FOURTEEN
KIERAN
Earlier in the week, I’d watched Amelie marooned at a table with the science geeks, her blank stare proving she wasn’t entirely on board with whatever shit they were babbling about.
My guess: debating the chemical breakdown of cheese on a cellular level?
Either that, or the exact physics of a flying pea, judging by the way their leader was angling his raised spoon.
During the guy’s tirade, Amelie had looked across the cafeteria at me, throwing a tentative, hopeful smile.
I locked eyes and stared ahead, as if I hadn’t seen her.
I had also avoided Amelie in the corridor when I saw her coming around the corner.
They were dick moves, but a single nod would send mixed messages.
I was pissed off with her about the Adam thing, and she needed to know that.
Everything had been going OK. It really had—until she decided to drag her fucking brother into our lives.
When Cameron had dropped that fucking bombshell, I’d high-tailed it to West’s house to rant like a bitch for the rest of that night.
Basketball practice forgotten. Tanner had eventually joined us, and we’d shared the best part of an entire bottle of Scotch.
I’d then crashed on the sofa, not a great move when you were six, two.
That had resulted in a stiff neck and the conundrum of no clean underwear, forcing that grim ultimate sacrifice of wearing another man’s boxers to school.
Sitting at our usual table in the top corner of the lunchroom, I’d watched Amelie over Tanner’s large shoulder, pretending to listen to my friends.
Lacey and Nancy were analysing Love Island like it was the geopolitical fucking crisis of all time.
What could I say? I had an immediate mental blackout, my focus entirely on that one, tiny blonde who was still fucking with my head.
And that was the problem, right there. She wasn’t just some blonde; Amelie Thorn had substance, fucking integrity. You didn’t see that in people our age.
I had to admit, her confession after West’s party about grassing her old man up had earned my respect.
It took serious balls to do what she did.
But there was absolutely no way in hell I could accept her brother being handed the keys to my fucking pool house.
The guy was an instant threat and didn't belong on our estate. Wasn’t he supposed to have emancipated or some shit like that?
Sure, he had, but when you give someone the keys to a mini goldmine, were they really going to say no?
I’d seen the car he’d pulled up in, a piece of shit Honda with a headlight out.
I rest my fucking case.
I had remained at Weston’s house for the rest of the week on purpose, specifically so I didn’t say anything else I’d regret, especially to Amelie.
When I was pissed off, I was way too good at running my mouth, and I knew that if I spoke to Amelie, I'd explode. I didn’t want to say something I couldn’t take back.
Irrespective of my newfound belief that she came to my room that night to butter me up about the brother bombshell, I still gave a shit about her.
She used you, you fucking clown.
The chaotic, messy way I felt was downright inconvenient. It threw off my entire focus. But the truth was, I did care for the girl. And that made her even more dangerous.
The sudden, violent screech of a chair cutting across the cafeteria floor shattered my thoughts. My eyes darted over towards Amelie’s table, where she was now sitting with Jessa and Halo, just in time to see Aaron Blake pulling up a seat.
What the actual fuck? Did the guy not get my message at Weston’s party? I’d heard he had been asking about her, but I didn’t think he’d have the balls to go over there right in front of me.
Annoyance coated my insides; hot and sticky at the smile she gave him. Irrespective of the jealousy I felt, I knew I had to shut that shit down. Nothing good would come out of Aaron trying it on with Amelie. Her father almost killed his fucking sister, so go figure!
Thank fuck it was Friday and the end of the week. Although not entirely the way I envisaged starting the weekend. That night, I was to return home. Cameron had issued his instructions via text message. There was a family supper to welcome Adam Thorn into the fold. Not bloody likely.
I had already discussed strategies with my besties. Be slightly late to dinner, but don’t be a dick at the table. If you show your cards too soon, things could backfire. Learn your enemy first and then decide on the best course of action. And what action is that, you may ask?
To get the fucker to leave.
Yes, he was Amelie’s brother, but he was an adult now with a job for Christ's sake, so why was he sponging off of my family?
That weekend would be the anniversary of my mother’s death, and right on cue, Vanessa and Cameron explained they were going away for the night. This time, both my sisters would be with them. I wasn’t too worried about Maisy; she had to go, but from Jessa, it was like another betrayal.
After reminding my friends of the date and how shitty I was feeling, we agreed to throw a pool party.
I wasn’t sure how our houseguest would feel about that, having a bunch of drunk teenagers crawling all over his new space, but tough.
He wouldn’t be invited, anyway. And fuck him.
I needed something to take my mind off that weekend.
Cameron had done what he always did every October, the twenty-eighth. Run the fuck away.
When I got to the house, my head was a mess.
I knew I was behaving like a toddler throwing a tantrum, but I couldn’t help it.
The fact that my father had offered the pool house to someone else, knowing how much I wanted to crash there, was a constant niggle.
Actually, scratch that. Not a niggle—a blatant slap in the fucking face.
I rehashed that old conversation we used to have, “You’ve already proved you can’t be trusted, Kier.
I need you where I can see you. In the pool house, you’ll sit on your arse all day, smoking that shit you take.
Then there’s the drinking yourself into a stupor, as you watch your future fall around your ears. Not happening. Not on my watch.”
That was his excuse when Lincoln first moved out. Fair play, back then, he had a point. But things had changed. I was hyper-focused on my studies now. My scores from the last exams were A across the fucking board. What more did the man want from me?
Nothing. He just wanted to punish me because he could. To hold things over my head like the controlling dick he was.
As I let myself in through the front door, Vanessa was in the hallway with Maisy in her arms. My little bundle of trouble’s face morphed into a huge gummy smile as she kicked her legs to be free from her mum.
Vanessa smiled her greeting as she lowered her daughter to the floor.
“Hey, Jellybean,” I said, giving my stepmother a brief nod. I wasn’t a complete arsehole.
Maisy sprinted toward me, and I scooped her up into a massive polar bear cuddle.
“Kierwan, where’ve you been?”
“With West and Tanner. You remember them, right?” I set her back down and ruffled her hair.
“Of course. Hairy Nostril,” she beamed, running off to rescue Ronnie the bear, whom she’d dropped in her excitement.
Hairy Nostril was Tanner. For some reason, Maisy was utterly fixated on his nose hair. Personally, I’d never noticed it, but once a kid labels you, you're scarred for life.
Vanessa and I caught up briefly—standard small talk about school and the lads. We touched on Jessa and Amelie, and then she brought up Adam Thorn. I kept my poker face locked down, grinding my molars to keep from losing my shit right there in the hallway.
“Your father is in his office,” Vanessa said pointedly. “Work hasn’t been going too well this week.” That was her gentle way of encouraging me to go and make my peace.
“Right. I'll speak to him later. After dinner. What time did you say?”
“Eight. In the Blue Room.”
The Blue Room, was the bloody Queen dining with us?
Vanessa never used the Blue Room for family dinners.
The place was off-limits—half museum, half vault, packed with bespoke furniture and fancy China we weren't allowed to fucking breathe on. My blood started to boil again. I knew I was acting like a spoiled rich boy who hadn’t got his way, but honestly?
After pretending to kidnap Ronnie and letting Maisy tackle me to save him, I headed for the stairs.
I desperately needed a shower and my own clothes.
Having spent the week in Weston’s cast-offs, I was reaching critical chafing levels.
And to think my father always accused me of not knowing how to rough it.
When I reached the landing, I saw Amelie’s bedroom door was wide open. I couldn’t stop myself. I dragged a hand down my face, flattened my hair, and walked over to prop myself against her doorframe.
She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, staring down at her phone, her long blonde hair curtaining her cheeks. I felt a sudden, vicious urge to know exactly who she was texting thunder through me.
“So, how’s school? Making friends, I see.”
Her chin shot up. Surprised blue eyes locked onto mine. She was still wearing the jeans and grey hoodie from earlier.
Amelie’s expression softened, the crease between her eyebrows fading as she waved the screen at me. “It’s just Sophie.”
I folded my arms, keeping my face completely blank. “Is she okay?”
A single eyebrow arched. “Right. So, you’re talking to me now?”
“I was always talking to you,” I lied easily.
“Just not at school. You’ve been freezing me out. I thought we’d passed the stay out of my way at school thing,” she accused, sliding off the mattress and walking toward me.
Brace yourself.