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CHAPTER3
SYDNEY
The locket burneda hole in my pocket. Guilt plagued my insides at stealing it, but the need to find out if Brandy was indeed cheating outweighed that guilt.
My thoughts on the locket were a theory, not fact. Still, there was an unease in my gut, and my gut had never been wrong before.
As I drove home to Algonquin, my stomach churned, and I couldn’t shake this anxiety rolling off of me. Taking a deep breath, I tried to curb the anxious feeling threatening to take over because there was nothing I could do now. I couldn’t exactly bring it up to Alec without solid proof.
I pulled into the garage, noting Brooke’s car in the driveway. My insides lightened a tad because that meant Lyria washome. Finally.Although she’d moved to New York, I would never call that her home because she belonged here, with us.
We had grown up in a modest four-bedroom, two-story home. Six girls and one boy between three rooms was a tough one, but what was worse was six girls sharing two bathrooms.
Yes.
It’d never felt crowded, except the bathroom situation, especially during high school. Yeah, we’d fought, hard and loud through the years, but we loved equally hard and loud.
Now, Ryanne and Brooke had their own place in the city. Serena had a condo by the agency. Which left me and the twins—Alec and Addison—still living in our childhood home.
As soon as I stepped into the house, I heard the distinct laughter of my sister.
Lyria!
I didn’t waste any time before I rushed toward the joyous sound. She was sitting at our small kitchen table. I reached for her hand and pulled her up to hug her.
Her laughter echoed through the room. “All right, I get it, Sydney. You missed me.”
“I did.” I buried my head into her shoulder, taking in her Bath & Body Works apple lotion that she was addicted to, even in high school. My arms wrapped tighter around her shoulders.
We’d always been close, being the closest in age. She and I were only ten months apart, which meant for a couple months every year, we were the same age. Irish twins was what Mom used to call us. The endearment could still bring tears to my eyes sometimes.
When Lyria had moved to New York a few years ago, just because she couldn’t be here anymore, it’d killed me. I’d felt as though I had to hold down the fort by myself, which, essentially, I did.
“Move back home,” I pleaded, laying the guilt trip on thick.
A watery laugh escaped her. “I wish.”
After I pulled back, my eyes took in the sight of her. “You cut your hair?”
Lyria had always sported obsessively long hair, right above her hip bone. Her hair grew like a weed, like she drank Miracle-Gro or something.
“I did.” Her fingertips brushed the ends, where it stopped at her shoulders. “I needed a change.”
I smiled, though it was a little sad. She was always looking for a change, ever since Mom had died, since she’d left a few years back. As though she wanted to change who she was altogether. I didn’t know why she needed a change since she was perfect just the way she was.
Brooke tapped at the table twice and stood. “I think Sydney’s right. What do you have in New York that you don’t have here? I mean, besides the good food, fabulous fashion and hot men on Wallstreet.” She grinned as she flipped her blonde locks and adjusted her Louis Vuitton purse higher on her shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow. And, Lyria …” She tugged at the ends of Lyria’s shorter hair and said affectionately, “You belong here. With us.”
As Brooke saw herself out, I was already at the fridge, getting ready for our normal routine of making dinner. “Did you eat?”
“I did.”
“Oh.” I held up some wrapped steaks. “So, no?”
Lyria gave me a sly grin. “I never said I wouldn’t eat again. If you happened to cook some steaks … let’s say, medium rare … I wouldn’t exactly deny food.”
I laughed. “When have you ever denied food?”
She slapped her nonexistent hips. “Never.”
