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I take a step forward to get a better look at them. The three brothers sit on their respective lounge chairs, blowing smoke rings into the sky. While Declan and Rowan have drinks on a side table, Cal only clutches a cigar in his hand.
“Don’t tell me you’re backing out of your part of the will.” Agitation bleeds through Declan’s voice.
The food I ate for dinner sits like a lead block in my stomach and threatens to crawl up my throat.
Cal spares him a look. “I’m not backing out. I’m just… amending it.”
“Fuck.” Rowan sighs up to the sky.
“Amendingwhat?”Declan’s jaw clenches so hard, I can make out the slight tic from here.
“I fly out to Arizona on Friday.”
“For what?”
“Rehab.”
My chest tightens. I’m proud of him for being open and honest about his struggles. It will only help him in the long run if he feels like he can count on those around him to support the process.
“Rehab? Right now? What happened to the plan?” Declan snaps.
What plan?
The one he obviously never told you about.The hairs on my arms rise, pointing straight up.
Alana, eres una tonta.
Rowan curses under his breath.
“I already spoke to Leo. So long as I sell the house by the end of the summer and commit to getting sober, then it won’t affect earning my part of the inheritance.”
My lungs feel like they might explode from how hard I suck in a breath. The corkscrew falls from my fingers, landing on the wood floor with a soft thud.
Piecing the puzzle together isn’t hard. In fact, it’s so simple, my eyes water from how stupid I was to not put everything together sooner.
Cal’s willingness to come back to Lake Wisteria when he could have left the house alone with me in it.
His insistence on selling the house despite my personal feelings, playing on my dreams and love for Cami to get his way.
The way he made me believe he wanted to go to rehab when, in reality, he was only getting sober for a stupid freaking inheritance.
Oh, Alana. When will you ever learn?
I might not have every single detail, but I have enough to understand just how easily I was taken advantage of. How desperate I was to believe he wanted to get help after he spent six years doing just fine without me and sobriety. How stupid I must have looked, willing to put the house on the market sooner solely because I wanted him to get help.
Just another person who lied in order to get something out of me.
A single tear slips out of my eye, but I’m quick to swipe away the evidence.
You will not cry over him.
My gut churns, and I cling to the sink, willing myself to keep my dinner down. Acid crawls up my throat regardless, and I breathe through my nose to stop myself from getting sick.
Declan breaks the silence. “What happened to the original plan?”
“It changed.”
“Then change it back. There’s too much at stake here for you to be betting twenty-five billion dollars and your shares of the company on your sobriety.” Declan’s voice comes out flat, as if the topic of getting sober is a chore rather than an accomplishment.
