“God, you’re such a bastard,” he says without heat.
“You have a bedroom.”
“And taking her there would mean giving up on the buffet early.”
Naturally he doesn’t mean the food buffet. “What did you tell Samantha? She was acting strange after you talked to her.”
He rolls his eyes, which is something most men at North Security wouldn’t do. That’s the thing about working with your brothers. “I told her about the baby bird.”
Fury stiffens every muscle inside me. “You did not.”
“Oh yes, big brother. Remember that little bird? It had such soft feathers. You wouldn’t think feathers could be fluffy, but they were. It had fallen out of its nest.”
I have to fight to keep from throwing up on the grass. Wouldn’t that be the perfect way to end the day? It’s been pure torture watching the happy couple, listening to Samantha play songs about forever and always. And now this.
“Don’t,” I say, my voice harsh enough that even my brother should know better.
He grins the same way he did as a kid—full of bravado. He would rather get the shit kicked out of him than admit defeat, and in our house, our father was happy to oblige. “You kept her in your closet, feeding her little bits of bread and peanut butter.”
“You did not tell this to Samantha.”
“So what if I did?” he says, laughing. “She was so sad when I told her about the peanut butter.”
I grasp him by the lapels and slam him against a tree beside the tent. “You had no fucking right to do that. You fucking bastard.”
He leans his head back, still laughing. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. I didn’t tell her about the baby bird, or about how Father found out. Or how he locked you in the closet with the bird for days, until you’d practically died of starvation and the bird had died in your hands.”
I shove Josh against the tree and push away, breathing hard. “You’re a sick fuck.”
“Yeah,” he says a little sadly. “I come by it honest.”
He’s still fucked up over what our father did, and I wish I could help him, I really do. All I can do is give him operational command of North Security. All I can give Elijah is the chance to shoot at assholes when they shoot first. That’s what our family has come to.
“There’s no point talking about the past,” I say. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“Doesn’t it?” Josh says, following the path the bridesmaid took toward the entrance to the tent. “Sometimes I think you still haven’t let go of that baby bird.”
SAMANTHA
I’m the first one who leaves, slipping into the house with my violin case like a shadow. The faint clatter of dishes comes from the kitchen—the caterers hard at work feeding men who are never really full. I put my violin away with the same care a mother must show her infant child. It might seem extreme to some people, but the violin can’t protect itself. It can’t wipe away the rosin or polish its wood, so I do it.
In the cool, conditioned air I realize that I’ve been sweating. The linen of my pale pink dress clings to my skin. Upstairs I take a shower, washing away the scent of the outside, turning my face to the hot spray until I run out of breath.
I slip into my pajamas. Little penguins march across the pale blue flannel. It makes me feel safe and warm—I need that tonight. There are only a couple more months of sleeping in this house. There’s no reason for me to come live here after.
The lights are off when I step into the bedroom. A lamp clicks, and light floods the plush beige carpet. I gasp at the sight of Liam standing near the entrance. His lids are low in the dim lighting, his green eyes burning emerald tonight. “Going to bed?” he says, the question lazy. Of course I’m going to bed. The question is what he’s doing here.
“I’m tired,” I say, a little cautious. A little afraid. “Are you going to bed, too?”
He shakes his head. “I thought I’d tuck you in.”
Tuck me in? He didn’t do that when I was twelve years old. Why would he do it now? The idea wakes up every nerve ending in my body, as if I’m imagining his touch over the blanket, under the blanket, all around me. Nothing about my thoughts is innocent.
He waits while I brush my teeth and change in the closet. I find him sitting on the edge of the bed when I come out, and I climb in, uncertain what comes next.
“Your father made some people angry,” he says, his voice low. It’s as if the admission is torn from him, and it makes me wonder what else he’s been keeping held so tight. He pulls the sheets up high on my body, so it almost touches my chin.
“What does that mean?”