Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Barret
The house feels too calm for a place where so many minds are trying to stitch together a plan.
We thought things would move slower, but the Bradleys have been pulling strings with the authorities and the press.
Every new report that arrives—faxed pages curling at the corners, the toner smudging our fingers—spreads across the kitchen island like fresh cuts. Each one makes my skin go tight.
It’s been two weeks since we agreed to the plan.
Two weeks since I thought Cleo would break down more, knowing what was going to happen.
Thankfully, that wasn’t the case. She’s been talking to her therapists and swimming daily.
Yesterday she began helping the chef—learning new skills, as she put it.
Today, though . . . today is another day.
Fog hangs low over the cove. The water moans as if it woke from a bad dream. Eddie’s down the hall speaking in that low, executive murmur that means ‘I’m on a call, but I’ll be with you soon.’ Cleo is in the pool room, feet on the first step, counting tiles like numbers could buy us safety.
I walk into the library, leaving the door cracked so I’ll still hear if Cleo needs me, and make the call.
Kit picks up on the second ring, like she’s been waiting by the phone. “Kit Dempsey speaking.”
“Wow. Very official,” I tease. “Should I say, ‘This is Barret Leonard Hetfield?’”
She laughs. “You’d think I’m trying to be proper. Actually, I’m waiting to hear back from the Seattle Philharmonic.”
“You’re finally playing with them?”
She scoffs. “Nope. They want me to direct a summer camp they’re sponsoring next year. It’ll get my name out there—and the charity, since Rod promised to donate.”
“Interesting.” I listen to the scrape of her chair. I hear Rod’s movements before I make out his voice: a soft shuffle, then his voice, tauter than usual.
I picture them at the kitchen table at the farm—Arlo asleep in the next room, the afternoon folding around them. I rub the palm of my hand over my jaw and stare past my reflection in the glass. “So, you saw the papers,” I say. “Montauk. Cliff paths. All that.”
Rod breathes out slowly, gauging each syllable. “We saw. I also heard from Eddie and Rhodes. They say not to believe everything in the papers. Do you know anything? Is my sister safe?”
“Listen,” I say. “We need you here. We can arrange for a driver to pick you up tomorrow. Can you come?”
“I can drive myself,” he answers. “If only you could tell me where the fuck you’re hiding at.”
“Sure, I believe in your driver’s abilities,” I say, “but humor me. Pack for a couple of days. You know we have a nursery—Arlo will be fine.”
“Are you and Eddie recognizing you’re together and getting married?” he asks, like a grenade lobbed into the middle of everyday conversation.
“If that was the case, same-sex marriage isn’t legal in this country,” I remind him.
“Well, no offense, but having a blessing ceremony right now would be . . . insensitive, don’t you think?” he groans, again. “My sister is missing. She might . . . fuck.”
“It would agree, if I were getting married or celebrating shit,” I say, keeping my voice clipped. “We’re not and we need you asap.”
Fuck, this man can be so infuriating.
This is the problem with pulling everyone in and not telling them why.
I told Eddie we should be more explicit.
Eddie said no. We have to handle this carefully.
Mason Bradley swore no one has bugged the Wilders’ phones, but cautious is still what it’s called.
Cautious has turned me into someone who will cash in favors, and I remember Rod owes me a mountain of them.
I should collect one, even if it doesn’t help me personally.
“You know all those times I did something for you, no questions asked?” I say.
“I don’t recall. I was too high. Try again,” he cuts in, half-laughing, half-annoyed.
“If this is important to you, we’ll do it,” Kit says, voice like a leveler.
“No. We’re not fucking doing it,” Rod growls. “I’m not taking my son to the middle of nowhere while that asshole probably—”
“What’s bothering you?” I ask because, honestly, he’s unraveling on the line.
“I saw an article that said you and my sister—” he starts.
“You . . . are you kidding me?” On purpose, I let my voice drop, slow and controlled, the same way he speaks. “If your sister and I ever . . . it would have been out of love. It wouldn’t be trash on Page Six.” I roll the pick in my palm until the edge bites.
There’s a beat where silence eats the space between us. “We’ll see you tomorrow,” I add. “Understood?”
“Like fuck,” he says.
“Kit, talk some sense into this man,” I plead. “Believe me—it’s fucking important. Rhodes, Alfie, and Julian will be there too.”
There’s a breath from Kit, a tiny shuffle as she rearranges her thoughts. “Oh,” she says, as if the names have unlocked something else. “Is it like a family reunion?”
“Yes. We’re bringing all the Wilder siblings together because of what’s happening. We really care about them.” I let out a slow sigh, careful not to unravel. “All of the siblings,” I repeat, making sure she understands I mean five, not four.
“Oh . . . o-kay,” she says finally. “We’ll be there if it’s that important. If you give us an address—”
“There are rules,” I cut in. “One of them: you get picked up tomorrow. No questions asked.” I press my lips together. “Can you do that?”
“I can do rules,” Kit answers. “But you’ll owe me a better explanation when I get there.”
“We’re just—” I stop. ‘Protecting’ might set off alarms, and I don’t want to give them anything that sounds dramatic over the line. “It’s necessary, because of the way things are.”
“So you two are never going to come out . . . as a couple?”
“That’s a great question, Kit. When the time is right and everyone’s ready,” I say. “The three of us.”
“You . . . but she—” Kit chokes on the rest.
“Just trust us and come, okay?” I cut her off before the worry can widen into something worse. She knows which three I mean.
“I’ll see all of you?” The question cracks into a sob.
“Yeah,” I say. “But keep it together, Kit. For me, okay? Not a word—not even to Rod—until you get here.”
“I can do that.” She swallows. “I’ll keep my mouth shut until morning.”
I hope she can keep that promise, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she tells Roderick.
I guess that’s what you do when you’re in a couple.
Maybe that’s why things haven’t worked out that well between us—Cleo, Eddie, and me—up until now, we kept secrets from each other, and they have a way of eating you from the inside.
Can we change and become better versions of ourselves?