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“It also means accommodations will need to be made for Ariah and Shay to move into your house on campus.” I groan, instinctively knowing I won’t like whatever Mr. Bradford is about to share.
“Not these jerk-offs,” a voice that grates on every last nerve I have mutters.
Whirling around, I meet Reign’s, Fernando’s, and Elias’s glares with one of my own before I spin back. “Absolutely the fuck not,” I growl.
“This isn’t up for debate,” Aaron declares, looking over my head. “With any of you. My daughter comes first. The rest of you can get fucked if you think I care about your personal feelings above her safety.”
I clench my fists at my side, knowing he’s right. That doesn’t change the fact that I want to clothesline all three of these idiots for the shit they’ve been pulling. Ariah’s ours—she’s my forever. Fuck them for implying otherwise. “Fine,” I finally grumble.
Ariah’s father stands, placing both palms on the table and leaning forward. Arching his brow in a way that reminds me far too much of his daughter, he snaps, “I wasn’t asking for your approval, Wesley. Now, all of you get the hell out.”
56
ARIAH
Iclutch my heart as I reread Wes’s journal entry for the fifth time. I haven’t been able to move past this page in days. I’m too terrified to read the horrors Owen faced and the devastation he must’ve felt when I wasn’t there when he woke up.
How do I face that?
How can I face them?
With each entry, my anger toward them wanes, but my frustration explodes. Annoyance with them, with myself, and with the whole fucking situation.
Sighing, I close the journal. I know I need to keep reading, not just to find answers but because I see Wes letting his guard down with each passage he pens. His willingness to be vulnerable helps me understand the parts of him he keeps hidden.
I know Wes isn’t one-dimensional. He’s a rich, broody asshole walking around with a chip on his shoulder because he has something to prove.
“Ry.” Jamie’s voice pulls me from the endless swirl of thoughts swimming around my head.
Looking up, I see her standing in my doorway. “Hey, Jams, what’s up?”
She shrugs. “I wanted to come hang with you.”
I smile, patting the empty side of my bed. “Hop in.”
Her face lights before she runs, diving head first onto my mattress. “Cannonball,” Jamie giggles as she bounces. It’s a sound I’ll never tire of hearing. Any chance my twelve-year-old sister gets to be a tweenager, I bask in it.
“How’s school?” I ask as she sits up and leans her back against my headboard.
I watch the joy melt from her face, a scowl now in its place, before she turns away from me. My hackles rise, and I’m already planning ways to make whoever is causing her face to twist in anger pay. “Jams?”
She still isn’t looking at me when she confesses, “Not as great as it used to be.” I wait, not wanting to push her. “There’s this boy at school who’s been trying to bully me.”
Yup, I’m going to go to jail for knocking out some snot-nosed sixth grader.
“Who is it?” I press, trying to remain calm.
Turning, Jamie’s lips thin. “Killian Porter,” she hisses.
Porter. Why does that last name sound so familiar?
Clenching and unclenching her fists, she huffs, “He says his brother went to high school with you.”
“Brian Porter?” I question. He’s the only Porter I know, but I can’t understand why his shit stain of a younger brother is harassing my sister. “Okay,” I prompt, hoping for more details. I remember Brian from high school, but as far as I can remember, we’ve never had any significant interactions.
“Killian said his older brother’s missing, and it’s because of you. That ever since we moved here, you’ve caused nothing but trouble, and now his brother is probably dead because he crossed the founding families, so their family is ruined,” Jamie explains, answering my unspoken question.
What the fuck?
