Chapter 15 #3
“I thought I could do this. But I can’t.
It’s going to be a fucking nightmare out there in less than five minutes.
Just wait. You’re going to have to go all cop mode on them.
They’re gonna scream. I’m gonna scream. Someone’s gonna pull someone else’s hair.
People are going to make out. There’s bound to be a black eye or two—maybe blood.
Then they’ll cry. Then I’ll cry. And if that’s not bad enough, I’ll probably round off the evening by vomiting and shitting myself in one go.
Somehow, I’ll still be the one they’re ashamed of. ”
“Thanks for the visual.” He blinked at me. “Why are you having this party if they aren’t people in your corner?”
I sighed. “Good question, probably because I don’t want to piss Mom off and deal with the repercussions of that.”
Graham scooted across the floor so he was facing me and took my hands in his. “When we were dating… I seemed to remember there was this part of you that was fearless. A part that wouldn’t let Portia succeed, no matter what it meant. Where’d that part go?”
“First off… I have yet to be on a date with you. Second, she died when Portia did. That version of me died when you left. When I realized just how shitty of a person I really was. I don’t have an ounce of strength left for this. Can’t I just live in this closet and never deal with family crap?”
“Max, breathe. Listen to me. Here’s what we’re going to do.
” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, then held my chin.
“We’re going to go out there. You can stick by me.
Or if you’d rather… Katie. Derek? Annie?
They’re all out there for you. But you don’t have to say two words to anyone you don’t want to. ”
“But the way they’ll look at me…”
“Who gives a fuck? If they don’t care about you enough to show the tiniest goddamn sliver of decency for the two seconds you’ll see them…
Fuck ‘em. But we’re never going to get through this night unless we start it.
Then it will be over and you don’t have to see them ever again if you don’t want to. ”
“Not true. My parents are staying for a week, remember.”
“Yes, and you’re going to help me solve this case, right? Remember that? The one where someone wants anyone that looks like you dead?”
I let out a breath. “How could I forget?”
“We can let Hunter do the entertaining while you’re helping me sniff out clues. And then—” Graham’s face closed off. “—when you come home, you’ll know he’s here… for you.”
That hurt.
He was right. Hunter would be here. Hunter would always be here—because I didn’t give him a fucking choice. Part of me wished whoever was looking for me would just hurry up and get it over with.
Graham
If murder wasn’t wrong, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it before going after her mom.
I’d never understand why someone could say such things that hurt someone you’re supposed to love.
That was why I thought leaving was best. I couldn’t risk the outcome if I’d said or done something that hurt her.
Especially not after seeing how hard she’d been hit by her family.
I’d left Maggie in the closet to come out on her own time, when she was ready—hopefully that was soon.
I didn’t know if I could take any more talk of haute couture, because I thought it was pretty fucked up that I knew the difference between a sweetheart and a cowl neckline.
Nothing wrong with it… just… why was I supposed to care?
It was like when Derek got all watery-eyed around EMF readers and I’d have to calm him down before he creamed himself.
That was how it was hearing about Gemma’s latest fashion line and the clientele she took on.
Guess it wasn’t any worse than Maggie listening to me go on about my bug collection. Or me hearing her beautiful voice describe the latest bird she saw—there was just something about the way her face lit up, the way she smiled, the way nothing else mattered when she talked about them.
Fine. Everyone’s allowed to have their obsessions. I’ll stop whining and show some interest.
“So, Gemma, ever design any lingerie?” I asked.
See what I did there, seamlessly blending two interests. Taking the initiative to—
Gemma’s face lit up right on cue.
“Sure do!” She handed her drink to Charles, then pulled down the front of her leopard-print dress to show us all the black leather and lace she’d strapped to herself.
“Oh—uh—Jesus—!” I recoiled.
“Charles!?” Ophelia sputtered before snatching up the ginormous bottle of champagne on the table by the fireplace, popping the cork, pouring a glass, and downing it in one go. As far as I knew, alcohol was forbidden if you wanted to get into Mormonland, but she didn’t care.
Charles shrugged and continued talking hotels with Hunter, like his girlfriend hadn’t just whipped out her titties.
“I made this one here in four different colors,” Gemma continued. “It’s Charlie’s favorite.”
“I bet,” I said, diverting my eyes to the ceiling, the floor, anything that didn’t have nipples.
“Has thirty-four different components, including this nifty little clasp for ease-of-access.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me. “If you catch my drift.”
Oh, I caught it, alright. That was the last time I purposely tried to make conversation for shits and giggles. Seemed like no matter where I went or what I was doing, women couldn’t help but show me their bras.