Page 35 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

Des huffs. “You’ll be questioning your world in a meaningful way when these kids are gone,” he grumbles quietly to me.

I smile wider and give Olivia a thumbs-up. Keep up the good work annoying my brother.

Instead of smiling back at me, she gives my face an unnerving perusal. “Did you know beards carry more bacteria than dog fur and a used toilet seat?”

My grin slips. Des snickers.

Maybe she’s not so great.

“Also.” She shares a worryingly amused glance with Des. “American Apparel called. They want their hipster clothes back.”

My fume starts from my toes, curling a path up my spine as I growl at Des. “What the fudge?” I say, forcing the non-swear.

He punches my shoulder, way too pleased with himself. “Don’t look at me. Look in the mirror.”

The two of them walk off and high-five each other.

Note to self: next time this group needs a second adult, put Aanya on the job.

The group gathers at the picnic tables outside our work-in-progress cabin. Everyone is abuzz, talking about leaves and nature as they wait eagerly to hear who won the bracelet. I’m always amazed at how keen the kids in this area are. Windfall and neighboring Ruby Grove seem to draw like-minded people, many of them active, their love of outdoor activities bleeding down to their kids. I struggled building my business during WITSEC, barely tapping into Houston’s outdoor-activity market. Here, thanks in large part to Des, everything’s been easier.

The parents show up in their car caravan, and I do my thing with them, chatting and buttering them up, waving off the kids as they carpool home. Except Olivia, who gets a hard stare from me. Des and I do a quick cleanup afterward, then step back like we usually do when we’re here alone.

“Cal and Jake agreed to work on the ropes course with Ricky,” Des says, surveying the forested section of our property.

“I heard. We’ll need to hire more group leaders when it’s done.”

He nods. “Means we’re growing. It’s a good thing.”

An investment paying off. A web of trails fans out from the property we purchased. The small section of forest we actually own will soon be our high ropes course. The fire pit and surrounding logs will be used for Desmond’s planned evening adventure walks. He’s got creepy ghost stories on the agenda, along with s’mores galore. I plan to hide and jump out of nowhere to scare the bejesus out of him.

All in all, as I take in what we’re doing here, I feel a rush of pride. And a bit of anger.

See this? I want to tell my father when I face him. See what I’ve done with my life, no thanks to you?

“You reply to Dad yet?”

I startle, wondering if Des can read my mind, but this is the first alone time we’ve had since our family meeting. He was bound to ask about our sperm donor eventually.

I shove my hands in my pockets and kick my hiking boot over the grass. “I agreed to meet him. Time and day to be determined.”

I brace, waiting for Des to launch a series of snarled reasons why meeting Dad is a horrible idea.

His silence is surprising, as is his pensive expression. “You do what you need to do. I know I went off at my place, but your relationship with him was different from the rest of us. But if he says one thing about me, one fucking word of apology if he knows about Max and what I missed with my son, I will fucking murder him. And he doesn’t get to meet his grandson. Ever. If that’s why he’s reaching out, the answer is fuck no.”

I hadn’t thought about Max being the reason Dad wanted to meet, but it makes sense. If he got my number, he might have been keeping tabs on us without our knowing. Maybe he thinks I’m his in. His gateway back to his family. Maybe he’s getting older, nursing regrets, and he learned about Max and wants to make amends.

Not on my watch. “He’ll get nothing from me where you or anyone else is concerned. I’m going for myself, and that’s it. He doesn’t deserve Max.”

Des drops his head and rubs the corner of his eye, because he’s actually tearing up. My rock-hard brother, who grunted and growled his way through WITSEC, is still a mess over what he lost. I mean, he’s head over heels in love with Sadie and living his best life with his son, but those lost years still clobber him.

The next time I have a happy memory of Raymond S. Bower, I need to lobotomize myself.

“I’ve revised our numbers,” Des says, back to staring at our property. “The ropes course will cost more than we first thought. Sadie has savings she’d like to use to help on my end. If you need a loan, she’s open to chatting with you about it.”

This morning’s financial numbers do a dizzying tango through my head.

Des crosses his arms, assessing me. “You okay financially?”