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“As Dr. Jaffri so aptly reiterated,” I grumble, and he smirks.
“You know she only means well. We all want to make sure you’re supported and taken care of. For so long, we had to do it from the sidelines,” he frowns.
Shifting on the bed, I lean back against my pillowed headboard. “From the sidelines?” I echo as confusion knits my brows.
Lev’s lips curl into a sly grin. “You haven’t made it to that part of the journal yet, I see.” He pauses, and I hear his fingers flying over a keyboard. “I think we should all be on the phone for this part,” Lev explains before four more faces join the call.
“Angel,” Owen groans. “You always look more fucking beautiful than the last moment I saw you.”
Rolling his eyes, Lev blurts, “Chill out, Romeo. You can Rico Suave her on your own time. I added you bums to the call for a reason.”
“Hater,” Owen retorts, and I laugh.
“Definitely a hater,” Wyatt adds without looking away. His hazel eyes drink me in. “Isn’t he, Love?”
I’ve missed this.
The reminder of why I’ve had to miss anything glares like a beacon, lighting the path to my frustrations. Do I understand why they made the decision? Absolutely. That doesn’t negate that no one felt I was strong enough or smart enough to navigate our current situation. I’m still sitting in the dark without all of the details, for fuck’s sake. I snort. “Don’t you dare put me in the middle of this.”
“What if in the middle of us is exactly where we want you to be?” Sebastian quips, shocking me.
Five sets of hungry eyes convey just how on board they are with that plan. “Oh, that sounds like a fantastic idea,” Owen gleams.
Clearing my throat, I refocus the conversation. If I stay on much longer, I’m sure I’ll end up where they want me, and they haven’t earned back that right. “You’ll have to entertain each other. A nice circle jerk.” My nipples harden at that image.
Wyatt zeros in on my mouth just as I bite my lip. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you, Love? All of us getting each other off to thoughts of getting you off?”
My entire body’s on fire. My already swollen breasts feel even heavier while the urge to slip my hand between my legs and make them watch rides me. The bitch-ass devil on my shoulder whispers, ‘Do it,’ and I have to turn my head to break the spell.
“Turn it down a few notches, Wy. That’s not why we’re here,” Lev mutters. “Ariah wants to know what I meant when I said we’ve been supporting her from the sidelines.”
“So you haven’t gotten to that part of the journal,” Wes states, and I nod, confirming. “It means that once you returned and we knew you were carrying our baby, we’ve been sending you gifts and ensuring any craving or want you’ve had is met.”
I freeze, my heart stalling in my chest as I remember all the stuffed animals, the fruit baskets, pillows, and baby gifts. “That’s been you guys?” I choke out, not sure I can manage to say anything more.
“We only wish we could’ve done more. Fuck, we should’ve been with you from the very start,” Owen growls.
“Another reason the Senator and Samantha are dead,” Wes spits.
My eyes narrow to slits at the mention of her name. “What exactly does a college student freshly out of high school have to do with any of this?”
“Finish reading,” Lev instructs, and I’m thankful a screen separates us because, of fucking course, I don’t get a straight answer.
Rage suffuses my skin, crawling up my limbs until I’m suffocating in it. “There are always hoops to jump through only to get half-ass answers with everyone in this fucking town. I’m so sick of it,” I seethe, clenching my teeth so hard that the muscle in my jaw causes my left eye to twitch.
I spring from my bed, my chest heaving as I try and fail to regain my composure, but I can feel my blood pressure boiling past its tipping point. “Why can’t anyone give me a goddamn straight answer that’s not riddled with vagueness?” I snap, waiting for someone to answer me, but they all remain silent. Varying looks of sympathy are etched on each of their faces. Hitting my threshold for bullshit for the day, I glare at them and then end the call.
55
WES
The spot where I keep my journal remains vacant, reminding me that it’s with Ariah, and she’s getting an unfiltered glimpse of my soul. Rubbing my forehead, I try to remain positive. After hanging up on us during the video call, she hasn’t spoken to anyone. It’s been radio silence for three days. I need her to understand why remorse isn’t an emotion I feel in this situation.
“Wesley.” I spin my computer chair at the sound of my mother’s voice. A bright, warm smile is on her face as she enters my room.
Guliana Edgewood is dressed impeccably—cranberry pants that taper at her ankles with a cream-colored off-the-shoulder cable knit sweater and matching heels. Thin gold bracelets adorn her wrist, pairing well with her wedding ring and diamond stud earrings.
“Mom, what are you doing here?” I inquire, standing to hug her.
