“Is my dad coming back?” a smooth voice says from somewhere, causing me to jerk in surprise.
Looking down, I see the green-eyed Smith has taken a seat in a plastic chair next to me. I didn’t even hear him approaching.
I shrug and take a seat next to him, staring intensely at the wall. “Yeah. I think so.” I should tell him just what a fucking great man his father . . . our father really is . . .
Holy shit.
This strange little specimen of a kid is my fucking brother. I absolutely can’t wrap my head around it. I look over at Smith, which he takes as a cue to continue his line of questioning.
“Kimberly said that he’s in trouble, but he can pay his way out of it. What does that mean?”
I can’t stop the scoff that comes from my mouth at his intrusive eavesdropping and thorough questioning. “I’m sure that’s the case,” I mumble. “She just means that he will be out of trouble soon. Why don’t you go sit with Kimberly and Tessa?” My chest burns at the sound of her name as it comes from my mouth.
He looks over in the direction of their voices, then assess me sagely. “They’re mad at you. Especially Kimberly, but she’s more mad at my dad, so you should be okay.”
“You’ll learn that women are always mad.”
He nods. “Unless they die. Like my mom did.”
My mouth falls open and I look at his face. “You shouldn’t say shit like that. People will find it . . . odd.”
He shrugs his shoulders as if to say that people already find him odd. Which is true, I suppose.
“My dad is nice. He’s not bad.”
“Okay?” I stare down at table to avoid looking into those green eyes.
“He takes me a lot of places and says nice things to me.” Smith places a piece of a toy train on the table. What is with this boy and trains?
“And . . .” I say, swallowing the feelings that come with his words. Why is he rambling about this now?
“He will take you places, too, and tell you nice things.”
I look over at him. “And why would I want that?” I ask, but his green eyes tell me that he knows much more than I assumed.
Smith tilts his head and swallows a little swallow, watching me. It’s both the most scientifically detached and the most vulnerably childlike I have ever seen the little oddball. “You don’t want me to be your brother, do you?”
Damn it. I desperately search for Tessa, hoping that she will come save me. She would know exactly what to say.
I look at him, trying to appear calm, but certain I’m failing. “I never said that.”
“You don’t like my dad.”
Right then, Tessa and Kimberly enter, saving me from having to answer him, thank God.
“Are you okay, honey?” Kimberly asks him, ruffling his hair slightly.
Smith doesn’t speak. He merely nods once, adjusts his hair, and takes his train car with him into the other room.
Chapter nine
TESSA
Just use the shower here—you look like hell, girl,” Kimberly says in a kind voice despite the unflattering words.
Hardin is still sitting at the table, a cup of coffee between his large hands. He has barely looked at me since I walked into the kitchen to find him talking to Smith. The idea of the two of them spending time together as brothers warms my heart.
“All of my clothes are in the rental car at that bar,” I tell her. I want nothing more than a shower, but I don’t have any clothes to wear.
“You can wear something of mine,” she suggests, even though we both know I could never fit into her clothes. “Or Christian’s. He has some shorts and a shirt you—”
“No, hell no,” Hardin interrupts, throwing Kimberly a hard glare as he stands. “I’ll go get your shit. You aren’t wearing his clothes.”
Kimberly opens her mouth to argue, but closes it before the words can come. I look at her with thankful eyes, grateful that a war won’t be started in the kitchen of her hotel suite.
“How far is Gabriel’s from here?” I ask, hoping one of them knows the answer.
“Ten minutes.” Hardin holds his hand out for the keys to the car.
“Can you drive?” I made the drive back from Allhallows because the alcohol was still in his system, and his eyes are still glassy.
“Yes,” he says tersely.
Wonderful. Kimberly’s suggestion that I borrow Christian’s clothing has turned Hardin from sullen to pissed-off in under a minute.
“Do you want me to come? I could drive the rental back since you are driving Christian’s car—” I begin, but I’m quickly cut off.
“No. I’ll be fine.”
I don’t like his impatient tone, but I bite my tongue, literally, to keep from telling him off. I don’t know what has gotten into me lately, but I find it harder and harder to keep my mouth shut. This can only be a good thing for me—maybe not for Hardin, but certainly for me.
He leaves the suite without another word or so much as a glance back to me. I stare at the wall for long, silent minutes before Kimberly’s voice breaks my trance.
“How is he handling it?” She leads me over to the table.
“Not well.” We both grab a seat.
“I can see that. Burning a house down probably isn’t the healthiest way to deal with anger,” she says without a single hint of judgment in her words.
I stare at the dark wood on the table, not willing to meet the eyes of my friend. “It’s not his anger that I’m afraid of. I can feel him withdrawing with every breath he takes. I know it’s childish and selfish of me to even mention this to you, because you are going through all of this and Christian is in trouble . . .”