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“Coach let some of us out early. Invited Wells over after showers to get food.” He growled it out, that same rage in Wells’s eyes lacing his own. He shot a finger at me. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“And apparently, you’ve forgotten who you are in this kitchen, son, and who you are to me. Your mother?” A similar blaze hit Mr. Reed’s eyes. Actually, the man was snarling to the point where I checked myself, and he hadn’t even been talking to me. His dark eyebrows narrowed. “What’s with the disrespect, and why are you speaking to Bow’s friend like this?”
Thatcher laser-focused on Bow. The sophomore had her hands on the bar, but she didn’t look away.
Some kind of exchange passed between them then, but not long before Mr. Reed cut Thatcher’s focus off. He cut his hand in the air. “You got a half a second to speak, son. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“She’s trouble,” he said, point-blank. He obviously wasn’t wasting those seconds, and I noticed he didn’t look away from his father again. “Dad—”
“To your room.”
“But, Dad—”
Just a look made Thatcher shut up. He wet his lips, his earrings reflecting the light off the kitchen’s chandelier.
Saying he snorted like an actual bull before leaving that kitchen was an understatement. With his own glare (in my direction), Wells started to follow him.
Mr. Reed raised a hand. “My son needs to cool off,” he said, then nodded. “And you need to explain why you both came in here so hot. Hot toward her?”
Mr. Reed directed the room’s attention on me, and I was solid in place. I never should have come over here.
Wells’s gaze landed on me, his shrug subtle before he pocketed his hands.
“You have nothing to say, then?” Mrs. Reed said this time. She frowned. “You sure had a lot before.”
“It was a rough practice,” Wells ground out. His eyes blazed at me. “We just weren’t trying to deal with folks from school.” He jutted his chin toward me. “Girls like her like to gossip. Talk.”
There was so much laced there in what he said, so much while saying so little. This was their turf, and I wasn’t welcome.
“Sounds like another field trip might be warranted to the ballet,” Mr. Reed growled, and though I didn’t understand the reference, it certainly got Wells’s attention. The tall blond shot ramrod straight.
“No, sir. That’s not necessary,” he said, and something I noticed was their dynamic. He spoke to Mr. Reed with respect, and Mr. Reed spoke to him like his kid.
They really were brothers.
There was some deep shit here, shit I clearly didn’t understand.
Mr. Reed bunched his hair. “Go get seated for dinner. After, you head home.”
Wells nodded, placing a glance my way one more time.
The parents watched him on his way out. Bow watched him.
I grabbed my purse off the counter.
It was Bow to notice that first, then Mr. and Mrs. Reed. Mrs. Reed came around the island. “Sloane—”
“I need to go,” I said, shaking my head. “I shouldn’t have come. I have my brother anyway. I mentioned he’s sick so… I, uh, I should head home.”
It took all I had not to physically cry, and I didn’t cry. I wasn’t that girl. But I was embarrassed. Angry.
Frustrated.
I visibly shook in the Reeds’ kitchen, and it took everything not to be rude and run from the room.
Mr. Reed frowned. “I don’t know what’s going on with you kids, but the boys have a habit of being chronically inept when it comes to treating others with respect as of late.”
“They do,” Mrs. Reed agreed. “Please don’t let them scare you off. You’re our guest. Bow’s guest.”
