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“Are you sure?”
I started to tell her yes, but the truth popped out instead. “I’ve never seen him like this.”
“I don’t understand what happened,” she said, sitting on the front porch swing, already shivering as the night descended. “What money is he talking about?”
“Connor’s grandparents left him and Jefferson a twelve million dollar trust. Six for each. Their will stated the money was payable upon evidence of their maturity and responsibility. Connor always assumed that meant graduating from college, but apparently his parents have other ideas.”
“Why doesn’t Connor just break free?” Autumn asked. “Take out a loan on his own so he doesn’t have to be under their thumb?”
“Six million is a lot of money to walk away from,” I said, sitting on the other side of the bench. “But more than that, he wants to be treated with the same respect as his brother. Hell, he just wants to be loved because he’s their kid.”
“I had no idea it was this bad.” Autumn pulled out her phone and texted Connor. We waited a few minutes then she shook her head. “No answer.”
Where are you? I sent from my phone.
Nothing.
Where are you, man?
For the first time ever, I didn’t know what he was thinking or where his head was at. And it scared me more than I could admit.
The next morning there was still no sign of Connor. The Drakes, Ma, and Paul were gathered around the immense spread of breakfast food that could have served twenty. Jefferson and Cassandra were out for a walk, unconcerned by this family drama.
Autumn’s hair was a mess and her eyes ringed by shadows. Mrs. Drake didn’t look much better.
“He’s a grown man, Victoria,” Mr. Drake said over his coffee cup. “He’s probably staying with one of his friends. Right, Wes?”
For Mrs. Drake’s sake, I nodded. “That’s my guess.”
“He’ll be fine,” Ma said, her plate piled high with cinnamon buns, eggs, and bacon. “God knows, if I sent out a search party every time this one”—she pointed her fork at me—“got a wild hair up his ass, I probably woulda wound up married to the police chief.”
She laughed. No one else did.
The front door opened and slammed shut. Footsteps stomped through the hall and Connor strode into the kitchen, unshaven and still wearing yesterday’s clothes. He slammed a paper palm down onto the table.
“There, Dad,” he said. “You want responsible. Here’s responsible.”
No one moved as Connor went to the fridge for some orange juice. Autumn tried to meet his eye, and failed.
Mr. Drake reached across the table to snatch up the paper, scanned it, and then his hands dropped. “You joined the Army Reserves?”
I sucked in a breath as if I’d been punched in the gut.
Holy fucking shit, Connor…
Mrs. Drake’s hand flew to her throat. “You’re serious? The Army?”
“The Reserves?” Ma crowed. “Terrific. I was just telling Wes—”
Paul put a gentle hand on her arm and she fell silent.
“Is there something wrong with that?” Connor asked.
His mother stared, all of her poise and public persona falling away and leaving a scared mother in its wake. “The war in Afghanistan… And now Syria… Haven’t you been paying attention to the news? It’s all getting worse.”
“Then I’ll serve,” Connor said, his face hard, mouth set in a grim determination I’d never seen before. He drained his glass and set it down, then surveyed the awestruck faces around him. “What? Serving my country isn’t good enough?”
The senator started to speak, but Mr. Drake cut her off.
