rambles. “I’ve saved your ass, kept your secrets.” She points at Holden. “And this is how you repay me?”
He steps to her, closing the distance between them. “It wasn’t me. But you made it clear earlier that you want to think the worst of me, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“No.” She shakes her head, stubbing a finger into his chest. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to manipulate me and make me feel guilty for being honest.”
I don’t know what they’re talking about now, but it’s clear that I’ve missed something, and I don’t like the way it makes me feel. Like they’re in on something I’m not.
“It wasn’t us,” he says again, throwing up his arms. He shakes his head, frustrated, and sits back down at the table.
Shayne looks over at me in question.
“I’d like to think I’m a little more creative than that.”
“You mean like the cockroaches?” she throws back. “That was pretty clever.”
I move toward her, crowding her space. “I’m getting real sick of being accused of shit I didn’t do.” She tries to hold her ground, but the way her throat moves when she swallows hard gives away her nerves. “You seem to think I spend a lot more time thinking about you than I do. Don’t flatter yourself.” It’s a flat-out fucking lie that she hasn’t occupied every one of my thoughts since she’s been back, and even before that if I’m being honest with myself. But she doesn’t have to know that.
“Right. And it wasn’t you who threw me into your car against my will either, I’m sure. Just some other guy wearing your face.”
Touché.
“Boys,” I hear my father holler from the foyer. “Were you raised by wolves? Why is the front door wide open?”
At the sound of his voice, Shayne’s expression morphs from anger to fear in record time. I think about sneaking her out the back, not wanting my father involved in any of this, but it’s too late, because two sets of footsteps grow louder, about to walk in at any moment.
Both my father and grandfather appear wearing matching uncertain expressions. “Shayne,” my father says, trying—and failing—to sound pleasant. “Well, I must say this is a surprise.”
“Hi…Mr. Ames,” she stumbles on her words, not knowing how to refer to him anymore. Not that she ever called him Dad. Her wide eyes dart to mine, begging me to save her.
He appraises her for a moment, and unease pricks my spine. They haven’t seen each other in nearly a year, and I have no idea how he’s going to react to her being here in the house. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know you can call me August.” He smiles. “I’ve been meaning to check in since I heard you were back.”
“I was just taking her home,” I cut in before she can respond, angling my body in front of hers.
“Of course,” he says easily, his eyes shifting between the two of us, but the moment we walk out that door, I know he’s going to demand answers. And I can only hope that Holden and Christian will come up with something halfway believable. “Give Elena my condolences.”
He’s doing his best to be polite, but my grandfather, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have the same idea. He eyes her with such disdain that it catches me off guard. Seems I’m not the only one harboring a grudge. Even more surprising is the fact that my need to protect her is still alive and well, buried underneath all the resentment. Talk about fucked up.
“Sure.” Shayne nods, a frown tugging at her pretty features.
I shoot Holden a look telling him to do damage control and he gives me an almost imperceptible nod to let me know he’s got it, and then I’m walking out of the house with Shayne right behind me.
Shayne
What was I thinking? I cannot believe I just barged into Whittemore like a psycho. Going over there was a half-baked plan at best. I didn’t know if anyone would be home, but I definitely didn’t expect to see August. He’s never home. Even when we lived there, I could count how many times I interacted with him on both hands. If I thought Thayer was cold, August was ice. But the two of them have nothing on his grandfather.
He’s old money and has that air of superiority thing down pat. He clearly hasn’t forgotten our last encounter at the funeral, if the way he was looking at