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Chapter 15
Izzie
I open my eyes, stretch, and toss my head from side to side. And then I blink furiously in a wave of sudden confusion.
Where the hell am I?
Certainly not my place, not with a bedroom this size or a bed this totally comfortable. Or a ceiling without cracks in the paint.
Then, it occurs to me.
Oh.
I think about last night and how tangled up I was about Brady and Liam and what would happen if Brady found out that Liam is his.
But now, in the morning light—and, to be honest, feeling so totally relaxed—it doesn’t seem like quite so big a deal.
I just have to stay on my toes and not get suckered into thinking that Brady is actually a great guy underneath the jock exterior.
What was last night’s mantra? Right.Brady’s the dick who killed your sister.
In the light of day, it almost seems kind of over the top. Definitely feeling my drama queen tendencies there. Still, I need to remember Lucy and my promise to her.
I shake my head to let those thoughts go, then stretch luxuriously, glancing at my phone beside me.
Holy shit. Eight o’clock?No. No no no no, it can’t be.
I practically leap out of bed. Liam needs to be woken up, fed, and ready to leave for school in half an hour. Frantically, I throw on a pair of leggings under my nightshirt, then wrench open the door and dash down the hallway to Liam’s room.
“Liam, hurry up, I overslept…” I say as I go into his room, already in action mode and thinking about what he needs to wear to school today.
My voice trails off.
No Liam. Just a rumpled bed.
A spike of panic stabs me.
Where is he? Did he wander off? He doesn’t know where he is, really…
I almost trip down the wide staircase as I leap over steps to get to the bottom. Where is he?
I try to think where he might go. He’s probably hungry. Where’s the goddam kitchen again?
“Liam!” I call, nearly skidding on the polished marble floor of the foyer, cool under my bare feet. “Liam?”
“Eww, what’s that gross green stuff?” I hear Liam say.
“Kale,” I hear Brady reply. “It’s good for you, man. Can’t do much if you don’t feed your body right.”
“I’d rather have pizza,” Liam says pointedly as I round the corner into the kitchen. “Some pizza has green stuff on it. Peppers and junk. So it must be good for me, too, right?”
Liam is sitting at one of the tall stools pulled up to the kitchen island. In front of him is a plate of scrambled eggs, half-eaten, and—wow—what looks like…whole grain toast? And orange juice, too.
Amazingly, Liam the picky eater seems to be liking the stuff, even if it isn’t pizza. Which I hope he isn’t giving the impression that that’s what he usually eats for breakfast…
Brady is standing on the other side of the island with a blender that looks like it could power a small country. Oddly, he looks kind of sweaty and overheated, as if he’s already had a workout.
He expertly feeds kale and then a handful of blueberries into it, then pushes the button. He looks up and sees me, smiling and saying something that’s drowned out by the roar of the blender.
