Chapter 9
A wave of dizziness washes over me, my knuckles going white around the steering wheel, as my eyes close and I rest my head against my headrest.
There’s a moment I consider how scared I should be—these dizzy spells are happening more and more—but I’m also exhausted. An unplanned eleven-mile run probably wasn’t the smartest idea.
I can easily run that distance—when I’m prepared and actually in training mode—but yesterday wasn’t supposed to be that kind of run.
When I woke up this morning, I seriously thought about canceling all my responsibilities and sleeping the day away. My messed-up brain didn’t let me have the thought for a full thirty seconds before I was up and moving, my run this morning much shorter than normal.
Plus, the idea of telling my mom I was missing Sunday night dinner—even though we all had dinner together three nights ago—caused more anxiety than the idea of skipping work or any of my other responsibilities.
A soft knock on my window is the only precursor to my door opening and the nausea from my dizzy spell is back in full force.
Panic probably shouldn’t be my first instinct, especially when I’m parked in the safety of my parents’ driveway, but horror stories of the most obscure crimes run through my mind, reminding me no one is ever truly safe from everything.
“Hey there, scaredy cat,” Wyatt taunts, as his grinning face comes into view.
“Jerk. Now I wish I threw up on you,” I mumble, pushing him out of the way as I slip out of the vehicle.
He laughs, completely ignoring the agitation on my face as he pulls me into his side. “What are you doing sitting outside?”
“I just parked,” I fib, hoping he hasn’t been watching from one of the front windows. “I thought you were still out of town this weekend.”
“My client wasn’t sure what their schedule looked like.” He shrugs, leaving his arm around my shoulders and guiding us toward the house we grew up in. “They ended up flying into DC last night and will be there for a few days.”
“So, you’re slumming it with us?” I shift, pressing my elbow into his ribs as we hit the stairs. I may have put a little more force into the jab if the grunt from him is anything to go by. “Sorry.” I chuckle, not sorry in the slightest.
Before he can retaliate, I jog up the stairs and push the door open, nearly missing my favorite little man in the process.
“Hey, bud.” I swing Jackson up in the air and settle him on my hip.
I pause for only a moment, noting my dizziness and nausea have passed before I keep moving through the front hall and into the kitchen where I know everyone else will be. “Hello, family.”
“Hi, darling.” Mom smiles from her spot at the kitchen island. She doesn’t move, simply offers her cheek for a quick kiss as I move closer.
Seeing the supplies my nephew must have left behind at some point, I settle into the seat next to her and situate Jackson in my lap so he can continue to color.
“Pumpkin.” Dad glances over his shoulder, giving me a warm smile before pulling a roast out of the upper oven.
My mouth waters at the sight. My mother is an amazing cook and makes dinner most nights but there are a few dishes my father makes that blow hers out of the water, and his roast is one of them. But I know those biscuits Dad pulls out of the lower oven are all Mom.
“This is rather fancy for a Sunday dinner, especially since you just put together a big feast a few days ago,” I muse, suddenly a little suspicious.
Sunday night dinners have been something we’ve done for as long as I can remember.
With six years between Wyatt and me, and another three years between Aiden and Wyatt, my parents have actually spent more time in this house with only one or two children around instead of all three.
Making a mandatory weekly dinner helped ensure we were all together at least for a little bit.
Of course, once Aiden left for the police academy and Wyatt dropped out of college, Sunday night dinners with everyone became a rare occurrence.
Although the reason for Aiden’s move home is horrifying, we couldn’t be happier he’s back. And I think, in the long run, Aiden will be happier too. It just might take him a little longer to figure that out for himself.
Even with them being a rarity these days, Sunday dinners with all of us are normally easy meals. Things that only take an hour or so to make. Dad making a roast and Mom making homemade biscuits? That’s dinner saved for big events…or guests.
Mom stands from her seat, moving to help Dad plate the meal. More proof this dinner is not what it was supposed to be—Thanksgiving leftovers and easy conversation.
“Your brother invited a friend to join us.”
“Which brother?” I squint, hoping it’s Aiden, but knowing it’s not.
It might sound silly, but my brother doesn’t have friends. At least not anymore.
“I did.” I spin to find both my brothers strolling through the door, but it’s the brother I didn’t expect who speaks, giving me hope once more the guest tonight isn’t who I think it is.
“Oh?” Surprise laces my voice, and I hope it’s enough to get Aiden to share exactly who he invited without having to say the actual words. But that’s the wrong brother to make those kinds of wishes on.
Aiden is insanely smart. The man graduated high school with enough college credits that he ended up finishing both his undergraduate and graduate programs within three years. Only to get into the New Jersey State Police Academy and work there for a few years before getting into Quantico.
I sometimes wonder if Aiden truly worked for the FBI or if he actually worked for some other alphabet soup agency. He’s kept so much of his life a secret, and I don’t think he’s figured out he doesn’t have to anymore.
“Daddy!” Jackson wiggles from my lap, running and leaping into my brother’s arms, not an ounce of doubt that he won’t catch him.
“Hey, little man.” Aiden touches his forehead to Jackson’s, his eyes closed, focusing entirely on the little person in his arms.
When Aiden lifts his head, his eyes meet mine. I may not know the man’s secrets, but I know the look he’s giving me and it’s one of deep contemplation. What he’s trying to figure out I have no idea, but I’m sure it’s not good for me.
“Can you guess who it is, sis?” Wyatt snickers, being the troublemaker he’s always been.
I wouldn’t be surprised if Wyatt is the reason Aiden decided to go into law enforcement. Wanting to make sure he could help our middle sibling should he ever get himself in real trouble. Not that I think he’s done anything truly illegal…not really anyway.
“It’s Beckett Stone!” Mom bounces where she stands, excitement written all over her face.
“You know who he is?” My mouth slackens.
I’m seriously the only person in this town who doesn’t know him, aren’t I?
“Of course we know who Beckett Stone is,” Dad joins in, an almost giddy laugh escaping his lips. And there it is again, the inability for anyone to call him anything other than his full name.
“Just accept it, sis. You are completely out of touch with the modern world.”
“Leave your sister alone, Wyatt. We love her exactly the way she is, quirks and all.”
I know Mom’s words are meant to be supportive, but they feel like a backhanded compliment and I can’t help the slight flinch as they hit an imaginary bruise upon my soul.
A knock at the door draws everyone’s attention, and no matter how ridiculous of a thought it is, I feel like I’ve conjured the man with a simple thought.
“I wanna get.” Jackson fights his father’s hold, wanting desperately to be put down.
“You can’t answer the door by yourself, little man.” Aiden strides from the room, carrying his son the whole way.
None of us can hear the words, but Jackson’s little voice sounds, making my brother chuckle.
It’s a good thing Aiden isn’t around to see the look we all share. Aiden’s never been one to give away his laughs easily and after the year he’s had, he has every reason not to laugh. Hearing it now lightens all of our hearts, but he’d be pissed to know how happy it makes all of us.
I don’t know how Beckett does it—acting like it’s not weird when people can’t stop staring at him. Maybe he’s used to it, but it’s embarrassing as hell watching my parents continue to fawn all over him…more than an hour after he walked through the door.
Maybe I should be grateful he got stuck sitting in the seat between Wyatt and me.
“Are you enjoying the cottage?” Dad tilts his head, eyes focused on Beckett as he passes the bowl of biscuits to Aiden.
“It’s great. I seriously couldn’t have ended up in a more perfect place.”
“Is there anything you’re hoping to do while you’re here?” Mom asks.
“I’m not really sure. This was more of a spur of the moment decision. Not much planning went into it.”
“Do you like history?” Dad calls.
It’s been like this all evening. Mom and Dad lobbing questions back and forth, with Beckett answering in the most gracious way. If the man doesn’t end up with whiplash after this, I’ll be shocked.
“I don’t dislike history, but I haven’t really thought about it since school.”
“Oh. Well, you’re in a great place for US history. Gettysburg is less than twenty miles away, and Madison here is a Stonebridge Hollow history buff,” Dad brags, as if that’s some major accomplishment.
“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” I rush to say, wanting to make sure I actually get the words out before Mom can jump in with something else.
“Sweetie, there’s nothing wrong with liking history. It might not be hip with the cool kids, but you’ve never cared about being cool before.”
The words don’t hurt as much as the chuckle from my father and Wyatt. It’s another moment of words meant to comfort but missing the mark entirely.
I know there’s no malicious intent behind the words, it’s the same way my grandmother spoke to my mother. She truly doesn’t understand what she’s doing is hurtful.
Beckett shifts in the seat beside me and his leg brushes mine. I assume it’s an accident until I glance at him and see his eyes trained on me.
“I actually wanted to ask you about that. The cottage alone seems to have a story, and it’s hard to look around at the rest of the land and not see the long history of it.” His brows furrow and I don’t know if it’s out of pity, concern, or something else.
Part of me appreciates the instant support, but I offer him the out anyway. “It’s really okay,” I murmur. “You don’t have to indulge me on this one. I know history isn’t for everyone.”
“I’m not,” he rushes. “I’m genuinely curious.
I grew up in a small town with similar historic roots.
In the sense it’s close to a city that holds significant ties to the country’s history, and I loved learning about that in school.
I guess I just haven’t lived in a place with those kinds of roots since. ”
“Don’t you live in New York?” I ask, forgetting entirely about the reason for this conversation in the first place.
“I do.” He laughs. It’s genuine if the crinkles at his eyes are any indication and the sight of them makes me wonder how old he is.
It’s a silly thought, but that doesn’t stop it from crossing my mind.
“I’d say you live in a place filled with history. New York City was actually the first capital of the US and it’s where George Washington was first inaugurated.”
“Mads.” Mom places her hand over mine and I can guess the next words out of her mouth. “Maybe now isn’t the time.” She squeezes my hand gently before turning her attention back to Beckett. “I’ve never actually been to New York. Do you like living there?”
“I’d hope so.” Dad chuckles and the conversation around the table continues as if I hadn’t spoken at all.
There’s another nudge at my leg, and when I look to my left Beckett offers me a small smile. I’m not sure if it’s his intention, but the gentle touch and soft look give me a comfort I didn’t know I needed.