“Of course, we do, but being petulant and rude isn’t going to speed that up, is it?”
“How long have you known this would happen?” I band my arms across myself, one foot tucked behind the other.
“Long enough.”
“And you didn’t tell us?” I narrow my eyes, brow firm.
She matches my expression. “You’re a child, Lacey. It’s not your place to know everything.”
“Colt knew, didn’t he?”
She doesn’t answer straight away.
“Is he not a child?” I prod. “You mean to tell me that a few years make all the difference?”
“He wasn’t supposed to know.” She flicks her gaze to the closed parlour door. “Why don’t you get changed; it might make you feel better. Libby has a party tonight, doesn’t she?”
“I said I wouldn’t go.”
The speed she whips her head back to face me threatens to undo her perfect chignon. “Why on earth not?”
“You expect me to rub shoulders and enjoy myself while Dad is stuck in a holding cell somewhere?” I grip myself tighter.
“What else would you do with your time?” She frowns. “Wasn’t that young Barrett Reed I saw when you arrived home?”
“Dad was carried away by police, and all you care about is who brought me home?” I scoff.
Her hands twitch. “Times of need are an opportunity to create firm bonds, Lacey.”
“What do you mean?”
She takes a half-step closer, leaning in a little. “You should play the damsel in distress, my darling girl. Men love to be the hero.”
I’m left standing shell-shocked in our double-height foyer while she sweeps back into the parlour. Is that what she does now with Derek? It sure doesn’t seem she played the role with Dad. Otherwise, she would have been out the front of our house wailing for her poor husband.
I can’t believe that’s what she wants. Our father—her companion—was taken away for God only knows what, and all she cares about is if I used the moment to snare myself a beau?
My slim-soled shoes make light slaps on the hardwood stairs as I leap them two at a time. Colt will side with me on this—surely. I hustle down to his bedroom, following the growing beats emanating from his stereo system.
He lies reclined on his bed, shirt untucked, and tie loose as he appears to struggle with the Physics textbook in his hand. How can he do homework at a time like this? How can he concentrate?
“You won’t believe what Mum told me,” I pout, dropping to the foot of his bed.
He sets the heavy hardback on the comforter beside him.
“She said I should go to Libby’s party tonight. That I should have thrown myself at Barrett outside and played the damsel in distress.” I lift my gaze to find his. “Her exact words.”
He shrugs. “Mum has different expectations out of life than us.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I tuck my legs up, leaning on one hip.
“She’s older, Lace. She sees things with more maturity than we do. Less emotion.”
“I can’t believe you’re siding with her.”
He sighs, eyebrows pinching together. “I’m not. I’m just saying that she can separate her feelings from the truth of the matter.”
“Which is?” I ask wide-eyed. “You said you didn’t think they’d be here today, or something along those lines. What did he do, Colt? Why was Dad arrested?”
“It’s not what he did. It’s what his colleagues did.”
“Who?”
“The men he works with.” Colt lets his breath out in a heavy rush, rising from the bed. “If you want to go to Libby’s, I’ll walk you over. You might like the fresh air.”
“I’m not—”
“Just think about it,” he urges, unbuttoning his school shirt. “Dad would understand. You need the distraction. Otherwise, you’ll be going over this all damn night in your head.”
He has a point. I’m already trying to dissect the how and why of what would bring the police to our house. The silence of my room will drive me crazy.
“They can’t know yet,” I say quietly.
Colt leans forward, eyes soft. “They probably already do, Lace. Libby’s dad was involved, as well.”
My muscles seize, heart painfully large. “Oh, my God. Was he arrested too?”
He tosses his shirt in the laundry hamper, standing bare-chested to peruse his walk-in. “Not as far as I’m aware. Go see her tonight and talk about it.”
“Will you be there?” If I find it uncomfortable to be out socialising, I’d feel better knowing Colt as there for support.
“Of course.” He strolls back into the room, reaching over to tap me on the ankle. “I’ll always be there for you, sis.”
By the time Colt and I leave for Libby’s, the sun has half set, making the already crisp temperature drop another few degrees. I tug the knee-length coat Mum brought home from Germany last year tighter around my slight frame, wishing that I had a little more meat on my bones to ward off the chill.
“Do you think Dad will be home tomorrow?”
Colt stares straight ahead, resplendent in a tailored charcoal jacket that offsets his dark blond hair perfectly. “I wouldn’t count on it.” He sighs out his nose before pinning me with a concerned stare. “Don’t worry yourself over him, Lace. He’s big enough to look after himself. It’s a blue-collar crime; they won’t house him with murderers and drug dealers.”
“As far as you know,” I mutter.
The light spilling from Libby’s enormous house illuminates the sprinkling of rain that fell during dinner. Shards of light reflect off the wet iron railings that line the front edge of their modest yard.
There isn’t a single modest thing about their home. Two renovated Victorian-era houses were combined to make one enormous six-bedroom, five-bath, and four living room palace amidst the suburbs. The kitchen alone spans one entire wall of the residence—not that Libby would ever know what it looks like inside that room. That’s what their staff are for.
A sleek black Porsche indicates before it turns into the Fellows’ underground garage. The driver pauses to wait for the automatic gates to slide open, sparing Colt
