“Maybe someday,” Sean said.Maybe tomorrow, he thought. It was all he’d thought about for months. Getting out.
Leaving would break his aunt’s heart.
But it might break him to stay.
Back home, Sean shoved the conversation from his mind and plopped the remaining pieces of cookie cake from the celebration his coworkers had thrown for him onto the kitchen counter.
Cole sat in the living area, strumming a guitar. He paused at Sean’s entrance. “Hey, cuz. Happy birthday.”
“Thanks. There’s cookie in the kitchen.”
Cole’s brows shot up, and he darted that way as Sean beelined for the shower. The hot water did nothing to relieve the coiling tension in his muscles. He relived that morning’s conversation with Aunt Blaire at least five times before he gave up on relaxation and shut the water off.
Edginess had crept into every crack and crevice of his mind, andit was only when he was pulling on his shirt that he remembered the dream that had woken him with a splitting headache that morning.
It wasn’t the first time Sean had dreamed of the sword impaling his chest. It wasn’t even the first time he’d looked into David Berkeley’s face as he gripped the hilt of that sword. It was, however, the first time he’d clocked a shade of horror darkening David’s eyes.
Laughable, really. Death by sword was strange enough, but David Berkeley being horrified by it? The guy would celebrate. He’d rejoice. From their earliest moments—forced together by mothers who’d wanted so badly for them to be friends—David’s hate had blossomed. By adulthood, it had reached legendary status.
Not only that, he’d also nepo-babied his way into his father’s alleged crime empire, if rumors were to be believed.
So, yeah. If David Berkeley ever stabbed Sean, he wouldn’t be horrified. He’d twist the knife.
The recurrent dream could go to hell, Sean decided as his headache reignited. He retreated downstairs, only to stop short at the sight of Aunt Blaire speaking with Cole in the living room. She glanced up and smiled like nothing had happened earlier. “How was your day?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Fine.”
Then, in the epitome of all irony, she said, “I saw Alexandra today. She reminded me that it was also David’s birthday a few days ago.”
A flash of the dream sword sparked and faded, paired with a throb of pain behind Sean’s right eye.
“And?” he asked.
She sighed. “I don’t understand why you can’t be friends.”
Sean kept his voice flat. “He hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you. He just— He’s had a hard life. If you could just?—”
“No.” His hands clenched. Of all the mysterious things Blaire did,thiswas the one Sean least understood. Why was she so insistent ondefending David Berkeley’s honor? Being friends with his mom was not a good enough excuse.
Blaire stepped closer, holding her fist against her chest. “It isn’t his fault that his father’s a criminal?—”
“Itishis fault he followed in his footsteps. He’s beyond saving.”
She shook her head. “He just needs someone like you?—”
“It isn’t my responsibility to save David Berkeley from the life he chose, and he doesn’t want me to, Blaire. He hates me.” Sean dragged his fingers through his mess of hair. “It’s so weird you keep bringing this up. The guy is nothing to me.”
Her eyes grew shiny. “He needs help. Damning him to that life?—”
“Ididn’t damn him. And anyway, I am not the savior of all lost souls! Why are you putting this on my shoulders?”
Something a lot like heartbreak struck her features, and for some reason, it only made Sean’s headache worse. “Oh, Sean,” she whispered.
Irritation descended rapidly into true anger. “Why do you keep so many secrets? Is it all related? Staying in this town. My mother’s death. Your obsession with David Berkeley. It’s driving me insane!”
“Someone just needs to give him a chance,” she murmured.
