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"Dead serious." Ethan tosses the rope to our cousin, Jake, who's already advancing on Wilder with a no-nonsense grimace. "We’re going to tie you up until you learn that women are not pawns in your games."
"Annabelle, this is insane," Wyatt protests, standing up, but two cousins flank him instantly, ready to enforce my decree.
"Maybe," I concede with a shrug, "but it's also necessary. You need a lesson in respect and empathy. And if that means tying you up like a trio of out-of-line school children, so be it."
"Isn't this a bit extreme?" Wilder tries to reason, his usual smooth charm faltering under the gravity of the situation.
"Extreme times call for extreme measures," I shoot back, watching as my cousins make quick work of the ropes, binding Emrys, Wyatt, and Wilder together, back-to-back…to back. They struggle against the tight knots, but there's no give. Ethan made certain of that.
"Guys, come on," Wilder pleads, his usual cocky demeanor crumbling. "We didn't mean any harm-"
"Didn't mean any-" I start, my voice rising, but I cut myself off. No, they're going to sit with their mistakes, literally tied up in them, until they understand the weight of their actions.
"Sit tight," I say instead, a wry smile playing on my lips. "Or, well, you don't have much choice in the matter."
"Annabelle, this isn't right," Emrys tries to reason.
"Turns out," I reply, stepping close enough that he can see the resolve in my gaze, "there’s a lot that isn’t right about this entire situation. But this?” I emphasize, waving my hands around to highlight their little predicament. “Not even a little. You should know something about us Sharpes. We love to have fun. We love to give and be charitable. But if you fuck with one of ours? Well…" I gesture at their current position as an example.
They watch me, a tangle of confusion, regret, and dawning comprehension. Good. Let them stew in that for a while.
I turn on my heel, leaving them bound and bewildered for a moment, and head into the bedroom. I whisk a giant sheet from the foot of Kat's bed, crisp and white, before returning to the living room and flinging it over the trio of entangled egos before me.
The fabric settles over their heads like a shroud, and then I'm snipping three ragged holes with a pair of nail scissors–french-tipped manicure flashing as I work. "This is our get along shirt," I scrawl across the front in bold, mocking letters with a black marker.
"Annabelle, come on..." Wyatt's muffled voice filters through the cotton barrier.
"Quiet," I snap without missing a beat. "You're in time-out."
"Time-out?" Wilder's Southern drawl is tinged with incredulity, but there's an undertone of guilt that wasn't there before.
"Yep, kindergarten style." I step back, admiring my handiwork. There's something borderline artistic about three grown men bound together in a makeshift unity shirt. It'd be a shame not to share it with the world.
"Look, we know we messed up. It wasn’t like th–" Emrys begins, but I cut him off.
"Know? Oh, bless your heart." I lean in close, the heat of my anger probably warming their cheeks. "I don't think you know anything right now. You've hurt Kat. My sister. The woman who juggles a billion dollar empire with her bare hands, making it her life mission to save all things beaten and broken. The woman who has quite literally bled for me. The woman who brought me together with Ethan when I was too blind to see it. The woman who would literally give the shirt off her back to someone–anyone–in need. And all you could think to do was make her the prize in some juvenile bet?"
Their heads bow, shame finally settling in. "We didn't think–" Wyatt tries again.
"Exactly!" My hands go to my hips as I stare down at them. "You didn't think. My sister's heart isn't a game. You need to figure out if what you feel for her is real or just another thrilling adventure for you, Wilder. Or maybe an attempt to fill some void in your life, Wyatt. And you, Emrys, what's your excuse?"
I’m silent for a while, and they are too until I jerk my head up, catching the flicker of confusion in their eyes. My heart's thudding like a drum solo in my chest as I realize what slips out next is going to hit them harder than any truth I've ever spoken.
"And just so you know," my voice cracks with a mix of anger and unintended vulnerability. "Kat was coming back here to talk to you guys. She was ready to open up to each of you, to admit that she has feelings for all of you. She’s been agonizing about it. About hurting you guys with that. Meanwhile…you guys were just treating her like some game."
The words hang heavy in the air, and I watch as it dawns on them–the scope of their blunder. Wilder looks like he's been punched in the gut, his usual adventurous spark snuffed out by my revelation. Wyatt's jaw clenches, the lines of his lawyer-brain piecing together the case of his own guilt. And Emrys...
Well, Emrys has the decency to look utterly wrecked, not at all the stoic beast he usually is.
"Feelings," I sneer the word, tasting the bitterness as it spills from my lips. "Yeah, those complicated things you toyed with while setting up your little competition."
Without another word, I whip out my phone, camera app already open. Their faces are a picture of regret and shock, tangled up in each other and the white sheet proclaiming their forced camaraderie. It's too perfect, too fitting not to immortalize this moment. I snap the picture, the shutter sound punctuating the silence.
"Smile for the camera, boys. This one's for posterity." The flash captures their startled expressions, and deep down, where my anger simmers, a spark of satisfaction ignites.
"Consider this a souvenir," I tell them, slipping the phone back into my pocket. "A reminder that real feelings aren't a game you can win or lose. They're the messiest, most inconvenient, yet somehow the most thrilling part of life. Kat deserves better than to be someone's prize at the end of a dare."
Their heads collectively drop, a silent vow to do better etched into the slump of their shoulders. Good. Let that image be plastered in their minds until they get their acts together.
