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“I just have to do some stuff for her.” He started to open the refrigerator door, and she slammed it shut before he could peer inside.
“I’m serious. There are only a few weeks left of school this year—the least you could do is finish your assignments, turn them in, and stay in class.”
His eyes darkened and she thought he was going to say something to her. Instead his jaw tightened and he glared. “I will.”
“Wait a second,” she said. “Is there something else going on?”
He looked away as Harper cast her brother a glance of . . . sympathy? Conspiracy? Warning?
“You know something about this?” she asked, turning her attention to her daughter. “Harper?”
“No.” She replied quickly. Too quickly.
“Then why do I have the feeling you’re holding out on me? That you’re both holding out on me?”
She waited.
No one said a word.
The refrigerator hummed.
Outside in the yard, Reno gave a sharp bark.
Another knowing look passed between brother and sister.
“What?” Rachel said, glaring at her children, a new fear knotting her stomach. “What?”
“Mom, it’s not a big deal,” Harper finally said. “Kids cut class all the time.”
“Not my kids.”
“Oh, right. Because you never did anything wrong in high school. I forgot you were an angel. Just perfect.”
Rachel blinked. Saw the insolence in Harper’s eyes. She didn’t say it, but it was there between them. You were accused of murder, weren’t you? You were caught sneaking out and your brother died because you shot him. And now you’re all freaked out because Dylan cut one stupid class. She heard the accusation, the rationale as clearly as if Harper had spat the words out.
“This is not about me. So let’s get back to the point. What’s going on?”
A disgusted look tightened Harper’s features as she held her mother’s stare. But her throat worked and she broke first, her gaze moving to Dylan. “Are you going to tell her?”
“Tell me what?” Rachel demanded.
Dylan shot his sister a thanks-for-nothing look.
“Tell me what?” Rachel repeated.
“Thanks,” he threw out at Harper, then blew out a huge sigh. “Okay. Fine. I—I . . . some older kids are hassling me.”
“What do you mean ‘hassling’? You mean like bullying?”
“No! No! It’s not like that.” Another angry glare sent to Harper. “I made a mistake, okay? I, um, I gambled with them and lost. They want their money.”
“They?” she repeated. “As in more than one?”
He licked his lips. “One.”
“Who?” she demanded.
“Oh, man. I don’t want to say.”
