“I didn’t mean that,” I rushed out, backpedaling on a stationary bike for all the good it did me. “Addie, I?—”
“No.”
She shook her head before turning away from me.
Facing Adam, she refused to look at me again. Silence hung between us as she walked up to her brother’s side. She tugged on his sleeve, like she used to do when we were kids.
Like she did when she got hurt trailing after us, but didn’t want to admit it out loud.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“I want to go home,” she said quietly.
Adam nodded to her, nudging her past me toward the car.
Anxiety spiked, blood rushing past my ears as he shot me a look torn between apology and anger.
Nothing hurt Adam like Addie’s pain.
As much as I joked about them being the worst twins ever, times like these reminded me of their bond, and where I stood outside it. I could lose him for hurting her.
Fuck.
Adam’s frown softened slightly at whatever he saw on my face, but he still turned from me to follow her.
Even expecting it, the weight of his departure landed on my chest.
Standing there, in the wake of what I’d said, I ran through how I’d reacted all night—to my teammates ogling her, my body longing to move closer, fighting to keep her at bay—I couldn’t reconcile any of it.
I didn’t know how to make it right.
Then it hit me that my backpack, and what I’d stowed inside it, was still in their car. Because I was supposed to leave with them.
After a week with my father, I’d been so close. So close to going back to the only house that felt like home.
With one stupid comment, I’d ruined everything.
Her night. Our plans.
Maybe even my place with them.
As I stood there alone, with nowhere to go but the last place I wanted to be, I considered staying at the party house instead. But I couldn’t stomach going back inside.
Too sick over the tears I’d put in her eyes, I accepted where I’d ended up tonight.
I deserved it.
What better place to sulk over my behavior than with the man who’d taught me how to lash out. Who’d taught me to deliver quick jabs and sharp words, both aimed to draw blood.
Heck, I should consider myself lucky my father’s mansion was only a few houses down the block.
Lucky.
It was the last thing I felt as I started walking.
When the short distance passed too quickly, I stared up at my father’s cold, dark mansion.
Years ago, he had moved us from our house on the Barrows’ street to the imposing symbol of his status. His law firm had just taken off, and he and my mother had been thrilled. I hadn’t wanted to leave, and as we grew up, I’d done my best to show up. To stay.
