Chapter 24 Freddie
FREDDIE
I watch Bianca from the corner of my eye as she paces the living room, her irritation a storm brewing just under her skin. Every few seconds, she huffs and mumbles something to herself.
I get it. Being left behind sucks, especially for someone like her who’s spent years making her own decisions.
So when Weller announced over pancakes that he and Tristan would be the ones to go into the office, Bianca asked if she could go.
Weller refused, his voice leaving no room for argument.
“You are not setting foot near our fathers’ offices.
” But the real detonation came after she realized Owen was getting tapped to shake down some deadbeat for a late rent payment.
“I could help,” she’d said to Owen, leaning forward eagerly. “I’m good at being intimidating and you’re injured. You could use backup.”
Weller’s “absolutely not” had shut her down immediately, his voice giving no wiggle room even though she tried. “It’s not safe.”
What he didn’t say but I heard perfectly clearly: We’re keeping you as hidden as possible. Hoarded away like a dragon protecting its gold.
The problem is that I deeply understand where everyone is coming from.
Bianca wants freedom and to make her own choices but that’s a collision course with our instincts.
Walking her onto our father’s turf right now would be unthinkable.
We don’t trust them, nor do we trust sketchy collection jobs with Owen.
She’s been through hell, and maybe she thinks she can’t break any more than she already has, or maybe even worse, she doesn’t care if she does.
But the look on her face as she watched everyone leave, like she was genuinely hurt, was hard to swallow.
She’s been ignoring me for twenty minutes straight while I arrange logs in the fireplace. I strike a match, watching the flame catch and spread. The warmth feels good against the chill that’s settled in the house, but it does nothing to thaw the ice wall between us.
Finally, she turns to me, arms crossed over her chest. “So, I guess you’re my babysitter.”
“Hey,” I say, trying for lightness, “I’m a very fun babysitter. We can braid each other’s hair, paint our nails, talk about boys...”
That lands. Barely, but it does. The tiniest twitch of her mouth, a little spark of amusement.
She collapses onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “I’m bored.”
Before I can suggest something, she’s on her feet again, crossing to where I’m still crouched by the fire. Her hand clamps down on my forearm and she leans in until her lips brush my ear, setting my nerves on fire.
“I want to snoop a little,” she whispers, her breath hot against my skin. “Whitney loved her secrets. I want to see if I can find anything.”
I should remind her that the house is wired with cameras, that we’re supposed to keep our heads down, not draw attention but she’s looking at me like she needs me on her team.
“Want to give me a tour?” she asks casually, loud enough for the cameras to pick up. “I haven’t seen much of this place since I was a kid.”
“Sure,” I say, playing along.
We move from room to room, the two of us orbiting each other.
The house is silent except for the sound of our footsteps on the polished hardwood floors.
Every time she wants to ask something, Bianca leans in again, lips ghosting across my skin, her questions a secret code meant for me alone.
It’s dizzying, the constant brush of her body, the way her scent fills every breath I take.
I’m supposed to be focused on her words, but all I can think about is the curve of her mouth and the way she smells like my favorite dessert.
“You okay?” she asks, catching me staring. Her brow furrows with genuine concern, and the shift from conspirator to caretaker is so quintessentially Bianca.
“Yeah,” I say, and heat crawls up my neck at how rough my voice sounds.
“Whitney’s room next?” she asks, her eyes lingering on my face like she’s gauging my reaction.
My stomach knots but I focus on steadying my breathing. I will not fall apart in front of her. Not here. I want to be with her, and not spiral into some anxiety meltdown. Being in her room could end up being triggering for both of us though. “Are you sure?”
“I need to see it, Freddie.” Her hand finds my arm, grounding me. “But I get it if you don’t want to go in.”
“I’m going wherever you go.”
She rolls her eyes. “You guys are gonna have to get over that. I like my alone time.”
Yeah. Good luck with that.
Whitney’s bedroom is a time capsule, every surface scrubbed clean and unnervingly pristine. The bed is made, the vanity arranged neatly. Bianca walks through the space first, just looking, her fingers trailing over surfaces before she starts opening drawers and looking around.
“The smell in here drives me insane.” She makes a face.
“Me too.”
She freezes, her attention caught by something in the nightstand. A leather-bound book, thick and ornate that I’ve noticed before but never opened. But Bianca does, and the second she flips through the pages, all the color drains from her face.
“Bianca?”
She turns the book toward me, her hands trembling slightly as she flips through a few of the pages.
It’s a fucking scrapbook, and a meticulously kept one at that.
Photos of the four of us and Whitney, all over the place: bonding ceremony, press conferences, charity events, endless dinners.
Mementos from trips we were forced to go on.
There are scrawls of her handwriting everywhere, manic little notes.
A book of her delusions. A shrine to a life we never lived.
It’s a perversion of our past, twisting moments of misery into a fairytale she constructed in her head.
“It’s all lies,” I say urgently, stepping closer when I smell her scent go bitter. “She wanted it to be real but it wasn’t.”
I’ll say it as many times as I need to. Until she believes it.
She nods, but her fingers trace one of the photos and she looks up at me, her blue eyes searching mine. I glance down and it’s a picture of Whitney kissing my cheek at some party, my face neutral. I don’t remember it. I try not to remember any of it.
“Let’s see the library,” Bianca says, not even looking back, the book clutched in her arms. I wonder what she’s planning to do with it. My vote is to burn it.
Whitney’s office is tucked into the library, just off the main room.
It’s off to the side with a heavy oak desk and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
Bianca immediately heads to the desk to rifle through drawers while I check the filing cabinet.
We find nothing of interest. Stationary.
Pens. I cringe when I see the little gold star stickers she used to implement a star chart for us at one point in time.
The computer is locked with a password I don’t know.
In the corner, there’s a camera, but no red light. Maybe working, maybe not.
Whitney bitched about the cameras all the time so I wouldn’t be surprised if she got her father to turn this one off.
Bianca stops in front of one of the large bookcases, her head tilted thoughtfully. She stares at it for a long moment, her eyes scanning, then turns abruptly. “I think that’s enough of a tour for today.”
She definitely clocked something, but she’s not sharing. I want to ask, but I hold back.
“Everything okay?”
She nods, and I’m fully unprepared for what she says next. “Is there any weed around here, Freddie?”
“What?”
“You know, marijuana? The devil’s lettuce?” She wiggles her fingers in what I assume is supposed to be a spooky gesture, and I can’t help but laugh. “I could really use something to take the edge off. And I’m not a big drinker.”
“I—” I hesitate, torn between wanting to keep her happy and worrying about whether it’s a bad idea. Screw it. “I have gummies.”
Her brows shoot up. “Really?”
Is it that shocking that I’m not a complete square?
“For anxiety,” I admit, feeling my face heat up. “Sometimes it helps me deal with… everything.”
She lights up, grinning wide and bright. It’s almost blinding. God, she’s gorgeous. “Frederick Miller, you beautiful man. Show me your stash.”
I lead her to my bathroom, pop open the medicine cabinet, and shake a green, sugar-dusted gummy out of the packet as she watches.
“Start with half,” I warn. “They’re strong.”
She plucks it from my palm, giving me a look and her voice dips to a secretive hush. “Freddie… this isn’t my first rodeo.” Her lips curve up slyly. “We grew it in the woods.”
Another day, another surprise with this girl.
She pops the whole thing in her mouth, then fixes me with a stare while she chews. “Well? Are you gonna let me get high alone? That’s just sad.”
I really shouldn’t. I need to keep my wits about me. I’m usually the responsible one, aside from Weller— who doesn’t know how to have any fun at all... But Bianca’s smile is a force of nature and I’m beginning to realize I’d do anything to see it.
I shrug and toss a gummy in my mouth. “Cheers.” The fruit flavor does little to mask the earthy undertone. She lights up like I just made her day, and I’d eat a hundred of these if it kept that look on her face.
“How long until it kicks in usually?”
“Forty-five minutes, maybe an hour.”
“Perfect.” She’s practically bouncing now. “Now we should go make something delicious.”
“What for?”
“You know like old times… and for when the munchies hit.”
The gummies kick in faster than I expect.
One minute I’m helping Bianca gather ingredients, the next my limbs are buzzing with a pleasant weightlessness.
Whitney’s hell house suddenly seems less menacing and more like I just walked onto the set of the Twilight Zone.
Did her father actually not see the ridiculousness of bringing Bianca here? Or is that all part of it?
With him, you can never really tell what the goal is. I’ve barely seen him show expression beyond minor annoyance. Which was usually aimed at Whitney’s antics.