by Max Henry
She leans a little further away, a glass of wine balanced in her hand. When the hell did she start drinking?
“Richard’s father, Dean, is firm of the opinion that everyone should be held accountable for their actions.” He looks pointedly at me as he says this. “But that’s only because he feels his son is squeaky clean and therefore untouchable.”
“Is he?” Christian asks from where he leans one elbow on the mantle, bored.
“As far as I know.” Derek pauses for a sip of alcohol. “The Fellows, however.” He draws a perfectly timed breath, the hallmark of a born prosecutor. “They know that their darling Libby has left a dirty trail of burnt breadcrumbs in her wake. The girl has a laundry list of offenses against her peers, as I’m sure most of you well know.”
A rumble of agreeance circulates the room.
“Regardless, hoping for any assistance from the Fellows household is a lost cause. They don’t care a shit about what happens to the people in Arcadia. As long as it doesn’t affect their bottom dollar, they’ll let nature run its course.”
“In your opinion, what do you think we should do?” Christian asks the question much the same as a business associate would while detailing a case. It’s both unnerving and impressive how focused he can be.
“I think James has the right idea in being present on the property to mitigate harm. The word of a law-abiding adult will carry more weight over that of rowdy teens should the host girl’s parents need to press charges for damages.”
“Except he’s not law-abiding, is he?” I ask.
Derek takes a moment to study where I stand near the corner, shoulder pressed against the side of a solid timber bookcase. “Kurt, Tuck’s father, is. And I’m sure there are plenty more who fit the bill.” He addresses the room again. “Other than that, my advice is to let them do what they will. Any damages or slander will count as a mark against them. As long as you lot all abide by the law and the ground rules set down by the wiser adults around you, you assume very little liability, if any.”
“Is it worth us talking with Libby, peer to peer?” Greer asks, appearing to ignore me entirely.
“Perhaps.” Derek swirls his drink, choosing not to look at her beside him. “I’m unsure what you think would change her mind?”
“Ingrid is with her,” Greer informs the room. “She’s promised to keep me informed of Libby’s intentions.”
“Or perhaps she’ll divulge everything you’ve said to her bosom buddy,” Christian snaps. “What were you thinking?”
“If I can ask something, Mr Mayberry?” Willow interjects quietly.
“Sure, darling.”
Christian visibly shivers, rolling his eyes.
“I took screenshots of the message threads to these people and then deleted them. But the images shared via social media—that wasn’t me, so I can’t remove them. Will that fall on me anyway?”
He shakes his head. “If you had nothing to do with them being made public, you can’t be held accountable. That will fall on the originator of the post.”
“Thank you.” She relaxes where she stands; hands braced behind her on the top of a chair.
“The account is no longer public?” Derek asks.
She nods. “I haven’t touched it in years before this.”
“Good.” He lifts a finger to point at her. “Don’t completely delete it, though. You may need the history to prove these people willingly submitted the images.”
“Okay.”
Derek’s gaze roams the room before he speaks again. “You lot have caused quite a stir. You know that?”
Nobody says a thing.
“I’d almost say I’m impressed at the dedication displayed if it wasn’t up to me to clean up after you all.”
“Nobody asked you to,” Christian mutters.
“Perhaps.” His father pins him with a hard stare. “But parents rarely need to be asked when it comes to tidying up their children’s mess.”
The dynamic of the room shifts, the focus between father and son. I take the opportunity provided to shift my attention to Greer. She stares at the toes of her shoes, feet wriggling back and forth.
I dug this hole for myself way before she was even a footnote for consideration. If I’d known then that I’d feel the way I do about her now, would I have done the same? Would I have laid myself down on the tracks to slow the train for Lacey?
I guess if I figure out the answer to that, I’ll know what to do.
Because when the thought of abandoning my sister hurts as much losing Greer, be fucked if I know the resolution to this predicament.
For once in my life, I wish I had a mother worth a damn.
Perhaps then I’d have somebody to talk to about what to do with a broken heart.
LACEY
The heated stare between Beau and Maggie says so much when she opens his door for him. He glares up at her, and she looks back with one eyebrow raised.
“I’m not a complete invalid,” he gripes, rising from the passenger seat of her beat-up little sedan.
“Never said you were.” She closes the door pointedly while he shuffles toward where Tuck and I stand on the small porch.
“You broke your arm,” Tuck calls out. “What’s with the sudden gimp, man?”
Beau drags his tired gaze up to ours. “It hurts to fall off a horse, you know.”
“He’s bruised and getting worse by the hour,” Maggie says with a roll of her eyes. “Not that he’d admit it.”
“Sounds to me like his ego is bruised worse than his body,” I tease.
Beau gives me a smart-arse smile.
“Johnson and Ed are on their way,” Tuck informs our guests. “Should be here soon.”
“How did you get on talking with Mandy?” Maggie asks, hand hovering in the air behind Beau while he grimaces his way up the steps.
“Amber was there.”
Her gaze snaps to mine. “Why?”
“It seems Dee must have let her know what was happening.”
“And?” Beau asks, dragging himself to a chair at the dining table. “Hey, Mr Williams. Mrs Epsom.”
“Feeling it today, are we Beau?” Dad asks with a hint of a smile.
“Just a fraction.”
Tuck takes the spot adjacent to Beau, Maggie hovering beside me in the kitchen while I snag a bottle of water from the fridge. “What is my mum doing here?” she whispers.
“She wants to help.”
“Great.” She pushes the word through gritted teeth.
“What?” I hiss under my breath. “At least she cares.” More than I can say for my mother.
“I don’t want her getting the wrong idea about Beau,” she mutters close to my ear, breath tickling the loose strands of hair.
I lean my head against hers. “And what idea would that be?”
“That we’re a thing,” she says so quietly I barely hear it.
Beau twists in his seat as though sensing he’s the topic of conversation.
I give him a finger wave and then my back, facing Maggie. “We left Mandy there.” I change the subject, uncapping my drink. “Amber’s got Dee on her side.”
“Figures.” Mags leans back against the counter, gaze fixed on Beau’s back. “Those two have always been thick as thieves.”
“She’s always listened to Mandy, though,” Beau adds, head turned to the side. Definitely eavesdropping. “No updates?”
“Not yet.”
Tuck pulls his phone out, setting it on the table. “We can ask Johnson when he gets here if she’s said anything to him.”
“Doubt it.” Beau rolls his shoulders before setting his cast arm on the table for support. “She’ll be keeping everything on lockdown if she suspects he’s not on side with her anymore.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know who’s side he’s on right now,” Tuck states. “Or Ed.”
“You can’t suspect Ed,” Maggie says. “Surely not. He’s always been a good sort.”
“Stuff like this changes people,”
Dad casually drops as he passes by to dump two empty mugs in the sink. “Tuck’s probably right to have his concerns.” He turns to address us all. “Tonight isn’t about picking sides or schoolyard politics, though. I want each of you to focus on yourselves first and foremost and then on your friends. There’ll be plenty of time to resolve any differences you have with each other after us adults have taken care of this party.”
“Yes, Dad.” I catch Tuck’s eye and then turn to face Maggie. “Come down to my room and leave the boys here a moment. I have something I need your help with.”
Tuck’s gaze bores holes in my side as we leave the room, Dad retreating to where Maggie’s mum waits in the living room. I drag Maggie to the far end of the house and usher her inside before shutting the door.
“So?”
She flicks a piece of hair out of her face. “What?”
“You know what.” I grin. “Details, bitch.”
She chuckles, moving casually across to the window and settling on the wide sill. “He said he never realised my tongue’s pierced.”
I narrow my eyes, climbing onto my bed to kneel facing her. “And where pray tell, was your heathen tongue?” I tease.
She shrugs, lips twisted. “Meh. Nowhere interesting.” She pretends to inspect her nails. “Just his mouth.”
I squeal, not a care in the world that they would have heard me down in the kitchen. “I’m so glad you two finally hooked up.”
“Settle down.” She laughs through her words, hands raised before her. “It was only once, but …” Her eyebrow wiggles. “He didn’t sleep on the couch if you catch my drift.”
“No way.” I shuffle closer.
“Mum felt bad for him,” she explains with another dismissive shrug. “So, she insisted he uses my bed and told me to sleep on the floor.”
“But, you didn’t?”
Maggie shakes her head. I drink her in, in all her punkish glory. There’s a new glow to her, a radiance she didn’t have before.
“It was just that, though—sleeping. Mum’s one rule was the door stayed open.”
“Did she catch you, though? Is that why you’re worried about what she’ll think with you being here together?”
“She did, but it’s not as though she had anything to worry about.” Mags crosses her arms. “He was under the sheets, and I was on top with just a blanket. We had barriers,” she taunts.
“Still.” My heart warms at the thought of sharing a night with Tuck like that. “It’s cute as hell.”
“He’s a good cuddler,” she teases with a wiggle of her eyebrows.
I reach over and smack her lightly on the arm, chuckling. “Stop it already.”
“Anyway.” Her chin jerks toward the door. “What’s been happening here? You seem super bubbly for a girl who’s got party-crashing bullies on their way to tear you a new one.”
I consider telling her, but it seems such a betrayal of Tuck’s trust. For now, I want to keep it just for us—our special moment at the river.
“I guess I’m looking forward to it all being over, that’s all.”
“What’s the haps, though?” She frowns. “You aren’t racing like Mandy wants.”
“Nope.” I sit back on my heels. “I figure I can reason out of it now that Beau’s injured. One less rider on each side, you know?”
“Good point.”
“Other than that, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“Get drunk?” Maggie smirks.
“With my dad there?” I tilt my head. “Good one.”
“Fine.” She waves my objection away. “No alcohol. You can still get a buzz off revenge, though, right?”
“Haven’t we decided we’re going to be super nice to them and try to win them over that way?” I slide off the bed and stroll to my wardrobe.
“It might work for the jerks from town, but we know being nice never worked for Amber.” Mags pushes off the windowsill. “Plus, that Libby bitch has driven one hell of a wedge between your family. You’re going to gush all over her and let her get away with it?”
A pang of injustice pulses in my chest. Maggie’s struck a chord, and as I peruse my closet for what I’ll wear tonight, I wonder if it would be so bad to do one last thing to even the scales.
“Surely, you’ve got plans for her?” Maggie leans a shoulder against the open wardrobe door, studying my face. “I know I’ll be there to sling a sneaky hit on Amber if the opportunity arises.”
“I might have plans.” Petty ones. Far-fetched fantasies that involve her grovelling at my feet for forgiveness.
You know—shit that will never happen.
“Think about it,” Maggie urges. “You know whatever you choose, I’ve got your back.”
Tuck said the same. “Tuck thinks I should be the better person by letting it go.”
“And allowing it to fester?” She huffs a harsh breath. “You’d be forever pissed that she got the last word, and you know it.”
“Retribution will only carry this mess on,” I point out, meeting her eye. “If I want it to end, I have to lead by example.”
“Yeah. But you can also give those Chosen dipshits one last reminder that if they ever come back, you won’t roll over and take any crap.”
“You’re hell-bent on this, aren’t you?” I pull out a fitted denim jacket and weigh the fabric in my hand.
“Only because I know deep down it’s what you want. You should have seen how miserable you looked when you said the plan is to kill them with kindness.” She points to a patterned playsuit that would match the jacket. “I’ve seen the shift in you since you got here, Lacey. You arrived meek and scared of what everyone thought of you. But slowly, you’ve grown bolder, more assertive, and now you’re ready to prove your worth.”
“You don’t know me properly,” I mumble, turning to lay the clothes on the bed. “If you did, you’d never call me meek and scared.”
“What are you, then?”
I stare down at the casual outfit, recognising the contrast between it and the designer garments I would regularly wear not so long ago. I have changed, but not a shift in personality. More I’m brave enough to reveal what’s been inside me all along.
I’m more genuine than I’ve ever been in my life. And the truth of the matter is, that girl?
She’s not always a nice person.
GREER
I’m a goddamn ball of nerves. When I was six, my parents took me to a restaurant that had one of those static electricity balls at the concierge desk for curious kids like me. I set my hands against the glass, mesmerised by how the charges would snap and bend to meet my touch.
That’s how I feel now, as though my emotions snap and bend with every word spoken around me.
Ingrid hasn’t messaged.
As much as I want to believe it’s because she’s tied up with Libby watching her every move, that fearful part of me worries that she’s had a change of heart, and she’s busy divulging where we all are.
The defectors.
The rebels.
We want no more part in these manipulative games, and we’ve accepted the consequences that come with such freedom. Consequences like losing our security and sense of belonging while we rebuild who we are.
“Your father phoned.”
It takes me a moment to process that Derek’s quiet words were directed toward me. “Oh?”
“He told me why you left.”
“They want to ship me off for daring to make my own choices,” I state.
He nods, his piercing eyes dissecting my soul. “I can give you a lift home if you like. You do realise it’ll be easier to reason with them if you show you’re willing to compromise.”
I turn my head and frown. “What are you saying?” He truly is a handsome devil. Christian may have got his mother’s fair complexion and hair, but he has his father’s hard edge.
“I can help negotiate if you feel your concerns aren’t being heard.”
“Why would you do that?” Derek Mayberry never does a t
hing without personal gain.
His attention shifts to his only son, deep in conversation on the far side of the room. “You remind me of my wife when she was younger. Christian may not remember, but Marion had a certain spunk that I admired.”
“She doesn’t now?”
He sighs. “The years change people. As does servitude.” A mask falls before he turns to regard me once more. “I’d like to help, Greer. You don’t have to stay with your parents if the relationship needs mending, but there’s no need to run away.”
“And where would I go?” I challenge. “You think they’d let me leave the family home and bring disrepute amongst their peers once their friends find out they couldn’t control me?”
“You could stay with us.” He lifts his brow. “As far as anyone needs to know, you’re interning for a career in law.”
“With all due respect, people would see through that lie, wouldn’t they?”
“Not if I gave you work.”
I can’t figure him out. My whole upbringing, I’ve known Derek as a man you didn’t cross. My father spoke highly of him at the dinner table, recalling his exploits in the courtroom as though they were the efforts of my dad’s favourite sports team.
More than one mother in the school ground blushed and adjusted her neckline on the rare occasions he’d arrive to pick Christian up from Riverbourne Prep.
Derek is a man of power, and he earned that title through ruthless dealings and heartless compromise.
Why would he want to help me? A seventeen-year-old girl?
“I’ll consider your offer,” I say, finally. “Thank you.”
He nods once and then looks away to where Christian and Willow are still buried in conversation, Barrett pretending that he doesn’t eavesdrop from his position close by. Arthur nurses a bottle of beer at the fireplace, studying a spot on the carpet.
“Where’s Colt?” Derek does a sweep of the room.
I search him out as well, twisting to check behind me. “I don’t know.”
He rises to presumably go in search of the brooding devil, exactly when my phone finally vibrates against my leg.
I tilt it to check the screen—a weight lifts from my shoulders when I read Ingrid’s name.