Page 55 of Overkill

“Miriam!” Melody chided once more.

“We’re half white, and you know what—”

“They’re not your fucking friends!” Miriam interrupted her brother. “You’re their dog. Their lackey. When they run out of people to step on, they’ll step on you. You’re just too stupid to know it, and just naive enough to think they actually like you.”

“Miriam!” Melody wasn’t chiding her sister now. She was just shocked.

“What would you know about friends?” For whatever reason, Marc turned to me. “She doesn’t even have any friends.”

“So? I’d rather have no friends than be surrounded by spineless, misogynistic incel pricks like Jon-Williams and Roy.” She looked at him with so much disdain that I had to work very hard to avoid laughing. “With friends like them, who needs enemies?”

“Got any beers?” I asked Melody. “I feel like the adults at this table should have a beer.”

Melody’s mouth hung open, and she looked between her siblings, like she was waffling on what to say, who to chastise, and what to do.

That told me that this outburst—this adorable family feud—was not the norm. A dam had burst, and now their home was flooding.

“I wish I did,” she said. “Or something stronger.”

“You’re just pissed because no one’s gonna ask you to prom, and no one’s ever gonna hang out with you. You’re just a loser who reads in the library for lunch instead of actually talking to people—”

“People are overrated.” Miriam gave him a contemptuous up-down. “Look at you.”

“This is why no one likes you, and you’re gonna die a loser virgin!”

“Who are you, Elan Cavanagh?” Miriam dropped the presidential hopeful’s name so casually, I knew deep in my soul that she knew exactly what she meant. Kid was informed. Then she affected a fake, slurring New Jersey drawl. “Ah, that guy’s a loser, he’s the biggest loser ever! My friends all say he’s such a big loser.”

“Jesus, Mir!” Melody looked shocked and impressed.

So was I.

“Have some respect. He’s gonna be our president, and he’ll do a lot better than Davis Lau ever did!”

I sure hoped not. Elan Cavanagh was an asshole who regularly harassed female reporters, and he had several outstanding sexual assault cases still in court. In fact, I was pretty sure one of them had already come back with a guilty verdict. He was every creep I’d ever met, embodied into one old-as-fuck, fake-tanned asshat with a prick-hole mouth.

“Yeah? Name a single policy.” Miriam had him cornered, and everyone at the table knew it.

She waited. I waited. Marcus fumed.

I wasn’t fool enough to get in the middle of the two younger Grays sniping at each other.

Then the doorbell rang, and my phone dinged to indicate a delivery.

“Oh, thank God. Food’s here.” Melody got up from the table with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Chapter 18

Tea

Melody

Greg got up and walked with me to the front door. Thank God for that, too.

“I swear they’re not usually like this.” I didn’t want him to think I was a negligent parent…sister…whatever. “Things in my house aren’t usually this chaotic, but…and they’re not bad kids. It’s just…”

“They’re spirited and finding their way.” He reached around me for the door, his chest grazing my back. “That Miriam’s real smart. And she’s got a spine to boot. I like it.”

I felt his warmth along with the familiarity of this gesture. Like we’d done it a million times. Like he lived here.