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Chapter Twenty Four
Asher
Iput my phone away and glance at Bray who nods. Cyrus just rolls his head but doesn’t get angry. Our father got home less than an hour ago, and we heard him and Meredith arguing. A moment after, he came and asked for a family meal. Including Blair. We all know what that means.
A fight.
Meredith wants to show us who’s boss. She’s not the first woman to do this. It’s a fucking pattern at this point. He even knew, we could see it in his eyes, as he respectfully asked us. We only agreed for the entertainment, and I volunteered to tell Blair.
After last night with her mum, I have questions, and what better way to get answers than with all of us in a room? It’s going to be explosive, that’s for sure. I caught Bray sneaking out of her room this morning, but he wouldn’t tell me anything, which isn’t like him.
It seems she’s got us all in a spin, not that I can blame them. She has this magnetism that makes you want to be with her at all times. It’s more than skin deep beauty, it’s her heart. It’s so pure, so strong. She makes me smile and laugh, and better yet, she can handle my brothers. But it was the pain in her eyes last night that has me captivated. It’s the same pain that runs through me, indicative of a parent who’s hurt them and let them down.
My fingers twitch, so I grab a pencil from behind my ear and some paper and start to sketch. I need to get the image down before I forget—the slope of her lips, the tears shimmering in her eyes, her pale face, and her clenched fists. I want to capture the battle waging within her between strength and weakness. She’s such a beautiful masterpiece, and I ache to go back to that moment where she met my eyes.
I hate her mother for putting that pain there, but in pain there is such splendour, and that’s what I draw now so she can see the strength I saw in her last night as she walked away. It’s not the first drawing or even the tenth. I’ve drawn her every day since I first saw her. I’ve been unable to paint or sketch anything else, everything turns into her. I’ve lost most of them though. I think Bray and Cyrus have been secretly stealing them, but that’s okay, since it gives me an excuse to draw more. Like now, while we wait for her.
Once the sketch is done, the compulsion leaves me, and I almost sag in relief. Flipping it, I lean closer and scribble some words for her before slipping into her room and putting it under her pillow—it’s where I keep a picture of my real mom. She should have something that she can draw strength and memories from when she feels alone. It seems important.
We all wait for her. Cyrus paces, and Bray pretends to scroll through his phone while we all watch and anticipate her arrival. We hear a car outside ten minutes later, and with a shared look, we rush downstairs. We just reach the bottom when she opens the door. She looks tired, her eyes puffy and red. Has she been crying?
She freezes when she sees us and stands up straighter, painting on a fake smile. “What’s up? Missed me so much already?”
“Ah, Blair, there you are,” Meredith calls from the dining room. “Please join us, won’t you? We are having a family meal.”
I smile at Blair warmly, even as Bray rolls his eyes and strolls over. “Save yourself,” he jokes and heads to the dining room. Her eyebrow rises as she steps into the dining room, seeing the table all set up. My dad sits at the farthest end, looking uncomfortable, while Meredith reclines in her chair with, yup, a glass of wine.
“Family meal?” Blair echoes, her hip cocking out enticingly. “Since when have we been a family?”
Meredith’s eyes narrow in anger before she puts on a fake laugh. “Don’t be silly, come and sit.”
Blair shares a look with me as I head around the dark wood table and pull out a chair for her on the opposite side of Meredith. She smiles and strolls over, sitting as I push her in. I sit to her right, and Bray is on her left, as if we are boxing her in to protect her. Cyrus takes a seat at the other end, narrowing his eyes on Dad and Meredith in warning. The crystal chandelier hangs above us, gently swinging with the breeze from the open window, the tinkling of the diamonds the only sound in the room. It’s quiet, awkwardly so, and Meredith scans us before her gaze lands on Blair.
“And where have you been this morning, daughter? And looking so… scruffy,” she hedges. Dad winces and looks at Blair with a small, sad smile, but he says nothing, as usual. It used to hurt me before Cyrus pointed out that Dad is weak. He’s willing to do anything to make anyone happy, even at the expense of others’ feelings and his own. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t love us, just that he isn’t the same as us. He doesn’t have the same steel that runs through all three of us.
Blair flinches, though, before licking her lips and aiming a fake smile at her mum. “On the street corner where I belong,” she deadpans.
Meredith smashes her glass to the table before looking to my dad who seems confused. “Always so funny, Blair,” she snaps, her tone venomous.
Blair grabs a glass of wine and toasts her mum. Then, with her eyes on Meredith, she downs it and gasps before wiping her mouth, making Bray laugh.
“So, Blair, how are you finding living here?” my dad asks politely.
“Oh, it’s wonderful, thank you for asking. Your sons have been so… welcoming,” she offers excessively sweetly, but my dad is clueless and smiles in happiness.
“Oh, how lovely,” Meredith chirps. “I knew you would get along with the three boys so well.” She insinuates more with the last part, and Blair’s hand grips the wine glass harder, even as she breathes slowly through her fury.
I frown at Meredith as Cyrus leans closer, his eyes narrowed, reminding her of our threats last night.
“So what do you three do? I know you’re in university, only being twenty-one…”
“They own quite a few businesses, started young,” Dad shares proudly. “They’ve always worked hard. Isn’t that right, boys? They even bought this place off of me for when I grow old.”
“That’s right,” I agree kindly with a smile at Dad.
“I see,” Meredith grumbles. “So, they have your business?”
Dad frowns at her, unsure what she’s asking even though everyone else knows. “No, they have their own.”
