Lance’s face switches from fear to snark. “I see you take after your father’s hotheadedness.”
I growl in frustration. I’d love to feel the crack of my knuckles against his skin. Just once. Just for being his pious, self-centered self. “How’s this then? We’re done. Take away college, I don’t give a fuck. There’s something more important than that. Something you couldn’t possibly understand.”
“Enlighten me, girl.”
“Staying true to your family.”
I nudge him out of the way as I go for the door. My truck keys are hanging on a hook over a table near the exit, and I grab for them.
Strong arms wrap around me from behind. I relax at first, but then I realize they’re not Lucas’s, they’re Stone’s. His words about my family only marginally made up for this stunt. “Stop fighting me,” he growls. “You can’t go out there right now. The press will eat you alive.”
“I’d rather them than you.”
“Ugh,” Lance says in disgust. “Has this little infatuation with her only gotten worse? Just fuck her and be done with it. You know it can never be anything more.”
I still in Stone’s arms. Without him holding me, I’d have probably fallen over.
Stone pushes me away from him. “I assure you that’s not it,” Stone growls, fixing his polo shirt so that it lays evenly across his shoulders. “She only responds to physical measures.”
Is this family for real? I gaze over at Lucas who’s wearing a hard frown, but he keeps his lips pressed together. I guess our truce only goes so far.
Turning, I meet them all stare for stare. It feels like David versus Goliath at this point. However, as much as I’d love to just find my way out of their hair forever, I’m stuck. Not only did he just announce our partnership, they’re the only hope I have of finding out what happened to Dad.
In his absence, there’s one thing I learned above all else. One person does not make a team. In fact, it’s pretty fucking lonely being by yourself. And if I ever want to not be lonely again, I need to find my dad.
16
I spend the rest of the weekend in my room at Jacobs Manor, as I’ve come to think of it in my head. I imagine myself behind bars, secluded, locked away, but honestly, this is the nicest room I’ve ever been in. The view is spectacular as long as one of the assholes isn’t walking in front of the glass wall. The furnishings are pristine, and Wyatt brings me food on a rotation, leaving it just outside my door. So, if this is jail, it’s a nice one.
I’ve even met Stone’s cleaning lady. I almost gave her a heart attack when she came into the room. She no doubt expected it to still be empty. I tried to tell her she didn’t have to clean the space, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She told me to continue doing my coursework while she worked around me, chatting cheerfully as she scrubbed down the bathroom and used a fancy mop on the floors.
Her cleaning prowess wasn’t the craziest part about meeting her though. The crazy part was how well she spoke of Stone Jacobs. I had to ask her twice who she was talking about before it finally dawned on me that she was talking about the same person who I’ve been cursing for over twenty-four hours.
On Monday morning, despite my cohabitants, I wake up cheery. I’m not hungry. I’ve done all of my homework—except for that damn English paper—and even moved onto the next assignments according to the course syllabi. While standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I realize I’m not stressed either. I know my truck is out front. I know if I walk out of this room right now, I can find food in the cupboards. I also know that I’m surrounded by people. They may not be the people I would’ve chosen, but even I can admit that seeing them walk down the hall at various times over the last couple of days made me feel less alone.
Which makes me about the saddest person alive. I’m glad to have my enemies near. Jesus. What is my life coming to?
I dress and head toward the kitchen with my bag in tow. I’m relieved to see that Lance is gone. I don’t even know how long he stayed on Saturday, only that I’m glad I didn’t stick around to hear any more bullshit come from his mouth.
“Good morning,” Wyatt says in an even tone. He’s dressed in a dark blue t-shirt, sleeves stretching over carved muscles. He has a perfectly tapered waist, jeans hitting him just right. And like a typical cowboy, he has a belt on with the t-shirt tucked into the front. The only difference with Wyatt is that his belt buckle isn’t flashy like you see some cowboys wear on TV. It’s a normal belt with a tame, silver buckle.
And the hat. Jesus. There’s just something about this guy in his hat. “Morning,” I say, almost forgetting that he greeted me.
He sips a glass of orange juice, perched on a bar stool at the island. “Mornings during the week are low-key. It’s a fend-for-yourself kind of venture,” he says, nodding toward the kitchen itself. “The cupboards are completely stocked. Cereal. Toast. Bagels. Oatmeal. I’m sure whatever you like to eat, we have it.”
Honestly, I... Wow. Fuck. I’ve never had a choice before. I always just ate what my dad bought or what was on the menu at school. Shame crashes into me. I’ve had oatmeal before. That must’ve been relatively cheap. Cereal? I’ve had that before, too, but not like those brands that are on TV. I’ve never had Lucky Charms or Frosted Flakes. Whatever we ate was off-brand and typically pretty bland, kind of like eating the desert floor. Oh, and no
