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“It’s Oak.” Disappointment floods me. I hit decline, not ready to deal with my brother.
“I’m worried,” Fiona says. “It’s late, and the storm… If he’s driving in this or—”
“Shh.” I pull her into my arms. “I’m sure he’ll be okay. He probably just needs some time.”
“I never wanted to hurt him,” she murmurs through her tears.
“Come on, why don’t I make you a cup of tea? I’m sure he’ll call or text eventually.”
“Thank you, Liv. You’re a good girl.” She hugs me before walking off down the hall.
I check my phone, unsurprised to find no reply from Reese.
Olivia: Please let us know you’re okay. Your mum is worried. I’m worried. Even if you need space, just… reply, Reese. Please.
I follow Fiona into the kitchen, hoping he might.
But it never comes.
* * *
Something rouses me from a fitful sleep.
Not something.
The blare of my mobile phone.
“Hello?” I mumble, barely awake.
“Little liar. Such a pretty little liar. You ruined everything, Olivia.” Reese slurs down the line and I sit upright, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
“Reese? Where are you? What time is it?”
“I hate you,” he goes on. “I fucking hate how much I want you. You’re like poison, sweet cheeks. You’re in my blood, in my fucking blood, and now I can’t get you out. I can’t…”
“Reese.” I slip out of bed. “Just tell me where you are, and I’ll come and get you.”
“No, you won’t. I’m not good enough, remember. Not good enough for you or the Heirs or my parents. Everyone lies to me. Lies. Lies. Lies.”
“Reese, give me something. Anything…” Panic rises up inside me. It’s late, the middle of the night, and he’s drunk. More than that, he’s hurting. And I want to be mad at him—I am mad at him—but I’m also worried.
“I’m here, Reese. Just let me help you,” I plead, pulling on a hoodie over my shorts and vest top.
A crack of lightning lights up my bedroom, and I hear Reese mutter something under his breath.
“Reese…”
“I should probably go. I’m all out of vodka… and you know what they say. No vodka makes Reesey a dull boy.”
“For God’s sake, Reese. You need to sober up and tell me where the fuck you are.”
“Or what, sweet cheeks? What are you going to do about it? Because we both know you’re not going to drive ninety minutes to Ly— oops.”
Gotcha.
Relief pours into me. He’s still in Lymington. I just needed to pinpoint where. And there’s only one person who can help me.
“Stay where you are,” I snap down the line at him.
