9. Stop! #2
But the only thing that will do is convince everyone here that I’m certifiable.
Derek catches my eye and winks—his go-to signal to ask if I’m okay.
I return the gesture, but he doesn’t look particularly convinced.
He remembers Sienna all too well, and the fact that she’s in our dining room isn’t sitting well with him either.
At least, that’s what I gather from the exchange between him and our dad.
They’re both texting on their phones, each stealing glances at the other with every message.
And neither looks happy.
After ten minutes or so, they excuse themselves from the table, and I hear the front door close as I suspect they’ve both stepped outside for a private conversation.
I try to keep my eyes pinned to my plate, twisting and re-twisting my fork in my spaghetti well after the section is wrapped around the prongs.
All the while, my knuckles are so white that they’re likely on the verge of tearing through my skin by just how hard my fists are balled.
Blythe and Sienna can’t seem to let this thing go with Aria.
For the next five minutes, I have to sit in silence as they continue their pitch, wearing the poor girl down until she finally relents, agreeing to at least attend tryouts.
Blinded apparently by stupidity and frustration, my eyes inadvertently drift upward to find Jase…
He’s already looking at me. And the jackass has the nerve to lift a singular eyebrow, as if in silent challenge, as if there’s any chance in hell I could say something.
“I totally forgot to ask you,” Sienna cuts in, turning to Jase. “How’s your mom doing?”
It comes as no surprise that Blythe doesn’t like the change in conversation.
Can’t blame her.
After what went down three years ago, Jase’s mom had outright fled to the other side of the country.
He just gives a noncommittal shrug. “Fine.”
“What does she do now?”
“She works at her fiancé’s studio in L.A.,” he says flatly.
“Really?” Blythe actually perks up at this. “I didn’t hear she got engaged. Does her fiancé produce films?”
“He’s a photographer, actually,” Lauren interjects, listing off credentials that go clear over my head.
Sienna brightens at this, only snuggling up further to Jase. “You don’t say?”
She begins peppering him with seemingly benign questions, but I see it for what it is.
I’m not sure if I’m just used to her tactics or if she really isn’t being as subtle as she thinks, but I’m nearly tempted to shout, “Objection! Leading the witness!” Because that’s what she’s doing.
She’s asking him everything but what she wants to know.
By the dozenth question, a muscle finally ticks in Sienna’s jaw as she struggles to keep her smile in place. Despite myself, I find I have to wrestle down a grin, because Jase isn’t playing along. Every answer he gives is vague as hell, reduced to a single sentence or sometimes just a shrug.
“What’s his name?” she’s finally forced to ask.
“Cipriano Silva.”
To my surprise, I recognize the name. He’s the photographer for my favorite romance author’s latest book cover. The image blew up all over social media last month, both in and out of the reading community. The featured models gained a mass of followers, as well as sponsors…
…which explains Sienna’s not-so-subtle probing into the matter. She already knew damn well about Jase’s connection to him.
Sure, her parents’ own connections could get her gigs and so-called “followers,” but she obviously lacked the genuine fan base that would open the door to legitimate opportunities.
I may not know anything about the modeling industry, but it seems you can’t earn global admiration just because Mommy and Daddy keep writing checks, no matter how many zeros are on them.
But Jase here has direct access to the very kind of influence she needs, guaranteeing him a welcome return to the Untouchables’ good graces.
I dare to steal a glance around the table, curious to see if anyone else is picking up on this steaming pile of bullshit niceties, but they all either have damn good poker faces or they’re clueless.
“I’ll look up Cipriano when I’m in the area,” Sienna coos. “Maybe I could do a photoshoot for him.” She says this like she’s doing him the favor.
Jase doesn’t even spare her a glance, only exchanging looks between me and his plate as he helps himself to another bite.
“Doubtful. He’s very particular.” Before the sting of the comment even has a chance to breathe, his head tilts ever so slightly, his eyes perusing me further, almost in contemplation.
The ghost of a smile pulls at his lips, and Sienna doesn’t miss it. “What about you, Ali?”
“What?” Sienna and I blurt it at the same time, but while she sounds pissed, I’m clearly just confused.
What about me?
“Do you ever find yourself on the West Coast?” he asks.
The fact that Sienna looks about three seconds from tearing her metaphorical claws into my jugular should be enough of a hint, but surely Jase can’t be serious.
That twinkle in his eye says it all.
He’s enjoying siccing Sienna on me. Why give her what she wants when he knows he can make her work for it? Not to mention, it comes with the added benefit of him knowing Sienna will torture me as a consequence in the meantime.
The question ruminates for far too long, and I can see Sienna’s grip on her silverware tightening to the point I wouldn’t be surprised to see it bend.
Still, she plasters on a smile, looking back at Jase once more.
“So, I hear you gave up being a goon in favor of starring as a forward at your new high school. How have your hockey prospects panned out?” she asks a little too sweetly.
I don’t want to look, but it’s like trying to ignore a car crash playing out in front of you. Because I know that tone. It’s the one Sienna always uses when she’s being her usual passive aggressive bitchy self. I just never heard her direct that tone at him .
I hold out for as long as I can, only to meet Jase’s eyes the second I lift my gaze up at the pair.
He simply shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Blew out my ACL at the beginning of the season our senior year.”
I shouldn’t care, but a knot forms in my stomach the size of a cantaloupe.
Because there’s only one reason why he would have given up his role as an enforcer on his new team.
Jase, however, doesn’t miss a beat, instead shifting the conversation and the focus back on me. “You always had a camera in your hand when we were younger, and you went through SDHC cards like they were Skittles. Did you decide to pursue anything with your photography? Art degree, maybe?”
Now, I’m the one dishing out noncommittal shrugs, but it’s only because I can’t seem to get my mouth to work. Not when Sienna’s glaring at me with an intensity so high it could sear a hole through my face.
Lauren’s eyebrows furrow as she looks down the table at me. “Derek said you were going into Psychology.”
Blythe actually laughs. “Oh, heavens no. We already agreed the workload would be too demanding. General Business is much more Ali’s speed.”
She may say this with a breezy demeanor, but the implication is there no less.
Despite the hell I went through in high school, I always managed to make the Principal’s Honor Roll every semester, but because Vanessa graduated as Salutatorian of her class, that somehow makes me the “shit-for-brains” by default.
Lauren looks uncomfortable, to say the least, and Aria suddenly finds her salad fascinating enough that her eyes become glued to it. Then there’s Sienna, who has to press her lips together to prevent grinning like a possum.
Jase, however, does nothing to hide his laugh.
But it’s not one produced from humor.
It’s the kind of breathless sound you make when you’ve been punched in the stomach—the air practically torn from your lungs.
It’s the sound of incredulity.
Even though he may be an asshole, and even though he may hate me, there is one thing I’ve always known about Jase to be true: he protects his family. And to say that Blythe doesn’t share the sentiment is pretty goddamn evident.
The look he gives her does everything short of audibly demanding, “What the fuck?”
I don’t dare glance down the table, so I can’t be sure if my stepmom even sees it.
Likely not.
If she had, the expression on Jase’s face may very well have turned her to stone. I’m confident that hasn’t happened, because Blythe doesn’t miss a beat, engaging Aria’s mom in another conversation. She chats about some charity functions, but I don’t hear much of it.
Downing what’s left of my water, I rise from the table with the glass in hand and skulk back into the kitchen.
I want to scream at myself for the tears that burn behind my eyes, because I know I’m better than this. It’s not like what Blythe said is anything new. It’s just the seven hundred and seventy-ninth paper cut of the thousand leading to my inevitable death.
I’d been so focused on readying myself for Sienna’s verbal assault that I’d forgotten about the enemy at my side. In the year I’d been away, I’d gotten complacent, out of practice.
But the fact that I even feel the need to strap on mental fighting leathers for a goddamn family dinner speaks volumes.
It had taken years, but eventually, this slow distortion of reality had become what I perceived as normal .
Of course you have to be on guard when stepping foot into your home.
Of course everything’s your fault. Of course you’re the family’s punching bag.
Because you’re not worthy of being treated as an equal.
I’d been gaslit, for seven years.
And not until I stayed with Maggie last Christmas did I see what a healthy family unit actually looked like.
When Dad married Blythe, Derek had been bitter. He’d been the oldest. He’d spent five more years with Mom than Vanessa or I had. He’d felt like Blythe was trying to replace the memory of her, and he even admitted years later that he’d needlessly been an asshole.