Chapter Twenty-One
TWENTY-ONE
Rocky
NOW
I rack a shotgun. As I aim, a loud bang fires off on my right, and the quail drops from the sky, thudding to the grassy earthen floor.
Nova Graves lowers his gun before I even put my finger on the trigger.
Quail hunting is apparently Nova’s fifth talent. Every time he shoots down a bird, his narrowed gaze finds Varrick among us. No love spared for his dad this summer. He sends him blatant threats every now and then.
And still, Varrick seems more impressed by his son’s firearm skills than offended by his brusque attitude. It puts me on edge, but then again, I haven’t been relaxed around Varrick since we moved into Stonehaven.
The Bennet brothers invited us to these private hunting grounds.
A gentleman’s outing of tracking and killing easy prey.
This is Damian Bennet’s way to try and ingratiate himself with Varrick since he believes the inheritance is still undecided.
He whistles at his English setter, and the dog skips ahead of us to locate more quail.
“Nolan, goddamn,” Trent says to him as we all follow the sniffing setter. “Save some for the rest of us.”
He’s begun calling Nova by his “legal” name ever since a dinner at Stonehaven, when Trent declared, “Nova is a girl’s name, you know.
Whoever nicknamed you must’ve hated you.
” He looked to me when he laughed, so I had to share in his ugly snicker.
He pointed his butter knife at Phoebe’s brother.
“You should go by your real name. Nolan. It’s stronger. Better.”
Nova didn’t care to correct him.
“A name is what you make it,” Varrick piped in, cutting his rib eye with a fork and knife. “You only believe it’s a girl’s name because that’s all you’ve heard and seen. But now you know a man who’s being called Nova. Your perceptions will change.”
“Doubtful.”
Trent has a pasta colander for a filter. He’s not a suck-up. He was never admonished by his mommy and daddy for being rude. He believes he’s above reproach, that no matter what he does, he will still be handed the golden goose on a silver platter.
So I wasn’t shocked when he added, “The name makes the man, and anyone who calls him Nova is saying he’s a pussy.”
“Trent,” Jake snapped.
“Jacob.” Trent smirked back. “Don’t be such a prude.”
Phoebe almost threw her dinner roll at Trent. “The only pussy at this table—”
“Is who?” Trent taunted.
“The strong man makes the name.” Varrick intercepted the conversation right before I could. “The weak man would let the name make him.”
“Don’t quit your day job of leisure,” Trent said into a strong sip of merlot. “I don’t think you’re going to make it as a poet, Varrick.”
That “family” dinner was only a few days ago.
Varrick hearing Trent call his son Nolan has him slipping an unsubtle glance of annoyance across the grassy field. Then he checks on Nova, who slings the shotgun on his back. Either Varrick is ensuring he’s okay or he wants Nova to see that he cares about him.
I wonder if he’s been trying to appeal to each of us. Now his oldest son. He’s attempting to find a connection. A way to reach him.
See, we both can’t stand that prick. I’m on your side. I have your back, son.
To manipulate him?
I’m naturally skeptical. Always mistrusting of others. It’s near impossible for me to believe Varrick is so genuine in his outreach toward us.
His desires feel thin yet sticky enough to make me question myself. He wants to get back at the godmothers. Revenge. He wants to use us to pull more cons. Power.
Still, I can’t shake how easily he’s handing everything to us.
We want Trent to be taken care of? Done.
We want the father figure we’ve never had? Done.
We want pure, relentless honesty that the godmothers didn’t give us? Done.
This stinks of raw manipulation to me.
On the flipside, could he just be this fucking caring?
Yeah.
He’s definitely up to something.
“I’ve been thinking,” Trent says quietly to me, and I track his gaze over to Oliver, who strolls lackadaisically on the far left side of the field. He chews the end of a twig he pulled off a branch about a half mile back.
I have a great sense of where this conversation is going, and I already hate it. “Yeah?” I act more interested in my gun.
“You think they’ve fucked?” Trent whispers. “Oliver and Hailey?”
He can’t get over her blushing at Oliver. It’s starting to become a stupid fixation. I grimace at him, toning down what I want to be a threat. “She’s my sister, man. I’m not contemplating her sleeping with anyone.”
Trent groans, “Please don’t be a stick-in-the-mud like my baby brother. Having Jake everywhere I turn this summer is bad enough. I don’t want my best friend becoming him, too.”
“No worries there.” I lower my shotgun while we hike toward a meadow of wildflowers.
“What does it matter if they’ve hooked up anyway?
Hailey seems free-spirited. You like to do your own thing, not be tied down.
Maybe you can make a deal with her.” I scan the cloudy blue sky. “An open relationship or something.”
Trent is fixated on Oliver. Barely listening to me. Great. “It’s almost hard to picture her fucking anyone.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever tried to picture it,” I note more harshly.
He laughs to himself, under his breath, then tips his head toward mine. “If Hailey is as amenable as Varrick says, then I should be able to get her to do anything I say.” His eyes glimmer at the idea.
My blood is on fire. I raise my brows at him. Waiting for him to look me in the fucking eye. When he does, he asks, “What?”
“High standards. I thought you had them.” I know he doesn’t. “You’ve slept with models. You called my sister a two, and you want to watch her have sex? That’s a little…” I cringe at him.
He tears his gaze off Oliver. “You’re probably right.” He pats my back. “Always keeping me in check, Grey.”
Not nearly how I’d love to.
We exchange a brief smile, and he drops his arm. “Speaking of the prude,” Trent says as Jake comes over to our shooting zone. We’re in a walking line.
Jake ignores the comment. “Varrick wants to talk to you about something, Trent.”
“You bore him already?” Trent tries to reach up and pat Jake’s face, but Jake bucks backward to avoid the belittling gesture.
“Bye.” Jake points him over to Varrick on the far left.
“Sorry you have to suffer with Jake,” Trent says to me, then adjusts the strap of his shotgun on his back. “Be back soon.” He pats my shoulder blade again. We watch Trent head over to Varrick.
“Bye, bitch,” I say under my breath to Jake. “I think you dropped the second word. I picked it up for you, your moral highness.”
He smiles, one that’s a little too fleeting. Then he casts a quick glance backward. “Should he be behind us?”
Trevor left his zone in the walking line about fifteen minutes ago. About ten feet behind us, he’s sulking, kicking rocks, and holding the shotgun like a barbell behind his neck. It’s unloaded. He made me empty the tube and confirm there were no shells four times.
Knowing Trevor’s rap sheet, I can see how Jake would be nervous my brother would put a bullet in Varrick or Trent’s chest.
Honestly, I’m more worried about Nova.
“He’s fine,” I whisper to Jake. “He was accidentally shot in the foot as a kid. He just doesn’t want to be near any of us in case we fuck around and he finds out.”
Jake’s brows jump in surprise.
“It still shocks you”—I read him easily—“what we’ve been through, even knowing who we are?”
“Your past lives are endless.” He keeps his gun at his side, like I do. “I’m not sure I could ever uncover everything.” He’s staring at Oliver, but in a much different manner than Trent just did.
It brings me back to the night of Hailey’s onslaught of tears. When the two of us finally made it to Stonehaven, I figured she would beeline for Phoebe. Seek comfort from her best friend.
We found Nova, Phoebe, and Jake seated around the stainless-steel kitchen island. They were eating leftover seafood paella that Varrick’s private chef made the night before. The instant they saw Hailey’s runny mascara and tear tracks, they shot to their feet.
She ran straight into Jake’s arms. No hesitation. No question. No pause.
He wrapped his arms around my sister with a wall of empathy. Erected to protect and defend to the absolute death. I’d never liked Jake more than in that moment.
“What’d my brother do?” he asked me, his hatred for Trent so visceral. I could feel the same scalding ember burning through me.
“Where’s Oliver?” Nova questioned.
“Go get him,” I answered Nova first. “He’s still at the party.” Nova was already grabbing his utility jacket off the barstool. Out the door in a flash. I learned Trevor was in the tower room trying to get cell signal to talk to Sidney. Safe and accounted for.
After I explained what happened, the girls decided they’d crash in Phoebe’s room together. Phoebe took out pints of Moose Tracks for the night in, Hailey’s favorite ice cream.
Jake wanted to wait up for Oliver. He was stewing.
Someone is getting punched tonight, I thought. My money was on Nova decking Jake for when Jake would attempt to swing at Oliver.
So I stayed up with Jake to play referee.
I wanted less bloodshed for my sister’s sake. She was dealing with enough, and she didn’t need two guys literally fighting over her. I doubted they knew she was pregnant.
We waited in the main living room. The antique grandfather clock ticked in our silence.
“He didn’t do anything wrong.” I defended my girlfriend’s brother, a guy I’d known my entire life. “Oliver had to act like she was just another girl at a party.”
“He didn’t have to be a jerk. He didn’t have to treat her like…” He shook his head, his anger bringing him to his feet.
I watched him pace. “You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“All Trent does is objectify women.” He outspread his arms. “I didn’t think I’d have to worry about Oliver joining in on that with Hailey.”