trunk and hand Payne his. Taking it from me and tossing it in the front seat of his car, he looks back at me before slipping behind the wheel.
“You forget, I know you better than anyone, Halliday. It’s not nothing. When you’re ready to tell me what the hell is going on, you know where to find me.” Even though he means well, the concern in his voice is grating on my nerves because I know he’s right—I’m not okay. Right now though, all I want to do is go inside, shower, and sleep for the next three days.
“Thanks for coming with us to get the girls.” My brain is screaming at me to stop being such a pussy and tell him, but I can’t deal with the reality of it all, not today. Shooting him a quick salute, I turn and run up the stairs, closing the front door behind me before he even starts his car.
Chapter Eight
The slam of the front door startles the maid dusting one of the sculpted monstrosities my mother calls art, and she jumps in surprise.
“Shit, sorry, Valeria.” My sheepish look garners a dismissive wave and a titter of laughter from the small Columbian woman who's been part of the staff here for as long as I can remember. She shoos me along, and I take the stairs up to my room two at a time.
My bedroom has always been a sanctuary for me—an escape from everything and everyone. It takes up almost half of the second floor of this wing, with smoky grey walls, high ceilings, and an abundance of windows adding to the airy, open feeling. There’s a sixty-five-inch tv on the far wall, and many a night has been spent in front of it with Payne, Raff, and Heller, the four of us kicking the shit out of each other in Mortal Kombat or racing the same cars we drive in real life in Forza.
Two of my favorite things about it though are my insanely comfortable king-size bed, and the fully automated sound and lighting system that was an unexpected birthday gift from my father. My bag lands on the floor just inside the door because I can’t be bothered to do anything else with it right now, and I let myself fall backward onto my bed. Flicking through my playlist, my thumb stops on ‘Julia’ by mewithoutYou. Spread-eagled on my back, I stare at the ceiling and listen to the music swirl around me. For about twenty seconds, I wonder how the hell I got into this mess. Then my brain spends the next fourteen and a half minutes trying to figure out how to get myself out of it.
There are hard and fast rules among the Founding Families and the Heirs. Not a ton of them, but the ones we do have, are ironclad. One of the biggies is if a favor is asked of one of the Heirs, unless it puts their life in danger, and even sometimes then, it gets done without hesitation or argument. The Hallidays were next in line behind the Bradleighs in the pecking order, so when Catherine disappeared, my family became the top of the food chain. That meant my father became the de facto leader. That same order is followed by the Heirs as well, and even though my friends and I see ourselves as equals, if an elder were to ask for a favor, they would most likely ask me.
Which is precisely what happened.
Why couldn’t it have been Payne she asked? Or, at the very least, why didn’t I just come clean with Stella right away?
Halliday, you are a fucking dipshit of epic proportions.
Frustration and adrenaline and different time zones have taken their toll, and my internal clock is a mess. Forcing myself to my feet, my joggers and hoodie fall in a pile on the floor. I strip off my boxers on the way to the shower, throwing them in the direction of my laundry hamper.
The face I see in the mirror above the bathroom sink is far more tired than an eighteen-year-old should be. Even beyond the exhaustion, the weight of the secret I’m carrying is starting to show, and I have to look away before I get lost in it. Large enough to fit a Mini Cooper, my shower truly is a thing of beauty, with a rain shower head mounted to the ceiling and four different wall-mounted heads. Cranking the water on full and hot, I step