hold my hand out, and she glances at it before her golden gaze returns to mine.
“What? Why?” Her perfect, straight nose crinkles.
“So I can give you my damn number.” I flatten my palm. “Come on.”
She retrieves her phone from her car and hands it over. I program my number in and give it back.
“The Boys and Girls Club requires that I only communicate directly with legal guardians,” she says.
“I don’t care what the Boys and Girls Club says. I want you to keep me in the loop at all times.” Pulling my phone out, I tap on my Contacts icon. “Give me your number.”
Brighton exhales before rattling off ten digits, and a minute later, I’ve added her as The Girl with the Butterfly Tattoo because right now everything about her, including her fucking name, is like nails on a chalkboard.
I’ll change it when I calm down.
“She’s a good kid, Madden,” Brighton says as she walks to the driver’s side of her car. “You should really give her more credit.”
With that, Brighton ends our conversation, and a second later, she’s backing out of the driveway.
I head inside, finding Devanie sitting on the sofa, her knees drawn to her chest and her phone in her hand.
“Got you breakfast,” I say. I’m pissed as hell at her, but it doesn’t mean she needs to starve.
“Already ate,” she says.
My hands rest on my hips. “Of course you did.”
Her attention lifts to me. “Brighton’s chef made us Nutella crepes this morning and the best scrambled eggs I’ve ever had.”
There’s a glimmer in her ocean eyes, an undercurrent of excitement.
“You should see her house, Madd.” She rests her phone on the cushion beside her. “It’s like a palace.”
I don’t give two shits what her house is like. “What happened last night?”
The light in her eyes dims and she swallows before responding. “Nothing happened.”
“Bullshit.”
“No, seriously. Nothing happened,” she says. “Nothing happened because I called Brighton and she picked me up before anything could happen.”
“I’m going to need you to elaborate.” I take a deep breath. “Or I’m taking your phone back.”
Her jaw falls for a second and she shakes her head. I imagine she’s weighing her outcomes.
“I was hanging out with a friend and they invited some other friends over and then more people showed up and ...” her voice trails. “Some of those friends were smoking pot.”
My fists clench at my sides. This is exactly the kind of shit I was afraid of. She’s twelve fucking years old.
“I left,” she says. “I waited outside and called her and she came and got me right away.”
My frustration toward Brighton subsides, but only a little. “Why didn’t you call me?”
Dev scoffs. “Are you serious right now?”
“As a heart attack.”
“Why would I call you? Look at how you’re acting right now!”
“How I’m acting? I’m acting like someone who gives a shit about you, that’s how I’m acting.”
Her arms fold across her chest and her eyes narrow as she shakes her head. She can give me attitude all she wants, it’s not going to help her cause.
“Dev, you know you can call me anytime you need anything. And especially when you’re in trouble. It’s why I got you that damn thing in the first place.” Well, partly. I also wanted to be able to track her at all times.
“You would’ve freaked out, Madden, and you know it.”
She isn’t wrong.
I take a seat in the recliner and rest my elbows on my knees. Maybe Brighton’s right. Maybe I need to give Devanie more credit. I mean, she did do the right thing. She easily could've stayed and I’d have had no idea any of this happened.
“Dev.” I exhale her name, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You did the right thing, okay?”
My sister grabs her phone but leaves the screen dark as she studies me. “I know why you’re like this.”
My gaze flicks to hers. “What are you talking about?”
“You think something’s going to happen to me.” She swallows. “Like Dallas.”
Rising, I head to the kitchen and stick her breakfast in the fridge. I’m sure Mom will eat it after she rolls out of bed this afternoon.
Heading to the door, I turn to her before I leave. “Next time, call me. Not her. You're not her problem, you’re mine.”
Seventeen
Brighton
* * *
My mother paces in her dressing room, toying with the diamond pendant hanging from her décolletage. “We need to discuss boundaries, Brighton.”
I sit on the tufted velvet bench directly beneath a thousand-crystal chandelier, bracing myself for the lecture I knew was