Chapter 6
SIX
CALEB
Add asshole to the column beside coward.
I glare down at the calculus homework on my desk.
The numbers keep blurring together, and every time I try to solve for X, my brain goes right back to dinner. Harper slamming her fork down. Mom’s face crumpling. The way Silas looked like he wanted to murder someone.
Everything just devolved so quickly. One second, I was trying to remember how to breathe because Harper and I had just accidentally touched, twice, and I couldn’t stop remembering that kiss earlier, and then—
Then everyone was yelling at each other, louder and louder. And instead of being any sort of helpful, I was nailed frozen to the floor.
By the time I pulled myself out of it to try to help de-escalate things, Harper was already halfway up the stairs.
I chuck my pencil across the room and lean back in my chair.
It lands under the bed. Off-center. Asymmetrical.
I should leave it there. I want to leave it there as some kind of proof I’m not totally obsessive about everything.
I last approximately eight seconds before I’m on my hands and knees retrieving it and setting it back in the pencil holder. Fourth from the left. Blue, black, black, red, green. The order matters even though I can’t explain why.
There’s something broken in my head. The obsession with even numbers and needing visual symmetry. I know there’s a name for it, and Mom’s suggested therapy more than once.
I saw a counselor for a little while when Mom was sick. Learned how to do breathing exercises, yada yada.
I just need a little control.
There’s too much fucking chaos in the world.
Like the shitshow downstairs. I wanted to follow after Harper and apologize, but suddenly, the guy who’s never without a counterpoint in a debate tournament was at a loss for words.
If I knocked on her door, what the hell was I gonna say?
I’m sorry that got so out of hand? I’m sorry our fingertips brushed?
Fuck, did she think I was a creep? I didn’t mean to bump into her either time. And Mom set up the table that way and then sat down with Silas on the other side, so I had no choice but to sit—
No. Everything I think of to say sounds dumb, so I need to channel my frustration at being so useless into studying instead of stewing about it all.
But the smell of cigarette smoke drifting through my cracked window makes my head shoot up.
Silas doesn’t smoke, and with all her health concerns, Mom would never.
I follow the smell to the French doors that lead to my balcony—the one I share with the guest room.
Harper’s room now.
And there she is, perched precariously on the thick porch railing like it’s a park bench—one leg dangles into empty space over the balcony with the other folded beneath her.
My heart rate spikes. Fifteen feet up. Concrete patio below. One shift in weight could—
I’m calculating the probability of different injury scenarios before I can stop myself. Broken legs (62%), broken spine (23%), skull fracture (8%).
Stop. Fucking stop.
A lit cigarette dangles from her fingers, and she’s staring out at the manicured lawn like she’s planning to burn it all down.
At least that’s what I think until I see the tear tracks down her eyes.
“Are you crying?”
She sniffles as her head whips my way.
I hurry out the door toward her with my arms slightly out in case she loses her balance. “Careful! You wanna maybe put both legs back on this side?”
She wipes her cheeks while she lets out a little laugh. “I’m fine, Boy Scout.”
She’s still in the black T-shirt and ripped jeans she was wearing at dinner that cling to her curves in ways that absolutely shouldn’t be legal. Her hair is loose now, falling in dark waves over one shoulder, and the moonlight turns her skin silver.
She’s beautiful. And fuck me very much for noticing. Stepsister, I remind myself firmly. That’s a hard line.
Plus, she tried to rob me earlier. Can’t forget that.
“You’re funny,” she says, tilting her head sideways.
And you’re fascinating.
My heart does a weird little thump-thump thing in my chest like it literally skipped a beat. I thought that was just a made-up saying, not a literal thing that happens in real life.
Stepsister. I rub my palm against my chest as I smile tightly and shrug. Maybe I should go to Dr. Jimenez’s for a check-up on the old ticker just in case. Well. Young ticker.
She takes another long drag on her cigarette, still staring at me. I like how unabashed she is. Unfortunately, I like everything about her. Even how open she was with her emotions downstairs.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. I absolutely fucking hated it, too. The fighting. I couldn’t stand it.
But it was also really admirable. I’m usually so twisted in knots all the time making sure everyone’s getting along, and she just—
Literally couldn’t give a fuck.
“Mom won’t like it if she finds you smoking. She really hates it.” With good reason.
“Look, you and your mom are nice...” She blows the smoke in one great cloud out the edge of her lips. “So you should know...”
I can honestly say I have no idea what’s going to come out of her mouth next. “Know what?”
“That Silas is just grifting your mom. He’s only ever looking for his next big score before he disappears into the night.” She uses one hand to demonstrate flying off into the night air.
“Next big score?” I repeat dubiously. It’s clear she intends these words to be quite shocking, but Silas never hid his sordid past from Mom or me. I feel confident in the man he is now. And confident in Mom’s bullshit-meter after my father.
“God.” Harper laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Your mom must be seriously loaded if he’s even stuck around this long. Normally, he would’ve ghosted by now. Let me guess—she’s a trust fund kid?”
I scoff. “Couldn’t be further from it. She just… got a big settlement from my biological father.”
The words are out before I can stop them, and Harper’s eyes narrow, clearly curious. But then she shakes her head.
“The point is, she’s rich. And I’m betting Silas has her investing in some amazing business opportunity? A once-in-a-lifetime deal?”
I shift uncomfortably because she’s hitting way too close to home. “They opened a club together downtown. It’s upscale. Members only kind of thing.”
Harper’s laugh is low and throaty, and it does things to my concentration that I absolutely refuse to acknowledge. “Ding ding ding! Jackpot.”
“It’s a legitimate business,” I say, trying to ignore the doubt creeping in.
“Have you been there?”
“It’s exclusive. I’m not old enough.”
“So no. You haven’t even seen it during the day?”
She’s getting under my skin, and she knows it. “What are you saying? That he’s roped her into something illegal?”
Harper shrugs, casual as anything. “Maybe it’s legit.
Maybe it’s a front to launder money through.
Or maybe he’s mortgaged the place to hell and is siphoning cash while he can.
” She takes another drag of her cigarette.
“Just wait. People don’t change, Caleb. Silas Tucker has never met a good thing he couldn’t ruin. ”
The certainty in her voice makes my blood run a little cold. I’ve known Silas for a couple of years now, but she’s known him her whole life. What if everything I think I know about him is... wrong?
I cross my arms over my chest, ready to argue with her some more about it, when she shakes her head. “Like I said, y’all seem nice. Seems only fair to warn you about the straight-up villain in your house before I take off.”
“Take off?”
She shrugs nonchalantly, sucking again on her cigarette. “I got places to be. I got people to get back to.”
A scratching sound echoes from inside her room, followed by a high-pitched, insistent meow.
Harper’s eyes go wide. She whips her head toward her door, then back to me, her whole body tensing like she’s been caught doing something illegal.
Which, technically, she probably has been. I’m pretty sure Mom’s “no pets” policy applies to everyone.
“Was that—” I start.
“It’s nothing.” She waves a dismissive hand, stubbing the cigarette out on the bottom of her boot, but I can see panic creeping into her expression. “Just... rats in the walls or something.”
“Rats that meow?” I arch an eyebrow.
Another meow, louder and more pitiful this time.
“Fuck,” Harper mutters under her breath. She drops the cigarette butt over the edge of the balcony and stands, backing toward her room like she can somehow block me from hearing. “Okay, fine. It’s a cat. But before you run off to tell Helen—”
“I’m not going to tell anyone.” I hold up my hands. “Can I see it?”
She stops mid-retreat. “What?”
“The cat. Can I meet it?”
Harper stares at me like I’ve just offered to help her hide a body. “You... want to meet my cat?”
“Yeah.” I shrug, trying to look casual even though my chest’s doing that stupid clench-flip thing again. “I like cats.”
For a long moment, she just looks at me, clearly trying to figure out if this is some kind of trick. Then her shoulders drop, just a fraction.
“Fine. But if you’re secretly planning to narc on me—”
“I’m not.”
“—I will absolutely murder you in your sleep.”
“Noted.”
She pushes open the door to her room, and I follow her inside.
Oh.
It’s chaos.
Her duffel bag has exploded across the floor, clothes everywhere—bras draped over the desk chair, jeans in a heap by the closet, a leather jacket tossed on the bed.
The nightstand has a scattered collection of items: loose change, a sketchpad, cigarette papers, and what looks like a mood ring.
An empty canvas leans haphazardly against the back of the closet.
My fingers itch to organize something. Anything. Everything.
The hangers in the closet are all facing different directions, and it’s setting my teeth on edge. There are three water glasses scattered around the room, one on the floor.
Rule #23: Always keep your space organized. Chaos breeds more chaos, and chaos is how you lose control.
I force myself to focus on the cat instead.
“This is Sox,” Harper says.