Joke’s on You by Lani Lynn Vale Page 0,17

to show it.

I was an ol’ pro at hiding my pain.

“You don’t think that it’ll be dumb as hell?” I wondered. “To bring something up that’ll just hurt both of them?”

He blew out a frustrated breath.

“When Booth went down yesterday? He was… fucked up. He kept talking about you. And Asa. And goddamn, I thought he was going to die.” He scrubbed his hand over his face, looking thoughtful. “If you and him are going to happen? I think you need to figure this out. I think you need to push it. Because a relationship can’t be built on a lie.”

He was right, of course.

Which was how I ended up back at Booth’s place just hours later after having thought about what Bourne had said. Well, more like obsessed.

Things weren’t right.

I’d always thought that, of course. But giving myself the permission to dwell on it? Yeah, needless to say, I needed to talk to Booth.

It was well past eight when I left the house.

Almost nine when I got there with food—I’d stopped by the store to get some of my favorite comfort food. A deli rotisserie chicken, some gooey macaroni and cheese, and a twelve pack of King’s Hawaiian rolls. I finished up my feast with a gallon of sweet tea, then headed for Booth’s.

Grabbing my spoils, I ran for the door. I didn’t even get the chance to knock before he was opening it for me.

“What’s the rush, Dillan?” he asked, grinning wickedly.

I once again arrived at his place, unscheduled, and found him shirtless.

I eyed the bruises, seeing that they were a much more putrid color of purple, and shook my head.

“They look bad,” I said softly, not answering his question.

“What are you doing here?” he asked softly. “Don’t you need your sleep?”

I did.

But I also didn’t have to work in the morning, so it was okay that I wasn’t in bed yet… or anywhere near planning to go to bed.

“I have to ask you a question,” I said. “I have a really bad feeling, and I need you to talk me through it.”

He frowned but stepped back, allowing me into his sanctum again.

“Come on in,” he said. “Asa’s already asleep. Can we go out to the back porch?”

I nodded, allowing him to lead the way.

He made a pit stop in the kitchen, and picked up two cups, two forks, some paper plates, and a roll of paper towels.

I warmed inside.

He pulled the table that he’d rested his feet on the night before closer, and together we started to divvy up the food.

“This is a feast,” he said. “I had a sandwich, but damn if I’m not hungry all over again.”

I snorted. “It’s kind of hard to pass this up.”

I didn’t bother bringing up my problems until both of us were done eating.

My phone, which was in the Walmart sack that I’d brought inside, started to light up, indicating a call.

I grimaced and ignored it.

“Who’s that?” he asked, seeing the grimace.

I sighed. “Kerrie.”

His brows rose. “Kerrie? I haven’t seen him in years. How’s he doing?”

I took a big bite of my Hawaiian roll and shrugged. “He’s good. I don’t talk to him all that much anymore, seeing as he likes to push the boundaries of our friendship.”

He grinned.

“Did you know that the night that you and my sister…” I hesitated, roll halfway to my mouth. “That my father had decided to arrange a marriage between her and Kerrie?”

He halted, roll halfway to his mouth.

“Umm, no,” he said. “Was that why y’all were there? I was honestly surprised that the night happened the way it did. I mean, you never came to parties. For you both to be there? That was a miracle in my eyes.”

I huffed out a laugh.

“Our father is controlling,” I admitted. “Did you know that he used to track us? I swear to God. We even tried to sneak out, and he’d somehow know. He literally controlled every aspect of our lives. We didn’t eat, sleep, or even start our periods without him knowing.”

“Your dad is something else,” he admitted. “An arranged marriage? What the hell? What country are we in?”

I snorted. “You know that we’re originally from Iceland, right?”

He nodded once. “The accent.”

That was true.

Every once in a while, my accent would make its appearance.

I hadn’t been there in years and consciously made the effort to suppress it. Yet, under extreme emotions, or when I just wasn’t paying attention, it would come out.

“My dad is the son of an ex-prime minister,” I said softly.

His eyebrows