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Callum: River's mom is in the hospital. Something happened last night.
Rad: She's super sick, man, and River…she's…
Callum: She's not okay. I can't get her to…move or speak. She's just….
Rad: Catatonic.
I take a few breaths, swallowing down the panic rising inside me. Despite the win we just achieved, nothing but desperation claws through me, threatening to pull me under the waves of anxiety. If River's mom is sick, how the hell am I going to convince them to go to California with me? They'll insist on staying behind and caring for her even more than they already do. Fuck. Listen, I'm not a cold-hearted bastard, but we've had our sights set on this goal for years now. I can’t idly sit back and let our plans derail off the tracks. If there’s one person who can keep these fuckers’ eyes on the prize, it’s me.
Whatever it takes.
Asher: Fuck, man. Tell Little Brat I'm sorry. We'll be there soon.
Kieran frantically knocks on my window with concern etched on his face. Rolling it down, all the energy rushes from me, and my head swims in a fog of confusion. It's on the tip of my tongue to sing our win and confess everything. Something holds me back, though, keeping my lips sealed. For some reason, I need time to think about everything. River. The competition. And our promise to her.
"I'm going to meet them at the hospital. Wanna go?" he asks with his brows furrowed. His fingers fidget in the open window, drumming against the car's interior.
I shake my head. "I'll meet up with you in a bit. I'll grab whatever River needs. Just text me, okay?"
"You good?" Kieran asks, looking me up and down. "You look like you're up to something." His nose scrunches. "Or about to shit your pants." I blanch at his words, shoving my hand into his chest and pushing him away. He smirks, swatting at me when he rights himself.
"I'm fine, asshole. Just go away. I'll be by in a bit. I'll unpack and shit." I pinch the bridge of my nose.
"Fine, shitbag," he grunts, shoving off my Tahoe and climbing into his own. He glares at me with suspicion when he pulls out of the driveway and peels out of the neighborhood.
My eyes gaze up at the large, intimidating house full of an array of monsters ready to attack. Whether they're manipulative gold diggers or the devil himself, they reside here in a seemingly ordinary neighborhood. With trepidation, I climb out of the car and head into the pits of Hell with my head held high. Finally, hope shines somewhere in the back of my darkened mind, slowly coming out of the box I shoved it into years ago. It fills me to the brim with anticipation and so much goddamn hope I could vomit. This is fucking it. We're achieving what we set out to do. We fucking got in! We did it! Now, all we have to do is blow the rest of the competition away and leave no doubt in the West brothers’ minds that we’re the best.
When the front door closes behind me, I'm greeted by a smug-looking Gloria bustling around the kitchen. With practiced grace, she sets a few sets of papers on the countertop, grinning as she reads the words. Eyeing her face, I note the lack of bruising and swelling, meaning my father must be far away on his so-called business trips.
"It seems we have a score to settle," she says, sitting on the edge of the stool in front of the paper, tapping them with her nail.
"How so?" I raise a brow, strolling through the living room with my hands in my pockets.
A million thoughts race through my mind as I settle across from her, crossing my legs. A bored look crosses my face when she grins more, tapping her nails against the papers on the counter. Thick silence encases the room, doing little to rile me up. Her beady blue eyes glare at me when I huff, rolling my eyes.
"Speak, for God's sake, Gloria. Spit it out already," I growl, reaching the thin end of my patience.
My fingers curl and uncurl on the countertop, waiting on her to finally open her mouth and reveal whatever bullshit she has up her sleeve. But my patience wears thin when her eyes widen, and her lips flap like a fucking fish out of water.
The stool squeaks against the linoleum floor when I abruptly stand, digging my phone from my pocket. I don't have time for her shit, especially not today. Not after this weekend. And not after that phone call I received. I need to plot this entire thing and expertly move the pieces on my board before I make any moves.
"This is yours," she says, gesturing to the paperwork on the counter.
I grunt, walking back and sitting down. She swallows hard when I scowl in her direction, making the poor woman flinch. If I were nicer, I would hold back the anger brewing slowly inside me, but I can't seem to help it around her.
"What is it?" I ask, putting a hand out, and thankfully, she gives it to me.
"It's everything you need for the competition," she says, sitting back and folding her arms across her chest in victory. "Remember our deal?"
I raise a brow, flipping through the pages.
Congratulations on your win! The West brothers have officially chosen you and hand-picked you to participate. Please read the rules below…
The contest will be held at the KC Club in East Point Bluff, California, on December 15th of this year. All chosen participants will receive a call directly from the showrunners, confirming their win. All selected participants must RSVP within seventy-two hours by texting 555-425-1933 with their answers. All chosen participants must arrive on December 14th for registration.
"Seems you only have two weeks to make it out there," Gloria says, staring down at her manicured nails with a smirk.
"Seems that way," I huff, continuing to read the stipulations and rules. Fuck. I need Callum to read these over, so we don't miss a damn thing. The last thing we need is to forget a damn rule.
