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“Well,” I say, grabbing a pair of sunglasses and slipping them on. “I guess that settles it.”
I wish I could say what I really wanted to. Wish I could yell at them, at both of them, at the whole damn world, but instead I just turn my attention back to the large gate in front of us and wait.
It’s not long before the gate is opening and we’re moving through. My mom huffs in irritation at me. I’m not surprised when she says, “You couldn’t have just been polite?”
“You couldn’t have told him I’m not Lachlan’s daughter? Because I’m fucking not.” I blink again heavily, fighting back tears even though my voice stays steady.
She sighs, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel of our old ratty jeep. “Look, Sab. I know you’re pissed at me-”
“Understatement of the century.”
She keeps talking like I hadn’t said anything. “And I know you’re upset about this. But I need you to try. Try to make this work, to be okay with this.”
Anger and frustration bubbles in my stomach, but I clench my mouth around the words I want to spew at her. Angry, hateful words.
Instead, I nod my head and look out the window, watching the houses pass by, each one bigger than the last. Until we get to the far side of the gated community, and the green spaces between the houses grow bigger and bigger, until we pull up in front of a giant house built of gray stone with immense columns on either side of the black double door.
The front is tastefully manicured, with box hedges and stone paths and the brightest green grass I’ve ever seen. I briefly wonder if it’s been dyed; it’s almost an unnatural shade of green. That seems like something a rich person would do, right?
My mom pulls to a stop on the circular driveway, and I wince at how out of place our fifteen-year-old jeep is in front of this enormous mansion. I wonder how long it’s going to be before Lachlan makes my mom get rid of it.
I feel her look at me, feel her watching for my reaction, so I keep my face carefully blank. Devoid of any emotion beyond the most vague curiosity. I will not let her see how fucking terrified I am of moving here, of feeling so out of place.
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Look at this place? Better than a two-bedroom apartment, right?”
My jaw clenches around the words I want to say. Around the words threatening to spill out to hurt her. I don’t say anything, instead I just push open my door and climb out of the car, pulling on my cropped black t-shirt with a palmistry diagram on it, and then tugging on the frayed bottom of my high waisted black jean shorts.
I hear mom sigh as she rounds to the back of the car and reaches into the back to pull out our bags. We’d only brought a handful of things, the few items we’d had with us in the camps. But mom has assured me that everything we’d need will be provided.
By Lachlan.
Lovely.
I join her, pulling my black canvas duffle from her fingers and looping it over my shoulder before turning back to the house again, my fingers running over the smooth, round beads of the crystals on my wrists.I am full of positive, loving energy.
My mom takes my hand in hers and tugs me up the wide steps to the front door, unable to fight the smile on her face the closer we get. I’m bracing myself, working through the tangle of emotions in my stomach when the front door opens and there is the man himself, beaming down at us.
Coach Lachlan is handsome, to be sure. Broad shouldered, tapered waist, thighs hugged in ridiculous khaki pants. He has dark brown hair peppered with gray at his temples and warm brown eyes. His jaw is clean shaven and his lips pulled into a full smile, making crow’s feet appear at the corner of his eyes.
He grabs up my mom, making her squeal and laugh as he pulls her into his body, bending his neck to kiss her in a way that is not appropriate in front of me. But neither of them seem to care.
I stare at them impassively, ignoring the stab of pain in my chest. The way he’s holding her is damn similar to how my dad had held my mom on his last day alive, in his last minutes of being healthy.
It’s too much. Too much to stand here and watch them, so I turn my gaze away, looking past them into the cavernous foyer, taking in the marble floors and the curved double stairway that leads upstairs. I can’t see the ceiling, but I’m sure there’s a chandelier up there.
My gaze snags on a pair of brown eyes, the same as Lachlan’s, but cold. So freaking cold. They belong to a boy two years older than me, a replica of his father, but harder. Lachlan is fit, but his son is hard. Everything about him is hard. There is no softness anywhere on his face, in his body, in his eyes. Even his brown hair, that I must assume is slightly curly like his father’s, is slicked back and hard.
He’s also shirtless and wearing only gray sweatpants. I guess that makes sense, seeing as it’s still relatively early, just after 8:30. I let my gaze flick down quickly, just enough to see what he’s wearing, but not really seeing any of the muscles.
Sure, Sab, that’s the truth.
When I return to his gaze, I see he’s doing the same to me, currently lingering on the beat up chucks on my feet. His lip pulls back in a snarl, and I almost take a step back before I force myself into stillness. I’ve already survived the worst thing I possibly could.
Having some douchebag jock judge my clothing choices is the least of my concerns.
Next to me, our parents pull away from each other, and I pointedly keep my gaze away from them, not wanting to see my mom’s lipstick smeared on his face or the way her hair is no doubt mussed from his fingers.
Instead, I stare at Finn. And he stares at me.
