Kansas.
No more Harbor U.
No more Petra or The College Grind.
No more investigating my mother’s death.
No more Sharpe brothers.
I was so fucked.
Chapter Eleven
Thea
I lost track of how long I sat in the kitchen, but when I finally checked my phone, it was after ten-thirty. There were no updates from Leo, but there was a text from Petra.
Petra: Any news about Leo’s fate?
Me: Three game suspension.
Petra: Oh, shit. How’s he taking it?
Exactly what I wanted to know. Then again, if he was taking the news poorly, I didn’t know if I could handle it—or him—right now.
Me: I haven’t talked to him yet.
Petra: Okay. Call me if you need anything. I’m home all day, being lazy.
It crossed my mind to call her now and spill everything that just happened. But I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. I trusted Petra, but this royally fucked-up situation seemed too personal to share with even her.
So, I thanked her and closed out of the messaging app. When the screen went blank, I stared at it, wishing my mind could follow suit. I felt like every one of my brain cells had been sucked up into a tornado and was caught in the endless rotation. I could even say that with authority, since I’d experienced one firsthand.
Leo. Suspension. Trust fund. Hayle. Attitude adjustment. Tristin. Boat. Move home. Plane. Kansas. Leo. Suspension. Trust fund.
It went on and on, making my head spin so bad, I had to get out. The mansion, with all of its pristine walls and floors and cabinets and counters, was stifling. I needed air. I needed space.
I ran upstairs, shrugged on a jacket and my sneakers, threw my drawing supplies in my backpack, and fled as quickly as my feet could carry me. I hopped on my bike and pedaled just as quickly, not caring about the cool mist falling. All that mattered was getting away from everything that represented Vincent Sharpe.
It wasn’t like I’d held the man in high regard before now. I suspected him of covering up my mother’s murder—if not causing it—after all.
But I hadn’t thought he was capable of sheer ruthlessness when it came to his sons. By threatening to strip Leo’s trust fund if Tristin didn’t move back home, he was pitting the brothers against each other. When their relationship was already several levels past strained.
Had Vincent always been this manipulative, and I’d failed to notice it? I thought back to when I lived in Moss Harbor before, but nothing came to mind. He’d seemed larger than life to me back then, his generosity almost overwhelming.
Then again, I’d had a lack of positive male role models to compare him to, something that hadn’t changed in the last eight years.
Water seeped into my hair and skin as I rode without a destination. But I hadn’t needed a plan to end up at the marina. My subconscious had led me straight to Tristin. Maybe because fall break was less than three weeks away, and that didn’t seem like near enough time to convince him of anything.
Not giving myself time to second guess the decision, I rode straight onto the dock and toward the boat he was living on. I didn’t have to wonder if I’d found the correct one, because he was sitting on the covered part of the deck, reading a book. He looked up when I braked to an abrupt stop and dismounted my bike.
His blank expression didn’t change at the sight of me, but he did set his book aside and stand. “What are you doing here?”
I wiped at the moisture that had collected around my eyes. “I have to talk to you.”
He walked to the edge of the boat, his stride as wooden as ever. “If this is about the fact that you’re dating my brother, don’t bother. I don’t give a fuck.”
Pain sliced through me, but I didn’t let his arrow strike its intended target. That wasn’t why I was here. “It’s not about that. I know you don’t care.”
You made that obvious when you wouldn’t even acknowledge me on campus.
“I don’t know what else you could possibly have to say to me.”
Heat flooded my veins as I gaped at him. What the ever-loving-fuck was his problem? I might have made his life more complicated by creating the situation that led him to be hauled away by the police. But I’d never intentionally hurt him. The opposite, in fact. I’d been trying to make his life better.
Forget the fact that we’d slept together. I’d thought we’d gotten to the point where I could at least call him a friend. Yet, he was acting like we were strangers.