Page 12 of Full Moon Frenzy

Gray was stretched out on a pool lounger, eyes closed, bobbing in the water with a glass in his cup holder. If he’d heard Trapp’s arrival, he didn’t let on.

Trapp dropped ungracefully into a chaise, tipping his own head back and closing his eyes. He was probably handling this poorly. It was likely a bad look, but — taking a page from his brother’s book — he wasn’t sure that he cared.

He was the one who’d been broken up with. It wasn’t as if he’d told Julia that he wanted to end their relationship and then promptly fell into bed with someone else; no, he hadn’t initiated anything. And what breakup wasn’t best swallowed with a small side of debauchery?

Helping himself to a bottle of water from the table beside him — still cold, beaded in condensation, evidence that this had been Gray’s seat before he’d relocated to the water — he swallowed half of it in one, long gulp. His mouth still carried the stale, metallic taste of the last forty-odd hours of bourbon and bad decisions, while the ache behind his eye held the promise of worse pain if he didn’t take a breather to rest and rehydrate.

Tomorrow he’d be back to work, at least. Keeping busy, staying focused. He had no idea when the word would get out or how quickly it would spread, but once it became public knowledge that Julia would not be returning to the school, the whole town would eventually become aware and draw their own conclusions. The double-edged sword of being the most visible Hemming was that the visibility turned to scrutiny in the blink of an eye.

“I can smell you from here.”

Trapp glared toward the pool. He’d showered after returning home that morning . . . but he wondered if the smell of his poor choices clung to him the way he could still taste them. Grayson possessed an olfactory sense so keen that it was very nearly a disability, leaving him sickened by smells no one else could detect, adding to his lifelong migraines. It was possible his brother could pick out the smell of his two-day bender, but he wasn’t going to give Gray the satisfaction of sniffing himself to find out.

Grayson never lifted his head, but his eyes popped open, squinting as he took in Trapp. “Oh, wow . . . you look like shit, too. Consistency is important, I guess.”

Trapp barked out a laugh that surprised him with its roughness, sticking in his throat, nearly choking him. He hated feeling like this. He meant to say something glib, but the truth was in too much of a hurry to burst free. “Julia’s gone.”

His words earned no immediate reaction.

It’s not me, it’s you. Trapp let his head drop back again. He’d need to call Rasst, let him know that their annual weekend at the cabin was unlikely, would have to inform Mitzkin at work that he’d no longer require a plus-one to the wedding invitation RSVP they’d already sent in. He wondered when the gossip of his poorly-thought-out bender would reach the firehouse, and if he could head it off. There was no telling in a town like this.

No telling when it’s going to reach Mom. He shifted uncomfortably. Disappointing his mother in any capacity was in the top three things in life to be avoided at all costs, in between dying in a fire and getting hit by an 18-wheeler during the monthly turn.

Trapp had never bothered with the wolf-eat-wolf competition for his father’s attention. He didn’t need to be Jack’s favorite son, not the way Jackson and Grayson pursued it. He was comfortable, secure in the knowledge that he was their mother’s favorite, and he didn’t like to do anything that might rock that boat.

“Gone, as in ‘gone from this earthly plane of existence’ gone, or . . . ?”

His head snapped up at Grayson’s delayed response, scowling. Even if that was what he meant, Gray didn’t seem especially concerned. “What? No! She’s . . . she took a job out of state. Moving back home. She’ll be gone by the end of the month.” The end of the month was just a week away at that point.

He trailed off, letting the rest hang. That was the angle he could push. Julia had left for a job opportunity, and he wasn’t willing to leave his position in the department. End of the road, mutually agreed upon. Perhaps not the whole truth, but when had the whole truth benefitted anyone?

Grayson shrugged. “Well, that happens. What does that mean for you? You uprooting yourself to go run into burning buildings somewhere else? I’m not going to tell you not to, but your ass needs to be at the tailor here by the end of next month. So if you think moving out to West Potatoville is getting you off the hook for anything wedding-related—”

“I’m not,” he said quickly. “We-we broke up.”

Once again, Grayson did not immediately respond.

Trapp knew this trick. It was one their father employed as well — they let silence stretch, holding back their opinions, allowing the other party to continue rambling to fill the empty gap, closing the conversational noose without needing to fish. Lowell fell for it every time. Trapp could usually spot the deliberate pause and possessed the self-control their younger sibling did not, but his tongue was in the driver’s seat now, still drunk from the previous night and feeling sorry for itself.

“She broke up with me.” He swallowed the words down, disliking their sharp edges, pausing to finish the rest of the water. “Yeah, I mean . . . she’s moving for the job. She signed the contract last month, so I guess she’s been planning this a while . . . but she’s moving to get away. From me! From the whole town, but me in particular.”

Grayson snorted, using the tip of his toe to push himself off the wall, away from the sucking flow of the pool filter. “That’s actually a little impressive. You were such a shit partner that she has to physically flee the state! And here you are, looking and smelling like you were just peeled off the back hallway at the Man-o-War. Did you at least check to make sure your wallet was still intact before you climbed out of whatever hole you spent the night in? Is this why you’re sun blasting your asshole?”

He was wrong. Grayson was reliable after all. Reliably the fucking worst, and could be counted on to never be anything but. He didn’t know why he’d thought Gray, of all people, would have anything to offer that resembled sympathy. Trapp wasn’t sure if sympathy was even what he was looking for, but he certainly wasn’t going to find it here.

His face must have betrayed his irritation, for Grayson continued to hoot in laughter, smelling blood in the water and going in for the kill.

“You managed to get dumped by an elementary school teacher, Trapp. A human, at that! Do you have any idea how hard that is? They’re contractually obligated to see potential in hopeless cases. Julia spent all day convincing thirteen-year-olds that they would all amount to something, pretending that some punk shifter’s essay about Minecraft contained a compelling central theme, and somehow you convinced her you weren’t worth another semester of trying. I’m wrong. That’s hugely impressive.”

Trapp’s head found the back of the chair once more, his eyes closing. The ache behind his eye began to pulse. “We’re just going to pretend that you didn’t dismantle your whole fucking life at the first sign of relationship trouble, right? Cute. That’s convenient.”

Grayson continued to chuckle, halfheartedly paddling his fingertips to turn his float around as he drifted in a slow circle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You mean the five-year-plan job that’s going to get me elected to state attorney general? Or my beautiful fiancée, who’s about to put her name above the door of the firm I started? Which one is the life in shambles signifier?”

He continued to laugh and Trapp ignored him, wondering why he’d been stupid enough to leave his house in the first place. You should have slept. Sleep, eat, shower. Maybe hit the bar again for round three.

He refused to open his eyes when a splash split the water a moment later. The design of the long stretch of sloping property, walled in privacy fencing hidden in the pines, buffeted all surrounding noise, giving the deck a false sense of seclusion. He listened to the sound of his brother swimming laps, churning and methodical, the lull of it almost making him drowsy.

It’s called healthy boundaries, Trapp.