by Megyn Ward
“Thank you.” Sighing, I shoulder my bag and pray for patience because they always seem to be in short supply when Delilah’s around. “And I know they’re clothes—what I don’t know is why you’re wearing them?”
Delilah flips her hand, gesturing toward the people that surround us. “Look around you.”
Doing as instructed, I look around the bustling hotel lobby. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. People are coming and going. Businessmen hailing taxis. Tourists waiting for the airport shuttle. Finished, I look at her and shrug again. “Okay.”
She tilts her head and smiles. “Is anyone looking at me?”
No.
Not one, single person.
Which never happens. Every time we go somewhere together, which is almost never unless it involves Silver, there’s always someone shouting at her to look at them so they can take a picture. Asking for her autograph. Paparazzi. Fans. I’ve witnessed more than one person propose marriage. I was there last year when she got arrested. Because Delilah isn’t just Silver’s little sister, she’s Delilah Hawthorne—Heiress to a multi-billion-dollar hotel empire. Fashionista. East Coast Bad Girl. She’s Paris Hilton, Kendall Jenner, and Edie Sedgwick, all rolled into one.
Right now, she looks like she’s a soccer mom on her way to Von’s for double coupon day and not one person is giving her a second look.
Amazed, it takes me a few seconds to answer her. “I thought you just wear a baseball cap and a pair of designer shades when you don’t want to be recognized.”
“Jane, please,” she says, looping her arm through mine to pull me away from the conversation area I was camped out in and toward the main entrance. “That’s what I wear when I’m pretending I don’t want anyone to recognize me.” Stopping on the sidewalk in front of the hotel, she looks at me. “This is what I wear when I don’t want people to even look at me. Did you valet?”
“Valet?” Ten bucks to have some stranger park my car? No thanks. “No, I just—”
“Of course, you didn’t.” Before I can finish answering her, she starts pulling me down the walkway toward the self-serve parking lot. “Which one is it?”
“Seriously? It’s the same car I’ve been driving since—” Remembering who I’m talking to, I sigh. “It’s the maroon one—third one down.” Aiming the key fob in its direction, I pop the lock on my 2017 Toyota Corolla. When its lights flash, Delilah's rich-girl reflexes kick in, and she wrinkles her nose at it. “Apologies, Princess,” I tell her, pushing past her with a laugh to open the driver’s side door. “My Lambo’s in the shop.”
“It’s okay,” she tells me like she actually thinks my apology is sincere. “Adapt or die, right?”
Something about the way she says it stops me in my tracks and I turn to watch while she rounds the back of the car on her way to the passenger side door. Noting the way she gives the backseat a casual, not-so-casual glance before she opens her door and gets in, I follow suit, sliding into the driver’s seat.
She hits the automatic lock button on her door panel before I have time to feed my key into the ignition.
Something is wrong here.
Very, very wrong.
“Alright…” Letting the keys dangle from the ignition, I turn to look at her across the center console. “Want to tell me what the hell is going on?”
“What? No—I mean, nothing.” She shakes her head, flashing me a grin from behind her sunglasses. “We should go—we don’t want to be late.”
Late?
Did she just say we’re going to be late?
I look around the empty car like I’m confused because I am. Because in all the years that I’ve known her, Silver’s little sister has never shown so much as a passing interest in things like punctuality or even general consideration for others. “Delilah Astrid Fiorella-Hawthorne,” I say, using every single one of her names. “You better tell me what the—”
“Okay—fine.” She flips her hand at me and rolls her eyes. “What do you want to know?”
Even though I’m pretty sure I made myself perfectly clear, I take a stab at repeating myself. “Well, for starters, I’d like to know when you became so concerned with the concept of time as it relates to other people, and then maybe you can tell me why you called me and my crappy Corolla for a ride to the hospital to see Silver when you have what I’m sure is not a small fleet of luxury cars at your immediate disposal?”
“Very funny, Jane.” The grin plastered across her face, winks out before she turns away from me to aim a stony-faced glare through the windshield. “You know I don’t know how to drive.”
I didn’t know that, but instead of telling her so, I just tuck her confession away for later examination. “What about Rivers?” Rivers is her chauffeur. He’s been driving her since she was in grade school. “You could’ve just—”
“Look—” She sighs and gives me another epic Delilah Hawthorne eye roll. “Everyone knows Rivers is my driver. If I’m seen getting into a car with him, it won’t matter what I’m dressed like—my cover is blown.” Her face falls into another frown behind her ridiculous sunglasses. “This is important—Silver is important.” Turning away from me, she slumps back in her seat, chewing on her lower lip. It’s what she does when she’s dangerously close to showing real emotion. “I just wanted to see her and the baby without the usual three-ring circus that follows me, everywhere I go—that’s all.”
She’s lying.
Her desire to visit Silver and the baby at the hospital without fanfare might be part of the reason she’s currently dressed like a suburban coupon-clipper and pouting in the front seat of my car, but it isn’t the only reason.
Something else is going on.
She’s hiding from something.
Or someone.
Even though I’m as sure of it as I am my own name, instead of pushing her, I give her an exasperated sigh and an impatient shrug of my shoulders. “Jesus.” I turn away from her and start the car. “Was that so hard?”
“Whatever.” Relief rolls off or her in waves. No matter how she likes to play it for the tabloids, Delilah’s not stupid. She knows she didn’t fool me, but she’s willing to play along and take the reprieve I’m giving her. “Stop at Starbucks.”
“Sure thing, princess.” Shaking my head, I shift into reverse and start to back out of the parking space. “As long as you’re buying.”
Five
Logan
“Want to hold her?”
I’m staring. I must be staring, because Silver is looking up at me with an exhausted, expectant smile, split between me and the baby sleeping in her arms.
“No.” Taking an instinctive step back from the foot of the bed, I hold my hands up like she’s offering me a stick of dynamite. “I mean, I probably shouldn’t, I’m—”
“Lame,” Jase says, elbowing me out of the way. “And weird.” Dropping himself into the chair next to Silver’s bed while shaking his head. “Better get used to it, Fancy Face—our little brother is lame and weird.” He shifts his gaze down the length of the bed and lets it settle on me. “And ugly. So, so ugly. One look at him, the baby will cry for sure.” Behind his usual flippant tone, I can hear concern. He knows something’s going on with me, and he’s worried about it.
“Not half as ugly as you, motherfu—” Silver cocks her head slightly and her luminous gray eyes narrow into slits. “jerk,” I finish, swallowing my curse because I’d rather choke on it than get on her bad side. Rubbing a hand over my jawline, I give Silver a helpless shrug. “I’m just not good with babies.”
“None of us are, dummy,” A deep, rumbling voice announces from the doorway behind me. Moving past my peripheral, a set of wide, powerful shoulders appear, attached to a pair of long, muscular arms.
Gray.
Shit.
This day just keeps getting better and better.
Coming to stand on the other side of the bed, he flashes Silver his mega-watt smile. “Hey there, pretty lady.”
“Gray?” Silver looks up
at him and smiles back. Probably can’t help it. When Gray smiles at you, you smile back. It’s like a reflex. “What are you doing here? I thought—”
“I was stuck in New York?” he finishes for her while bending down to drop a brotherly kiss on her forehead. “Nope.” Straightening, he gives her a wink. “Passed the clipboard to the nearest crew member and hopped in my car as soon as I heard I was an uncle.” Looking around the spacious, private hospital room, Gray frowns. “How are you feeling? Where’s that shit brother of mine?”
“I sent him away,” Silver tells him with a laugh, reaching up to run a soft hand over the baby’s head. “He was smothering us.”
“He better be smothering you,” Gray tells her with another grin. “Or I’ll kick his ass.”
“Why does he get to swear in front of the baby?” I ask, drawing everyone’s attention to the foot of the bed. Hoping for good-natured, I end up sounding moody and petulant.
Awesome.
Picking up on my tone, Gray laughs. “Because she likes me more than she likes you,” Gray tells me with another quick flash of his teeth. As if to prove it, he reaches for the baby, sleeping in Silver’s arms. “I’ll take her,” he says to her, scooping the tiny pink bundle out of her grasp.
“Are you sure?” Silver asks, looking a little anxious. “I don’t want—”
“Perfectly,” Gray tells her, settling the baby into the crook of his elbow like he’s been handling infants his entire life. “Relax, little sister—we got this.” Lifting his gaze, he uses it to find mine. “Right?” The slight lift of his eyebrow tells me that it’s not a rhetorical question. He expects an answer and it better be one that he likes.
“Right.” I smile at them both, wishing I felt the reassurance I hear in my tone. “We got this.”
Reaching for Silver’s hand, Jace draws her attention away from me by lifting it to his lips to press a kiss to her knuckles. “Enough of these idiots,” Jase says, coming to the rescue again. “Let’s talk about us.”
Silver laughs at him, as intended and shakes her head. “You’re insane, Jase Bright.”
“I am.” He gives her a solemn head nod, his blue-eyed gaze turning soulful. “Insanely in love with you.”
While Silver keeps laughing, Gray eases himself away from the side of the bed to move toward the bank of windows that overlook the city. With a dark, narrowed look and a quick tip of his chin, he makes it clear I’m expected to follow.
Swallowing another muttered curse, I skirt the edge of the bed and make my way to where Gray is standing, sleeping baby still wrapped in his arms. “What’s up?” I ask in a low tone.
“I don’t know,” he says with a shrug. “You tell me—pretty boy says you’re all wound up about something.”
“What?” Throwing a quick look over my shoulder, all I see is the top of Jase’s blond head. He’s seemingly focused on Silver, but I know better.
Nosy motherfucker.
Gray sighs and gives me a smile that is decidedly duller than the one he gave Silver just seconds ago. “He said you’re acting weird again.”
“Weird? Really?” When Gray answers with another one of his bland smiles, I shake my head and shrug. “Well, I don’t know what you tell you, man—I’m a weird guy.”
“Yeah.” His gaze drifts down to scope out my T-shirt. Despite Jase’s threat, I wore my latest—a framed picture of a slightly smiling cat with long, dark hair and a low-cut dress. The words Meowna Lisa are stenciled on the bottom of the shirt. “I get that—but he says you’re being extra weird.”
“Extra weird?” I say, making sure to inject a little hostility into my tone. Usually, Gray would meet it head-on, but he happens to be holding a baby right now. If he thinks I’m getting angry, he might abandon his line of questioning altogether. “I don’t even know what that means.”
No such luck.
“Yes, you do.” Unwilling to back down, Gray keeps his tone soft and easy for the baby’s benefit. “You know you do. You get extra weird right before you get ready to pull up stakes and rabbit.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lie, using the same soft, easy tone. “I don’t rabbit.”
“Yes, you do,” Gray says again, tilting his gaze down to look at the newborn cradled in his arms. “You get settled in somewhere. Land a decent job. Start making friends. Start getting comfortable—” he lifts his gaze and pins me with the kind of dark, penetrating stare that would make me squirm if I wasn’t so used to it by now. “and then you start acting sketchy and weird. Then you rabbit, and none of us know where you are until you poke your head out from the rock you’re hiding under.”
He’s not wrong.
Still, his very accurate, very blunt assessment of my behavior over the last ten years irritates me. “You mean when one of Tob’s investigators kicks my rock over and reports my whereabouts back to him?”
“Sure—okay, that happens too.” Gray gives me another bland smile and shrugs. “Look, I know Tob can be an overbearing dickface sometimes, but his heart is in the right place. All he’s ever wanted is to—”
“Can we dispense with the family drama, please, and get down to it—” I kick another quick look over my shoulder. Jase has Silver adequately distracted but for how long is anyone’s guess. She seems to be oddly immune to the poor little playboy routine he’s perfected over the years. “I’m not going anywhere—so everyone can just relax.”
It’s a lie.
I’ll leave again—probably sooner rather than later—and we both know it.
“You’re damn right you’re not fucking going anywhere,” Gray informs me quietly. “You don’t want to tell us what’s going on, that’s fine—I get it.” He understands. I know he does—and he won’t push. It’s the unspoken rule between us. We don’t push each other about the past. Who we were and what happened to us before we were Brights is off-limits. We don’t have to talk about it if we don’t want to. “But whatever it is, you’re not running from it.” He looks down at the baby in his arms, taking my gaze with his. The baby is awake, her wide eyes aimed right at me. They’ll be dark blue like Tob’s. I can already see her features settling in. Her cheekbones. Her nose. The shape of her eyes. She’ll look like his mother.
I should leave.
I should be gone already.
Because even though I came back to Boston with the intention of staying put, I never expected my brothers to follow me here, and I sure as hell never expected Tob to start a fucking family.
Shaking my head, I look up and tell my brother another lie.
“Okay.” I say it to the baby in Gray’s arms before lifting my gaze to his and repeating myself. “Okay. I’ll stay.”
Six
Jane
Delilah starts to take her clothes off the second the doors to the private elevator slide closed, and it starts its climb. Fascinated, I watch while she sheds her pink-checkered camp shirt. Underneath it is a form-fitting white T-shirt. Next, she steps out of her baggy mom jeans to reveal another pair of jeans—skin-tight and stylishly ripped in all the right places.
“Aren’t you afraid someone will see you?” I ask, watching her gather her discarded clothes and stuff them into a large canvas tote with a picture of a cartoon lobster on it.
“Not here,” she tells me while pulling off her bucket hat and giving her long fall of thick, blonde hair a shake. “This is the same hospital my mom gets her annual face-lift—the private wing is totally secure.”
As soon as the elevator doors slide open, we’re greeted by a polite but very serious-looking man in a suit who asks for our identification. Once we’re confirmed to be on the visitation list, we’re outfitted with an ID bracelet. “Welcome, Ms. Halstead,” he tells me while securing the clasp on my bracelet. “This bracelet is fitted with a microchip that will grant you access to the entire floor for the duration of your visit.”
“See?” Delilah grins at me while the attendant fits her with the same sort of bracelet he gave me. “Totally secure.”
I’m pretty sure Bracelet Guy has a gun concealed under his suit jacket, so yeah—totally secure about covers it.
“Have a nice day,” Bracelet Guy says with a practiced smile, lifting his hand to point toward a set of windowless double doors. As soon as we get within a few feet of them, they slide open with a whispered shhh, like they belong on Star Trek.
“Cool, right?” Delilah lifts her arm and jiggles her bracelet at me. “Thanks, Roman,” she says, shooting a quick smile over her shoulder at the bracelet guy before stepping through the open doorway.
“Super cool,” I agree, following her through the door and onto what feels like an alien planet. When I was seventeen, I spent three days in the hospital after an emergency appendectomy. My mom and I had what would be considered good insurance at the time. I shared my room with a woman who liked to blare her television at 5 AM and would steal my Jell-O while I was sleeping.
These are not my people.
Keeping my head down, I follow Delilah past the very posh-looking front desk and along the slightly curved corridor. Stopping in front of a door that’s slightly propped open, she puts her hand on the door handle before angling herself in front of it to block my forward progress. “You’re not going to tell Silver about earlier, right?” She looks up at me, dark blonde brow arched in irritation. “That you think I was acting weird—because she just had a baby and she doesn’t need—”
“No.” I should because whether she wants to admit it or not, something is going on with her. But she’s right—talking to Silver isn’t the answer. “I won’t say anything to her.”
Delilah narrows her eyes on my face for a second, like she’s trying to tell if I’m lying or not. Finally, the scowl lifts, and she smiles at me. “Thanks, Jane,” she says. “You’re a good friend.”
Making a neutral sound in the back of my throat, I give her a smile while she pushes the door open on Silver’s hospital suite.