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Been there, done that, have the pictures to prove it.
Glyn’s smile however is the saddest. She doesn’t want to smile, looking a bit uncomfortable in her formal little dark blue dress that matches her mother’s pantsuit.
She’s putting on a show but in a completely different way than her brother. They’re both pretending to be happy, but she’s the only one who’s feeling bad about it.
“Met them only once and I can tell this is the fake lotus.” Nikolai taps Brandon’s face. “On closer inspection, he’s hot. Not sure if I’d fuck him or his sister. Maybe both at the same time if they’re not weirded out about seeing each other naked.”
I pull my phone from his hand and stalk to the stairs without a word. Then fetch my Zippo and throw it in a flash. It hits Nikolai on the side of his head—the injured side.
Good. I see my quarterback skills aren’t completely gone.
Nikolai slams a hand on his temple and howls, “What the fuck was that for, you motherfucking fuck?”
Jeremy tips his head against the sofa and laughs, the sound following after me as I reach the top of the stairs.
My steps are nonchalant, normal, but my body’s temperature is not. Maybe I should beat Nikolai to the point that Aunt Rai won’t recognize him next time she sees him.
Gareth’s door opens and he steps out holding the phone to his face, a smile on his lips. “There he is.”
He comes to stand beside me, placing the phone in our direct view. Mom and Dad are on the other end, looking to be in the garden.
It’s around dusk there, and the sun makes its descent behind them, giving them a picturesque background.
Reina Ellis is a beautiful blonde—the type you find on the cover of magazines and wonder how the hell does she look to be in her thirties when she’s in her late forties. She has a natural shine in her blue eyes, one that neither Gareth nor I inherited.
My father, however, has a harder look, and it probably has to do with his line of work and the big-fish-eats-little-fish mentality. Let’s say time has treated Asher Carson well, too. He has sharp features that both my brother and I got in our genes, and he passed out his green eyes to Gareth. In a way, my brother is a copy of him, both in looks and personality.
I’m the bleaker version of both of them.
The black sheep of the family.
An automatic smile pulls on my lips. “Hi, Mom. Looking great, as usual.”
“Don’t give me that, you ungrateful son. You haven’t called me in two days.”
“I’ve been busy with studies. You know how brutal med school is. Besides”—I hold my brother by the shoulder—“I’m sure Gareth tells you all about me.”
His smile remains in place and he doesn’t even stiffen. We have an unspoken rule that we’re the perfect siblings in front of our parents.
I break that rule if I feel like it, but Gareth never does.
He cares.
“I’m sure you’re busy, but check in occasionally.” She sighs. “I miss your faces all the time. Will you come visit, Kill? I haven’t seen you since the summer.”
“I’ll see how things go with school.”
“Make time and visit over the next holiday,” Dad tells me—no, he informs me.
I counter the hostile energy with an even bigger smile. “Hi, Dad. Do you miss me, too?”
I expect him to fall for the provocation, but he smiles while stroking Mom’s shoulder. “Of course, I miss you, son. Your mom and I would love to have you over with your brother next time.”
“I’ll make sure he comes along,” Gareth says like the golden fucking boy he is.
“Wait a second.” Mom gets close to the camera, staring at me. “Oh my God! Is that a cut on your lip? Killian Patrick Carson, did you get into a fight?”
Mom’s habit of using my middle name when she’s upset is a translation of her giver-of-life-and-name status.
