My stomach roils, protesting at the sherry I just poured down.
“I thought we were talking about Willow?” Christian whines. His pale-blond hair catches the lamplight when he leans forward, creating a halo effect.
“I’m bored hearing about her already,” Libby explains. “This is more fun.”
Barrett’s fingers tighten against my waist.
I pin my so-called best friend with a questioning stare, yet she flat-out ignores me and turns to Christian beside her.
“What has your father said?”
“Not a lot yet. You’d probably know more than me; Dad is still down at the station with Lacey’s old man.”
They talk about me as though I’m not even in the room.
I choose to look across the room at Greer instead. She stiffens beside the drinks bureau; one elbow rested on the polished mahogany surface while she regards Libby and Christian’s conversation with wide eyes.
“Ignore her,” Barrett whispers in my ear. “She’s feeling out of sorts tonight after what happened.”
I twist to face him and lean back against the chair so that our faces are closer together. “What did happen with Libby’s dad?”
He keeps his gaze on the hostess across the room while leaning his head my way to answer on a hushed whisper. “Cops came and questioned him at the office. She only knows about it because she heard her mother yelling down the phone at Derek to sort it out.”
So, Christian’s father is playing the saviour for all involved. Interesting. Does that mean he’s likely to get my dad off too?
“It’ll all blow over by the morning,” Barrett assures me, words tickling my neck as the final member to our Chosen seven arrives—Ingrid. “Don’t let it ruin a good night, huh?” His hand slides down my hip until it rests against my arse.
I have a feeling that his definition of a good night and mine are two very vastly different things.
The question is, which one will I choose?
Barrett was wrong.
It was far from a good night when Libby got drunk and shouted accusations at Colt and me, saying that our father was the reason why hers now has a black mark against his name.
I left before I could find out precisely what Barrett had in store for us. Only to wake this morning and find detectives in our damn house.
“What the heck is going on?” I ask when Colt comes to stand beside me, coffee in hand.
He watches the sharply-dressed men go through our belongings as do I, frozen to the spot in the foyer that gives us a clear view of them ransacking Dad’s home office.
“They’re after evidence.”
“Of what?”
“Fraud.”
I take the coffee from his hands and let the caffeine sate my nerves. “He wouldn’t.”
“He hasn’t,” Colt says with an undeniable conviction that sets my mind immediately at ease. He removes his drink from my hands, taking a swig before adding, “Not knowingly.”
I turn my head to look up at my taller brother, frustrated by his stoic ignorance of my curiosity. “How do you know so much?”
“Chinese whispers.” Mug to his lips, he takes a step back and then turns for the stairs. “You’ll go crazy standing there watching them.”
I sigh and let my shoulders drop. “Is it that hard to believe that I want to stay informed on what matters affect our family?”
“No.” Colt hesitates two risers up and leans his coffee arm on the bannister rail. “But if I could have your blind ignorance again, I’d welcome it.”
I spin and narrow my eyes at him. “Why?”
“Because then you wouldn’t have to burden yourself with a lot more than what they might find in his office.”
He doesn’t say another word. Instead, as always, he chooses the more dramatic exit and leaves me with a cliff-hanger.
What the hell else would I have to worry about? Colt said Dad didn’t do it; he didn’t commit fraud. Surely that means if we all sit tight, the investigation will be over, and our father will be home soon the same as Libby’s dad was.
Of course. Libby.
I dash into the kitchen, sidestepping an agent who riffles through our cabinetry to retrieve a mug of coffee for myself. Steam rises from the fresh cup as I make my way upstairs and down the wing of the house Colt and I share. The patter of water echoes from his bathroom, indicating he plans to head out for the day.
It’s Saturday, and officers of the law are in our house. What the hell could be more important than staying with family while our lives are dissected and dismembered?
My phone is cold in my hand, a stark contrast to the heat of the coffee mug when I swap them over on my nightstand. Covers bunched around my legs, I tap out a quick message and then reach for the cup to wait out our queen’s reply.
Lib: I don’t have an answer for you. Has Derek not told your mum anything?
I figured if Libby’s dad was at home, she might share the likelihood that mine will follow suit soon after. But no, she refers me to the one woman who won’t share a goddamn thing.
I keep my reply simple with, She wouldn’t tell me if he had.
The thread falls silent. Libby’s seen my reply, but clearly, she has no more to say on the matter. I feel abandoned in my time of need. Sure, we didn’t start the best of friends, but we’ve been tight these past years; I expected more from her.
I expected what I would have given had the roles been reversed.
My mistake.
“What are you doing?” Colt stands in my open doorway, a towel wrapped low around his hips.
“Sitting in my bed drinking coffee.”
His eyebrows pinch together as he punches both arms across his bare chest. “All day?”
“I hadn’t decided what to do yet.” My gaze falls on the silent phone.
“Like to come say hi to an old friend?”
The mug stalls halfway to my mouth. “Pardon?”
He smirks. “I’m visiting Willow today.”
The same Willow that the boys
