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I can’t tell if he’s still half-asleep or if he’s making a joke.
“Based on the smell in here, I’m confident you’re not going to have any unwanted or wanted midnight visitors.” I pick up the stack of dishes and the mostly empty pop can, give the nightstand a quick wipe with a few tissues to soak up most of the mess, and follow him back to the kitchen. The charred crutch has been replaced, but the new one is old and looks like it needs to be adjusted. I’d ask where he got it from, but I worry that in his current mood, all it will do is start a fight.
Billy pushes his food around his plate while Dad talks about the Bowman garage and pool house and all the amazing things that will be coming out of their place that he thinks we can probably make use of. All Billy does is grunt occasionally, and he leaves his plate half-full, says no thanks to dessert, and locks himself back in his room once dinner is over. So much for me helping him tidy his mess. I’d been hoping for an opportunity to snoop, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to be all that easy. Not when the only time he surfaces these days is for meals and trips to the bathroom.
CHAPTER 19
SIBLING RIVALRY
Van
My phone buzzes from the nightstand. I don’t want to answer the call, seeing as Dillion is tucked into my side. She passed out right after the orgasms. We did expend a hell of a lot of energy, and she’s been working long hours, so I get it, but sometimes she gets chatty after sex, and I learn new things about her, like her favorite food is popcorn and she has every single seasoning flavor under the sun, but the maple bacon is the one she can’t get enough of.
Or she’ll tell me stories about growing up in Pearl Lake and how the high school is an hour-long bus ride away, and in the winter they stayed home almost once a week because of all the snow. They would spend those days tobogganing. I wonder if I’ll still be around by the time winter hits, or if I’ll have found a new job in Chicago. The idea of not being here, with Dillion, hits me for the first time. I can’t say I like it much.
I pick the phone up with the intention of sending the call to voice mail, since it’s already after ten, but it’s Frankie, so I hit the green button and bring the phone to my ear, answering with, “Hold on a sec.”
I throw off the covers and grab my boxers from the floor, pulling them up my legs as I make my way across the room. I close the bedroom door behind me and pad quietly down the hall to the living room.
“Hey, you there?” I ask, my voice still low and hoarse.
“Yeah, man, why are you whispering?”
I clear my throat. “I’m not.”
“Did I wake you up?” Frankie sounds surprised, which would make sense. When I lived in the city, I was never in bed before midnight. And even that was on the early side for me.
“Not really. Anyway, what’s up? Chip break it off with Monica?”
“We should be so lucky. Although I will say, she’s been around a lot less. He wasn’t impressed with her behavior when we came to visit you. Girl is more high maintenance than a Kardashian.” It’s good to hear Frankie take my side on this, and by association Dillion’s, even if he doesn’t actually know her.
“You think he’s starting to see the light?” I can only hope he cuts her loose before she persuades him to put a ring on her finger. If that happens, we might have to stage some kind of intervention. I take a seat on the couch, facing the fireplace. The porch light is on, illuminating the area around it, but beyond is a black abyss. That’s probably the hardest thing to get used to out here: the only sounds are crickets and the rustle of critters skittering across the forest floor. Combined with the lack of light pollution from high-rises, it’s impossible to see more than a few feet in front of you if it’s cloudy and there’s no moon or stars.
“Keep your fingers crossed, my friend.”
“Will do. I’m guessing you didn’t call to talk about Monica.”
“You would guess correctly. I don’t know if you’ve been keeping tabs on what’s going on with your family over the past couple of weeks or not . . .” I can sense his unease, and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
I’ve been wrapped up in emptying out the garage, cold-calling companies about job opportunities—which hasn’t proven fruitful so far—and Dillion. “I’ve talked to my sister and my dad, and I’ve messaged my brother, but you know what he’s like. Those conversations are about three lines long. Unless something has changed in the last forty-eight hours, all arrows are still pointing at me.”
