eleven #2
My heart is hammering, but I concentrate on Baron’s hand and not the panic that Preston knows.
That somehow, he found out, and that’s why he wants to get his baby away from Grandpa Darling.
But I’d rather him know about me than have him find out another way, if something happened to the baby to bring his suspicions to light.
I think I’ll be sick.
“So, the family has been discussing options for him,” Dad says. “Would you like to have some input, Mabel?”
He looks at me, but I can’t speak. They’re all staring. If Preston found out, did he tell them? Do they all know?
Numbly, I shake my head.
“I can think of something we could do with him,” Baron says.
Colt turns to him, and my breath catches. They’ve been civil for me, because they know that I’m with Baron, but none of them will ever forgive him for the things he did to this family. Not just to me, but to Colt, Dad, Aurora.
“Why are you even here?” Colt demands. “This is a family matter. James didn’t bring—”
“Colt,” Dad barks, cutting off my brother.
“James brought himself,” Baron says to Colt, cool as anything. “He admits he’s not part of the family.”
“He didn’t try to destroy our family.”
“Oh, so you’re only pissed because we didn’t lay down and take it?”
“He didn’t do that,” Dad says. “He took his freedom and ran with it.”
I think I hear a trace of wistfulness in his voice, and I wonder if he’s wishing he’d done the same. His wife would have been spared, like James. Even Mom was spared the worst of it. The Dolces didn’t bother with anyone as long as they left town and left me alone.
“So you’re pissed because when we fought back against your family, we were successful,” Baron says.
Colt shakes his head. “That’s what you call success? We’re still here, and your family is more fucked than ours.”
“Maybe I should go,” James says.
Baron gestures to him. “Or, if you’re saying only blood gets a seat at the table, why is your mom here?”
We all turn to Aurora, who’s gone a little pale and shrunk down, clutching the arms of her chair like she knows there’s conflict happening around her, even if she’s not cognizant of what it is.
Colt’s nostrils flare with anger, and his voice is icy when he speaks. “You want to talk about my mom? Let’s start with why she’s like that.”
“She’s like that because she did a sloppy job,” Baron says. “Like everyone in your family always did. Just look at Mabel.”
Everyone stares for a second, and I’m sure they’re thinking about how I jumped off that bridge, how I failed to complete the act just like my stepmother.
But I know. I know what Baron means, that he won’t come out and say it because he knows that it’s not his secret to tell, but he’s furious about what Grandpa did to me.
He hates them for not protecting me. That’s why they hit my family hardest, while Preston’s and Magnolia’s and even Devlin’s were hardly touched.
“I think you need to leave,” Dad says, his voice deadly calm.
Colt gives a curt nod, and I see the same rage shimmering under his surface, but he’s trying to keep things under control in front of guests, just like Dad. They’re so much alike.
“That would be wise,” Colt grits out. “In fact, I’m not sure why you’re in Faulkner at all. Didn’t Gloria tell you it was hunting season when you came back to town?”
“And yet, she’s nowhere to be found,” Baron says. “Oh, that’s right, she’s locked up in the nuthouse because like your family, she can’t get the job done. Guess she’ll fit right in.”
“Maybe you should ask Dixie if you don’t think she’s capable of hurting someone,” Colt says with a little smirk.
“Dixie is off living her best life with no repercussions for what she did to Lo, or you, or Mabel,” Baron counters. “My point stands.”
Colt looks at me. “What’d she do to you?”
“She put that video on her blog,” Baron says.
“Because you told her to,” Colt grits out.
“It was her choice,” Baron says with a shrug. “She did it because she wanted you to stop protecting Mabel.”
Colt grits his teeth and doesn’t say anything. I know he hates that he was manipulated for so long as much as I hate that I was.
“We’ll go,” I say, turning to my father. “But not before I get what I came for. I want to know what happened to Dahlia.”
His brows rise in an expression of surprise. “Dahlia Delacroix?”
He glances at Aurora, but she remains motionless in her chair, face devoid of expression. I know there’s something, though. He looked to her because they hid something together. Anger lashes inside me, but I keep myself as placid as his wife.
“Yes, Dad,” I say. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “No one knows.”
“I wrote her letters,” I say. “I remember seeing Aurora hiding something. An envelope. Did you intercept my mail?”
“No,” he says, his shoulders slumping. “We contacted the school when you asked about her, and we got a concerning letter back. We thought it would be best, considering your state at the time, if you didn’t get the news that she was gone.”
“You made me think I was crazy,” I say, my voice carefully even. “That I made it all up. That she wasn’t real.”
He frowns. “That was never our intention.”
“But you did,” I say. “You didn’t want me to contact her. You didn’t want to give me the name of her school. And when I wrote her, I got a letter back from her school saying she was never there. Did you lie to me?”
Dad rakes his hand through his thinning hair. “We were trying to protect you, Mabel. That’s all we ever wanted. We may not have always done the best job of it, but we did try.”
“By lying to me?” I ask, rising to my feet. “That’s never protected anyone, except maybe yourselves.” I turn to my stepmother. “I came for answers, and maybe revenge, but I see you took care of it yourself. You got what you deserve.”
“Mabel,” Dad barks.
Of course Aurora doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even look at me. If there’s something going on in her head, I can’t reach it.
I turn to my father. “And so did you.”
“You need to leave,” he says again, standing as well.
“We were already on our way out,” Baron says, standing and taking my hand. He leads me toward the front door. I hear footsteps behind us, and I turn to see Colt escorting us out.
When our eyes meet, he shakes his head, his expression filled with disappointment.
But Aurora’s not my mother. She’s his.
“That was unnecessary,” he says when we reach the door.
To my surprise, Baron stops and turns back after stepping outside. “Now that we’re alone, I need to ask you something.”
Colt just stares out at us, his eyes guarded. “I don’t owe you shit.”
“What do you have on Duke?” Baron asks. “He gets cagey and belligerent whenever your name comes up.”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“Please?” I implore, knowing Baron won’t beg.
He won’t escalate things to violence like Duke would to get answers either.
Baron has more self-control, and he doesn’t get angry.
He fought with the kind of detached precision he’ll use as a surgeon, that will make him the best, not out of emotion.
But I know how much this means to him. He wouldn’t ask my brother at all unless he was desperate.
Colt’s expression doesn’t change. I read men well, but I can’t read him. Not anymore. He’s changed, and not just his face. He glares at Baron, his eyes filled with nothing but cold loathing.
“He’s not doing well,” I say. “We just want to understand why, what might have happened that last semester that he hasn’t told us. You were here. We weren’t. We don’t know unless someone tells us, and he won’t talk about it.”
“You’re right,” Colt says, his gaze moving to me. “You weren’t here.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, because I know what it’s like to be left at their mercy. I left Colt just like my mother left me. I failed him like they all failed me.
He must be thinking the same, but his eyes soften at last.
“I’m glad you weren’t,” he says, and then he turns his attention back to Baron. “I told you, I don’t owe you anything. Not even answers. Now I’m going to do something I should have done the first time you came knocking.”
Before we can answer, he swings the door closed in our faces. I hear the lock engage, and then I’m left standing on one side with Baron, and Colt’s on the other with our family.
His family.
I may not have been officially disowned, but I chose a side, and it wasn’t the Darlings’.