Chapter Thirty-Five
THIRTY-FIVE
Rocky
The Badger Game (Continued)
We’re seated for dinner without Phoebe and Jake—and not knowing where they are is a static hum in my ears. There’s a distracting, unstoppable itch to go find them. But I am Trent’s friend first, and so I can’t leave. Can’t move. Can’t do much more than smile into my next sip of whiskey that Trent offered me earlier.
“You must try our bourbon we have in the cellar while you’re here.” Claudia touches my wrist across the table. “It’s divine.”
“I’d love that, Claudia.” I smile wider.
She looks satisfied with herself and with me. Together, we flank the head of the table. She’s seated me where Jordan should be.
Her second-born son is relegated to the middle beside his wife, Nadia. Practically shunned to the “friend” section of the table since Collin Falcone and Oliver sit across from them.
“I don’t know about you, but I am looking forward to our Phoebe’s grand entrance.” Trent raises his whiskey to his lips, grinning. He’s to my right. At the head of the fucking table.
While their father “sends his love” from a Switzerland trip, Claudia has let her firstborn miscreant rule the household. She should be in his seat, but sure, let your prick of a son dictate how this evening unfolds.
“She’s a work in progress,” Claudia says, more stiffly. “But we’re getting somewhere.”
Getting somewhere—that sounds like Claudia’s pleased with her.
Phoebe. If she submitted to Claudia’s whims, it means she must have pushed her hard enough to get the kind of blackmail we need. I hate not knowing what happened.
I’ll find out soon.
Not soon enough. Because my imagination is running rampant with dark, disturbing scenarios. Boiling my blood. I want to hold her.
I want to be with her.
I don’t want to be anywhere she’s not.
Claudia takes a long sip of wine before continuing. “I wondered if she was ever involved in…well, things that aren’t quite dinner talk.”
“Ohhh, come on, Mom,” Trent goads. “We’re all adults here.”
“She’s just a little too… free .”
“Oh.” Trent’s brows spike at me. “Oh.” He cocks his head. “I think she’s implying that our Phoebe might’ve dabbled in escorting?”
The way he says our Phoebe has me containing so much raw fury. It’s contorting inside me like an animal on fire. Searing and seething. I let it feed on me.
Instead of pummeling him, I make a show of gently rolling my eyes. “I’d know if she were a sex worker. I was married to her.”
Oliver acts oblivious as they attempt to degrade his sister in front of him. He can’t stick up for Phoebe without appearing defensive. It will get him axed from the friend group. All Koning privileges revoked.
He just has to take it.
Yet, he will pretend it’s nothing. Water off a duck’s back. But he’s not infallible. He loves his sister too damn much, and I see through his carefree veneer often. When no one’s looking.
Even now, Oliver has a deadened unblinking stare for a flicker of a second. It’s expertly concealed disgust.
Claudia touches her earrings. “Trent, dear, we don’t need to talk of escorting at the table.” She looks to me. “I’m sorry, he can be so crass.”
“But she loves me.” Trent bats his lashes at me. I have them vying for my attention, and I’d be more amused if I didn’t despise them both.
“Hush.” Claudia tips a smile to him.
Jordan scoots forward. “I—”
“So, Grey,” Claudia cuts off her other son, focused solely on me. “How is your portfolio these days?”
The door bursts open. “Oh my God, the tablescape is stunning .” Phoebe blows into the formal dining room like a force of nature. Uncontrollable, disastrous beauty.
My lip tries to twitch into a smile.
She takes up double the space in that royal-blue dress. Mounds and mounds of tulle. It practically swallows her lower half, and I suspect Claudia chose it for her.
“Oh, I just love how cute this is. Look, Jake,” Phoebe says and tugs Jake over to their seats, pointing out the monogrammed napkins.
Trent tilts his head. “Phoebe, you look like a princess. I didn’t think I’d see the day.”
I stop grinding my teeth, but before I say something, Jake snaps, “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Trent mocks.
“Boys,” Claudia chastises in a flat tone that I’ve heard a hundred times before. Unfortunately, it’s not my first Koning dinner.
Oliver grins into his wine, which pleases Trent. Phoebe’s brother is on his side in this brother rivalry.
Jake pulls out Phoebe’s chair for her. “I just need him to not be an asshole for five seconds.”
“Jacob.” Claudia is horrified.
I nearly smile.
Trent looks bored. “It’s fine, Mom. Jake has no sense of humor. He doesn’t know what a joke is.”
“Were you joking?” Jake flings back.
As they bicker, Phoebe takes her seat between me and her fake boyfriend, and I check on her with a short glance.
She catches my gaze, her tenacity focusing her eyes, determined to see this through. Her lips lift into a satisfied smile. She got it. She has the blackmail.
It eases me in one breath and concerns me in another. Because what exactly did Claudia do?
“Thank you for inviting me, Claudia. It’s been so wonderful so far.” Phoebe rises to her feet like she means to give a toast, but instead she lifts her flute to her lips. “You’ve truly outdone yourself this Easter weekend. I cannot wait to spend every holiday here.”
Claudia’s eyes narrow into pinpoints. “Settle, dear.” She holds out a hand and lowers it as if Phoebe is a toddler that needs physical cues.
Phoebe’s smile glints in and out. “Yes, of course.” She dutifully plops back down in her seat. Claudia seems pleased with the change of pace.
Servers, including my sister, silently place a pickled baby-beet amuse-bouche in front of us. Nobody acknowledges Hailey. We keep the attention off her.
Next two courses, Jordan hasn’t stopped talking about a red carpet he walked in December for some action movie. “The publicists were barely doing their jobs. And the security was complete shit. They just let this fourteen-year-old girl stroll through like she was part of the cast. She barely spoke four words in the film.”
“Definitely less than that,” his wife, Nadia, chimes in.
“Exactly.” Jordan sips his wine so quickly. Zero pause. “It was an absolute mess. It’s my last premiere in L.A.—once you go to Cannes, there is no comparison. Leagues above the rest. And Tom, well you know, Tom is Tom .”
“You know Tom Hanks?” Collin says, impressed.
“No,” Jordan says. “Tom Cruise.” He looks to Trent like why is your idiot friend here?
Trent rolls his eyes. “There are a million boring Toms in the world, Jordan.” It’s refreshing seeing him stick up for Collin, but I also know he’s only doing it to punch his brother down. Oliver leans in, whispering something to Collin.
Jordan scowls, then continues talking about award shows. At one point, I spot him slyly pop something in his mouth. From what Jake has told me, I’m guessing it’s an upper.
Three minutes later, Claudia puts a hand on top of his, a silent gesture to shut up.
Phoebe, Oliver, and I are in the front row of a dark family satire where the pillhead son can’t win over mommy’s attention.
“Mom, you would’ve loved the Vanity Fair party last year,” Jordan tries again. Claudia looks uninterested as she swirls a spoon in her gazpacho.
Nadia peers past her husband. “Anne Hathaway was even there.”
Claudia perks. Barely. “Really? What was she wearing?”
“Um.” Jordan looks at his wife and whispers, “Vera Wang?”
“Balmain,” Nadia says sweetly. “I think.”
Claudia sighs at the answer, but then Trent raises his whiskey and stands. Her face floods with relief and gratitude.
“A toast,” Trent decrees, then motions his flute glass to Collin and Oliver. “To old friends and new friends.” His eyes land on me. “To best friends.” I lift my glass back to him. He points like we’re two peas in a rotten pod. God help me not kill him. He raises his glass to his mom. “To family.” He never acknowledges Jake in that.
But his smirk widens on Phoebe. “And lastly, to my brother’s girlfriend—I hope this Easter weekend… fulfills all your needs.”
Jake is stewing. Outwardly.
His mother is shooting Jake daggers, silently warning him not to ruin the toast.
“Cheers,” Phoebe says to Trent. We all drink.
—
I’m crawling out of my skin. I hate my black button-down. I hate the Rolex on my wrist. I hate the belt at my waist. I hate my socks suctioning to my calves. I want to rip everything off my body.
To stop from popping a blood vessel and grabbing Trent’s throat by the tenth course, I concentrated on my breathing, on the feeling of my clothes against my skin, and now, the sensations are like ten-inch fingernails raking a chalkboard.
Dinner has ended, and we’re in the parlor for a nightcap. The whiskey is taking the edge off.
“…I have to wear the cast all summer,” Collin prattles on about his broken leg. His crutches lean against the floral couch. He actually sprawls out across the entire couch like he’s in his own living room.
Claudia slips me looks like isn’t he uncouth?
I entertain her with ones back.
Phoebe and Jake snuggle close on a love seat, but not close enough to entice Trent to draw her away from his brother.
Trevor is here.
Playing violin in the corner with the quartet. It’s fine , I tell myself. It’s a good position for him to be in—harmless. No one will fuck with him. He’ll be fine.
I only briefly acknowledged him since Trent knows he’s my brother, but I worry if I act like I care, then Trent will want to bring him over for a drink. That’s not happening.
Claudia yawns. “I think it’s time for me to retire. I’ll see you all in the morning. Grey, dear, it’s been lovely.” She kisses both my cheeks.
“Same to you, Claudia.”
She brightens with faux sincerity. “Trent.” She gives him the same goodbye treatment. “You behave yourself.” Her smile eliminates even the semblance of a warning.
“I wouldn’t dare do anything less.” He grins.
She laughs. “Silly boys.” Her smile fades at Phoebe. “Goodnight, dear.” Then to her son, “Jacob. Be good. Tomorrow morning, we’ll all be together.” She actually hugs Jake. To her second born…she forgets he’s even there.
Claudia leaves the parlor.
Jordan and Nadia whisper-hiss under their breath.
“Oh shut it, Jordan,” Trent bemoans. “Go run after her and talk her ear off about some lame premiere no one wants to see.”
“Goodnight.” He stands in a huff, fixing his suit jacket. He catches Nadia’s hand and carts her out the door.
“Bye, Jordie Shore!” Collin calls out.
Oliver laughs.
“And then there were six,” I say into my whiskey, sitting in a club chair beside Trent.
He lights a cigar and puffs out smoke. “Past your bedtime, Jake?” he asks his brother. “This is when the children get tucked in.”
“Then you should’ve gone to bed hours ago,” Jake retorts.
“Oh, oh . He has a spine, ladies and gentlemen.” Trent snickers. “For most of my life, I thought you were all jellyfish.” He does a terrible impersonation of a jellyfish. He looks like he’s convulsing against the chair.
Phoebe is trying not to snort into a glass of brandy.
I’m trying not to smile at her. My collar isn’t bothering me to near madness. My watch doesn’t feel like seven tons bearing on my wrist. For this brief second, all I see…is her.
I’m struck by her. Classical music pours through the parlor and triggers my senses.
And when her eyes find mine and her movements slow, it’s like time reverses. Like we’re both being knocked so far back. I’m fifteen and falling in love under a sycamore tree in Virginia. Lightning bugs swarm us in the sticky summer night, and we’re practicing a waltz for a debutante ball. It’d be her second coming-out to high society. She’s pretending to be sixteen.
But we’re so young, and as she trips over my feet, I catch her around the hips, and she’s laughing off the clumsiness. A red flush stains her cheeks, and even in the night, I see her. I see how her eyes track over my features, how her breath hitches at the sight of me.
Again.
We keep going. We never stop. Not as sweat drips down our temples, as hot, heavy heat builds in our lungs, as our hands brush and skim, and our breath becomes arduous from more than the cadence of our steps. Then she trips again, and this time, I seize her from behind and yank her back into my chest.
Our bodies meld, and I hear her breath shallow. I feel her hands skating against my flexed biceps while my arms wrap around her waist. My lips brush over her neck, and her body lets out an uncontrolled, surprised shudder.
Then a flashlight glares at us. We squint, and I raise my hand to block the beam of light. It illuminates a glinting spiderweb—two inches from our faces.
Seeing the person behind the flashlight, we split apart. We’re about to go inside the mansion we’re staying at.
“You’re not done,” my father says. “Go again.”
She doesn’t want to argue with the godfather. I’m uncertain if he should see how much I love her. I’m concerned I can’t hide it right then.
We’re out there for two more hours.
It’s not enough for him.
We could go forever together. Does he know that? Does he know there’s no exhausting two people who can’t quit?
“Grey?” Trent wrenches me out of a reverie.
I focus over on him with a tight smile and then take a harsher sip of whiskey.
He’s baffled, eyeing me, then my ex-wife. “What was that?”
“The music—it sounded like one of the songs at our wedding.”
“It wasn’t,” Phoebe snaps at me, doing a good job of flipping over the boat I capsized. “And that time is dead and gone.” She holds Jake’s hand tighter, making a show of how she’s moved on from me.
Jake cups her hand around his.
It should work, except Trent is bored and loves trying to kick Jake down a few pegs. And I’ve unfortunately reminded him that Phoebe and I were once together. But there is very little that I can’t outmaneuver.
Trent grins over at me, his cigar between two fingers. “How was she when you were married?”
“Vapid.”
Phoebe scoffs.
“Uninteresting.”
Heat flushes her cheeks.
“Destructive.” I look her over. “She devastates everything she touches, like poison on a vine—I was tangled up in her. Dying from the inside. And I never wanted out.” I lean forward toward Phoebe. “But there you were. And there I was.” I watch her blink softly. “There will never be a day, a night, a minute, a moment, a breath where you aren’t destructively mine. And I hope it fucking terrifies you.”
Phoebe is doing her best to control her breathing. She’s glaring, likely pissed at me for making emotion surge in her. “I hope you go to hell, Rocky.”
“I’m already there, Phoebe.” I raise my glass to her. “Where do you think I met you?”
Trent full-belly laughs. “Jeeeez, you two are something else.” He tsks over at his brother. “Jake, Jake, Jake. You’re just going to let her ex-husband say that about your girlfriend?”
Jake has an arm around the love seat. He’s clinging to the furniture like it’s a safety harness, barring him from standing up. “Their relationship is in the past, Trent.”
He slings his head to me. “How was the wedding night?”
Fuck him.
“Ew, no , we’re not talking about this,” Phoebe protests.
“Oh, now you’re a prude?”
“Knock it off,” Jake warns.
Trent laughs, more unsurely. “We’re all adults. We can talk about sex . Come on.” He spreads his arms. “Is that not what we do here?” He motions to Collin and Oliver, and they chime in like seagulls.
Yes.
Yes.
“The wedding night!” he decrees. “And play something more interesting. Upbeat!” he shouts at the quartet. “Not whatever this shit is.”
I purposely don’t look at my brother.
Trent nudges my arm. “What was it like? Best lay you ever had?”
“Forgetful, TK.” I need Jake to intervene. Now.
“Trent,” Jake says his name like dry ice. “Don’t go there with me.”
“What are you going to do? Cry about it?” Trent bows forward with his cigar. He puffs smoke toward Jake, then tells Phoebe, “I have a feeling you’re a secret starfish.” I’m burning alive. “You just lie there and take it—”
Jake is on his feet, thank fucking God. I shoot to mine. Trent stands more leisurely. He’s laughing beside me. “Big scary Jake. Come to protect his skunky girlfriend. From what?”
“Do you even hear yourself?” He waves an angry hand. “Do you know how you fucking sound?”
Trent laughs. “Oh, Jake. Always so afraid. You know, deep down, that Phoebe will realize she prefers guys like me and Grey. And I have a feeling that realization is going to happen tonight. When she spreads her legs and I—”
Jake lunges, and Trent looks to me , like I’m his guard dog. But the urge to slam my fist against his jaw tries to overpower me, and the only way to mitigate it is to let Jake reach his brother.
I hold out a weak arm, and Jake tears through me. He throws a violent right hook into Trent’s mouth, using all his weight. His lip busts instantly, and he stumbles to his ass, dropping his cigar.
“Get the fuck off him!” I shout at Jake, pushing him in the chest.
And Jake surrenders with his hands up, but we share this brief moment of fury and fear. His brother needs to go. His brother can’t be left to his own devices tonight. Not with Phoebe. Not when Jake isn’t able to sleep in her room, and his mom likes to have housekeepers check on him.
I pry away from Jake quickly. “Jesus Christ. Trent? Are you okay?” I help him up, but it takes everything—and I mean every fucking thing —in me not to stomp him in the face.
“I’m going to bed. I’ve had enough of this,” Phoebe says.
“Yeah, you do that!” I shout at her.
“I will!”
Oliver fakes a yawn. “Me, too. I’m beat. Collin?”
“Nah, I could…” He trails off as Oliver mimes a joint. “Actually…” He grabs his crutches, and Oliver easily lugs away Trent’s friend. Likely, they’ll go smoke in the garden or on a balcony.
Trent touches his bloodied lip. Seeing the crimson on his fingers, he laughs. “Nice one, little brother!” he yells as Phoebe pulls Jake toward the exit. “You do have fight in you, after all!”
I grimace at the music. “This is shrill. Do they play all night?”
“Wrap it up,” he tells the quartet.
My brother hardly glances in my direction as he packs away his violin. The other musicians hurry with their instruments, and soon, it’s just me and Trent. Alone in the parlor. I pour another round of whiskey and hand him the glass.
He grins. “And then there were two.”
Trust me. I’m not the one you want to be left alone with.