“I know you. If you really thought Reyn was everything you’re saying, he never would have been your best friend.”
He scoffs derisively. “Please. Hamilton Bates was one of my best friends for three years.”
“And look at him now.” I pull out my phone, swiftly navigating to his ChattySnap. I angrily swipe through, shoving the phone in his face. “Building homes in other countries, working at the soup kitchen with Gwen, teaching cello to disadvantaged youth.” Emory just snorts, pushing the phone away. I continue, “Because deep down, you knew Hamilton was a good guy.” I can’t even say that with a straight face. “Okay, he’s an alright guy.” That doesn’t quite feel right, either. “Well, he’s not evil!” Yeah, that’s about as good as I can do.
“This has nothing to do with Hamilton.”
“You’re right,” I agree, stuffing my phone back into my pocket. “This is about you being a complete coward.”
He stares at me unblinkingly, voice low and deadly. “Excuse me?”
“If you weren’t,” I explain, snatching my toast, “then maybe you could face the truth.”
“And what truth is that?” His voice turns mocking. “That you’re in stupid, schoolgirl puppy-love with Reyn?”
I’m not expecting the way the words fall like lead in the bottom of my stomach. It momentarily takes my voice away, trapping it into a lump at the back of my throat. He doesn’t even know it, but hearing it said like that—having these colossal, exhilarating, once-in-a-lifetime feelings diminished so callously—is probably the most hurtful thing he’s ever said to me.
I’m still caught in the trap of it when a rumble echoes off the pavement, followed by a solitary blare of the horn. I grab my stuff while Em’s eyebrows draw angrily together. We both look out the window. Sebastian’s shiny blue muscle car sits in the driveway, engine purring like Firefly on my lap.
“Is that Sebastian?” I move toward the door, but he blocks my way. “What the hell is he doing here?”
Finally finding my voice, I flatly explain, “He’s giving me a ride.”
Emory balks. “Like fucking hell he is. First of all, this conversation isn’t over, and secondly, there’s no way in hell you’re getting into a car with a Wilcox.”
I glare at him. “Get out of my way, Em.”
“Jesus Christ, V.” He looks at me like it’s dawning on him that he doesn’t even know who’s standing in front of him. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but I know you’re going to get hurt.”
I swallow hard, hand flexing around the strap of my bag. “The truth I was talking about before? The one you’re afraid of facing? It’s that you’re so worried about some guy manipulating my life to fit his own pleasure, taking away my happiness and hurting me, that you’re missing a very essential point.” I look him in the eye and feel the steel in my veins. “It’s you, Emory. You’re the guy.”
I barely watch the words land, using the opportunity to skirt past him. I walk to the car, wrenching open the heavy door and sliding inside. Sebastian looks over at me. He’s wearing dark sunglasses, hair a mess, and sporting a thick layer of stubble over his jaw. I don’t know how I look, but it must be pretty bad, too, because he says, “You okay? Someone’s ass need kicking? Reyn?” He turns to look at the house next door, forehead puckering pensively. “Yeah, he’s strong and fast, but I can take him.”
I sigh and sink down into the leather seat. “Just drive, Bass. Just drive.”
Becoming the master of Ignoring Things, I brush off the stares as Sebastian and I walk into the bunker together. Reyn stands quietly in the back and my eyes instantly search him out. The cup of coffee in his hand is about the only put-together thing about him. He looks terrible—dark marks under his eyes, rumpled shirt, unshaven like Sebastian. His green eyes track me closely as I come in, like maybe he’s assessing me the same way.
I take a seat between Georgia and Ben. Emory rushes in last, flustered. Annoyed. But my brother is an old school Devil, through and through. They rarely, if ever, show the weakness of emotion. It almost makes me feel a little better that I’ve been able to crack his armor. Almost.
He doesn’t waste time, jumping into the last-minute assignments for the prank. Admittedly, with everything going on, I haven’t been totally plugged in to the details. “This is all about coordination and timing,” he says, eyes skimming