“No, he’s fine as he can be, honey,” she replies reassuringly, patting Henry’s arm. “I just had a bad dream. One ofthosedreams.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
My mom is one of the most spiritual people I know, and she has really vivid dreams. Nearly every time she has a dream, they come true. Good or bad, theyalwayscome true. She had a dream when I was four that I would be my high school’s valedictorian. She wrote it down in her diary and never told me until the day I graduated as - you guessed it - valedictorian. So, when she says she has a dream, we all listen.
“The dream wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t predicting the future,” she starts. We wait for her to continue, afraid that interrupting will only draw out the torturing process. “I can’t place the time, but all I know is that it was before the coma. I walked into his office, and he was signing some contracts and he didn’t look happy about it. Which is weird because he is always in control. He caught my eye and then the door slammed. Next thing I knew, I was sitting next to him in the hospital, and he looked just how he looks now.”
“Do you think someone did this to him? On purpose?” Henry asks exactly what I’m thinking. Sure, I wanted to believe there’d be some cool mystery I could uncover, but the fact that it could be true makes my stomach twist.
“I don’t know what to think. It looks too suspicious for it to be a coincidence,” mom says quietly.
We all let the idea settle over us for a minute. Why would anyone be after my dad? He might have done some shady stuff back in Italy, but for the most part, he’s a decent guy. He would never do anything to put us, or himself, in danger.
“Anyway,” mom chirps. Mine and Henry’s heads snap up at the sudden liveliness in her tone. “Scarlett, a friend of mine has a son who I need to introduce you to. He crochets! How cute is that?”
And my chance at a mystery lasted thirty seconds.
2
Evan
“Why do you look like this on a Wednesday night? I’m starting to think that you don’t have any friends, Branson.”
I ignore Miles’ comment for the hundredth time because he can’t let it go. Having housemates that are hockey players has one perk: they’re always practising. They’re out on campus for a few hours and then they usually hang out with their girlfriends. Except for today. Instead, both Xavier and Miles are up my ass as I try to get ready to go to my dad’s house totalk. While they get to sit topless on the couch and play ridiculous sports games all evening, I have to face the wrath of my dad in a tux.
“Just because I have plans with my family, doesn’t mean I don’t have any friends,” I retort, fixing the sleeves of my suit again. Tailored suits are all fun and games until you have pulsing anxiety running through your body while you feel like you’re sweating buckets. “Besides, I'd much rather have a professionally cooked meal in a mansion than sit around all day like you slobs.”
“If you’re jealous that we’re comfortable, just say it,” Xavier calls from the couch.
“Real question, Z,” I begin, looking at myself once more in the reflection of the refrigerator. I brush my hand through my blonde hair that is in desperate need of a cut. Another thing I’ve been putting off. I turn around and lean my forearms on the kitchen hatch that overlooks the living room.
“Shoot,” Xavier replies, not tearing his eyes away from the screen as his fingers fly rapidly over the controller.
“Do you ever do any schoolwork? Like, seriously. I only see you train or sit here all day and I’m genuinely curious as to how you manage to stay on this scholarship,” I ask with a head tilt.
“Are you being for real or not? I can never tell with you,” he responds, flickering his confused gaze to me for a second before turning back to the screen. “I’ll take your silence as a no. I do work, but you’re just never here when I’m doing it.”
“Huh,” I say disbelievingly, walking out of the kitchen to the entryway to grab my jacket. As I’m about to say bye and leave, I hear Miles call my name as if I’ve forgotten something important. I turn back to him, and he pauses the game before looking at me. “What?”
“Don’t you want to know howImanage it all? How I’m so incredible at going to school, playing hockey,andmanaging a relationship,” he grins.
“This feels like a trap, so, I’m going to say no. I don’t really want to know,” I groan, trying to suppress my laugh.
I don’t think I’ve ever met a man as dramatic as Miles Davis. I seriously don’t get how Wren has put up with him for the past year. This is my third year living with him and I can’t stand him most of the time. The only tolerable thing about him is that he’s a loyal friend.
“You’re right. It was a trap. I don't know how I do it either. It’s exhausting. Every time I go to study, I just think about Wren and boom,” he gestures to his lap. “It’s over.”
“Good to know, Davis. The next time I want to know your sexploits, I’ll let you know in advance,” I say. Neither of them are listening to me anymore anyway. They both turn back to the game, grunting and shouting at each other as I slip out of the door.
As expected, my family’s driver, Charles, is waiting in the black Escalade outside. Charles has been a good friend to our family for years. He and my dad, Samuel, grew up together in a small town in Vermont and he’d always been in the loop with the Branson business that my great-great grandfather founded.
Branson & Co is one of the biggest clothing brands in the states right now, and it has been for decades. I still don't know the inner workings as to how the business came to be and how it became such a hit here, but all I know is that my family is loaded for life.
My dad says that Charles was never interested in being a part of the business. Not only is it mostly family-run, but it's also very competitive to even land an internship working at one of our branches. Charles got his licence before my dad did and he drove them around for years until my dad finally got a licence as well. Even now, after I was put on probation from the business, he’s stuck by me.
Charles rolls down the window and nods at me to get in. He’s dressed plainly in a black Pal Zileri suit and dark glasses, looking ever so serious. I can’t take it seriously when I know he’s the same guy who once leaned against a chocolate fountain at one of our events and ended up covered in chocolate without realising it. The same guy who embarrassed the hell out of me when I tried to go to second base with a girl in the back of the car in high school.
I slide into the backseat, picking up a bottle of water and downing most of it before leaning back in the chair. Is it cringe to have a playlist that Charles plays every time I go to my dad’s house? Maybe. As much as I know the guys would bully me for it, there is nothing better than listening to dark pop songs and driving on the interstate to the other side of town.
