r lip to stop a bubbling laugh. My father scowled but a short sparkle of admiration lit his eyes. I had no idea where the sharp backtalk was coming from, but I hoped it could yield results.
"I raised two daughters. I wouldn't know the first thing about having a man-to-man chat with your sister's boyfriend. What if he cries?" my father said. He went to the side cupboard and poured himself another glass of whiskey. "How about you call him and I won't ground you for sass?"
"You can't ground college students."
My father shrugged again and walked out without another word.
"Don't worry," Charlotte said. "I'll finish the sugar cookies. You have a phone call to make."
I went up to my room and paced around, turning on every light. Sienna had once told me the secret to phone interviews was to talk while you looked in the mirror. She said it made you sound more natural, more relaxed, like it was a normal conversation with another human instead of disembodied voices.
I brushed my hair, pinched a little pink into my cheeks, and put on a light layer of lipstick. I couldn't talk to Owen looking like a grief-stricken zombie urchin – if I could manage to talk to him at all.
We used to talk on the phone in high school, quick chats before I handed the phone to Sienna, but later calls about video games. Sometimes, Owen called to ask my opinion about certain games or to talk through a new strategy. The calls kept up through college, so I had his number in my phone.
The last call had been about a week ago. It started off about Dark Flag and his magazine interview. Then Owen had asked me about classes. We had talked for over two hours about me leaving UCLA.
"Come to Vegas and we'll chat more," he had said.
Well, I thought, I’m back in Vegas. This conversation was just going to be far different than anything I had dreamed.
CHAPTER TWO
Owen
I had to park two streets over. Once the car was off, I could not force myself to open the door. Hundreds of people were going to Sienna's funeral. They walked past my car in their expensive black dresses and hand-tailored suits. It took all I had not to start the car and drive away.
Sienna hated my car. It was the same old, black Porsche I had bought from my father's mechanic when I turned sixteen. The seats were cracked, the exterior paint so worn it had lost its shine, and the dozens of dings marred the body. Still, the engine purred when it started. And, it pissed off both Sienna and my father. I loved that car.
Sienna wanted everything to be perfect. If it worked but did not look good, then it would never be good enough for her. On the flip side, she was willing to put up with broken things that were beautiful. That was the reason I could not get out of the car.
Her family made me uncomfortable. Sienna's mother was always way up or way down. One day, I saw her with her face streaked with tears and smeared make-up. A few hours after that, she was beaming as she belted out "Sweet Caroline" at the local bakery.
Mr. Thomas was worse. He was a high-powered lawyer who never turned off his killer instinct for arguments. I once told him I was looking forward to the nice weather over the weekend. He looked up three forecasts and the farmer's almanac to prove me wrong. Sienna had just rolled her eyes at me and canceled my idea for a picnic.
Still, they were a beautiful family with a beautiful house in beautiful Summerlin and Sienna loved them. I could not imagine facing them without her.
What if they knew what had happened?
I stopped again at the foot of the driveway. It was a safe bet Sienna's family would not care if I did not make an appearance. Her father would probably prefer it. I was about to turn around when I saw Quinn.
She was carrying a huge spray of flowers towards the back entrance. Despite her removal from the front door crowd, a couple still stopped her to express their condolences. As she sank under the weight of the flowers, they unloaded their guilt at being more fortunate than her and her family. I could have punched the man for dabbing at his appropriately wet eyes instead of taking the heavy vase from her.
As much as I wanted to turn around and never see these people again, I could not leave. If Quinn was handling it, so could I.
I strode up and took the flowers from her without a word.
"That's the boyfriend," the man's wife whispered as I headed for the back entrance.
I pulled open the door and held it for Quinn. When I looked back to see if she was coming, I felt as if everyone from the driveway was staring at me. Somehow, they all knew what I had done. They knew it was my fault. Sienna was dead, they needed someone to blame, and I was the guy.
"Thank you," Quinn said. She led the way in the back door and to the formal dining room. The long table was covered in tasteful flower arrangements.
The scent of lilies made me sick, but we were the only ones in the room. I would have stayed amongst that sickly sweet stench all night if it was just the two of us. "Quinn, I'm so sorry."
She waved a delicate hand. "We said all of that on the phone. I'm just glad you're here." She gave me a quick hug and retreated into the full front parlor.
I took a deep breath and followed her into the crowd. Quinn slipped like a stranger through the people gathered there. She was right there in the family portrait on the wall, but all anyone could ever see was Sienna. Even when she was gone, she stole the limelight.