Page 103 of Fish Out of Water

Jake closed his bedroom door and grabbed his phone. He could still make out bits of muffled conversation from the living room, where Carson was no doubt sipping his cup of tea while Isabel pretended to consider his lofty ideas and feeble praise of the Eaton empire.

He dialed Robbie’s number before he’d even had a chance to calm down. His breath came in short, forced heaves, and his heart pounded until it hurt.

“Hello, Jake. Is something wrong?”

“You,” Jake snapped. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Silence. And then: “Are you drunk?”

Jake bulldozed over Robbie’s confused question. “You told your family we were planning on declining their offer after I told you not to.” He was practically spitting the words out. “Why do you never listen to me?”

“What? Did they retract their offer?”

“They made a new one—for asking price.”

“Oh.”

Jake laughed harshly. “Yeah.”

“That’s not my parents’ offer, Jake.”

It was Jake’s turn to be confused. “What?”

“It’s mine. I made an offer on the house. I can’t pay in cash like my parents could, but I assumed that wouldn’t matter to Isabel if she wasn’t planning on taking their offer anyway.”

“She’s not going to take yours either,” Jake said. “You’re insane if you believe that.”

“I thought it was worth a shot. It’s better than the house getting bought as a vacation home and lived in three months out of the year, or worse.”

“You’re one to talk. What about that fancy mansion of yours?”

Robbie was silent again for a little while. “Nothing in our future is certain, Jake,” he finally said. “You of all people should know that.”

“You know what? Fuck you.”

“Sorry?”

“You heard me: fuck you and your inheritance and your prissy little family. I never should have believed the version of you that you tried to sell me. You’re no better than your parents. Have fun turning into them over the next twenty years. I hope you rot here.”

“Jake, I?—”

“Fuck off.” Jake hung up before Robbie could get another word in. He dropped his phone on the bed and lay back, smothering his face with a pillow so he didn’t have to see or hear or breathe.

It must have been several minutes, maybe even longer, before there was a gentle knock on his door.

“Come in.” The pillow muffled his words, so he removed it and repeated himself.

“It’s just me,” Isabel said. “Mr. Crowley left a minute ago. We had a very illuminating talk.” She sat down on the side of Jake’s bed. “Jake?—”

“I know,” Jake mumbled, staring up at the ceiling. “Robbie told me.”

“I’m accepting his offer.”

“You’re only enabling him to stay here and become his parents.”

“I don’t think I am.”

Jake pulled himself up. “What if he’s doing itforhis parents?”