Corrupt - Douglas Penelope - Страница 25
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- 25/96
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Or what she refused to give me.
Over time, though, my need to be here became stronger. More than just for dinner or to play video games with Trevor growing up.
It was for the distant sound of a basketball thumping against a floor somewhere in the house or the way my body would hum and every hair would stand on end when he walked into a room. I just liked being here if he was here, despite Trevor’s growing possessiveness.
I heard my mother sigh as I walked up to the mirror hanging on the wall.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “You don’t need to bring a plate tonight. Go out with your friends. Please.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but then the dull beat of the music in the house suddenly died, and I jerked my head to the doorway of the dining room, hearing voices and laughter coming from somewhere in the house, getting closer.
I glanced in the mirror, fixing the collar of my school uniform, making sure my scar was mostly hidden.
“I don’t want to go out,” I said, heading to the table and sitting down.
“I want you to go out.”
Leaning over the table, I grabbed a roll and put it on my plate before the boys took them all. “Mom—” I started to argue.
But she cut me off. “No,” she said, sounding unusually stern. “It’s Friday night. Go have some fun. I’ll be fine.”
“But…” I trailed off, shaking my head. Was this her overcompensating or something? She knew damn well I went out, just maybe not as much as she would like.
“Fine,” I drawled. “I’ll call Noah and see…” But then I stopped, hearing thunder roll down the hallway.
My heart picked up pace, and I turned my head toward the noise. Voices, laughter, and a couple of howls drifted in, and my feet soaked in the vibration off the floor.
I gripped the phone in my hand, speaking quickly, “Okay,” I answered. “I’ll see what Noah’s up to tonight, but if I need bail money or I come home pregnant, you only have yourself to blame.”
“I trust you,” she replied, sounding amused. “And I love you.”
“Love you, too.” And I hung up, setting the phone on the table.
Trevor walked in the dining room first, having been in the media room, probably waiting for me to join him like I often did. He thought he had a right to be angry, but whatever he thought was between us, we were still just friends. He had no right to take me out of there today, and I was sick of him putting on a show to everyone like I belonged to him.
He took the seat next to me, as usual, pulling out the chair and plopping down. He immediately started grabbing food to load onto his plate.
Mrs. Crist walked in next, dressed in a tennis skirt and a white Polo, probably having just come from the club. She smiled at me and touched my shoulder as she walked to her seat. “How’s Christiane?” she asked.
I nodded, laying my napkin in my lap. “Fine. We’re working our way through all of Chris Hemsworth’s movies.”
She laughed and started serving herself as loud voices started to fill the room.
“It’s already dark out,” I heard Will say, sounding out-of-breath.
I glanced up, seeing Michael and all of his friends charge into the dining room. My heart fluttered, and I tensed, the large dining room suddenly ten times smaller with their huge forms filling the space.
They were sweaty and breathing hard, having just come from the indoor court. It was an addition that was made to the house for Michael’s fourteenth birthday when his mother realized he wasn’t kidding about basketball and his father relented. He loved the game, much to Mr. Crist’s distaste.
“Don’t be in such a damn rush.” Damon pushed Will’s head forward as he walked behind him. “I want to enjoy tonight.”
They descended on the table, towering over us as they grabbed their plates—Michael dropping his basketball to the floor where it slowly rolled to the wall near the fire place—and loaded food like wolves oblivious to the rest of us waiting to see what was left over.
“Rika, get your milk,” Mrs. Crist whispered-yelled, and I looked at her, both of us grinning and sharing in the joke. She had the cook buy chocolate milk for me, but it always ended up disappearing before I barely got a glass out of it.
I reached over, quickly uncapping the container and pouring a glass before setting it back down again.
“Where’s Dad?” Trevor asked.
“Still in the city, unfortunately,” his mother answered.
“Yeah, right.”
I looked up at the whisper, seeing Michael tower over me as he reached for the chocolate milk in front of me.
It was no secret that their father kept multiple women. Well, actually, it was a secret. One that everyone knew but no one talked about. Including Michael. His mother was the only person I was sure he would never hurt, which was why I was the only one to hear his snide remark.
“Hell yeah,” Will gushed over some sweet potato dish Mrs. Haynes had set down as he piled the mushy concoction high on his plate.
“Hand me two,” Damon held out his plate to Kai who doled out deviled eggs.
They weren’t sitting, which meant they were probably taking their food off to the media room for privacy. They had plans for tonight to talk about, no doubt.
But they didn’t get far.
“Michael? All of you sit down now,” Mrs. Crist ordered pointing her finger.
The guys stopped and smiled to themselves, indulging her as they turned back around and took seats.
Michael sat in his father’s place at the head of the table, his friends on his right with Trevor between him and me on his left.
Everyone dug in.
“I’m going to trust that I don’t have to worry about tonight,” Mrs. Crist warned, picking up her fork and gazing around at the guys.
Michael shrugged, uncapping my chocolate milk and drinking from the container without answering her.
“We have no choice but to keep it low key,” Kai stepped in and answered, humor thick in his voice. “Michael would lose his spot on the team if we wound up on the news.”
“Again,” Will finished, pride evident in his green eyes before sticking a forkful of potatoes into his mouth.
While other teens might spend Devil’s Night toilet papering houses, nailing tires, and smashing pumpkins on the streets, the Horsemen were rumored to take their pranks a little further.
Fires, break-ins, vandalism, and destruction of property were all credited to them even though there was never any proof, their faces being covered by masks as they were.
But we always knew who it was. And even though the cops probably did, too, when you’re born with the blessing of the right name, connections, and money, you’ll use it.
Damon Torrance, son of a media mogul.
Kai Mori, son of an influential socialite and banker.
William Grayson III, grandson of Senator Grayson.
And Michael Crist, son of a real estate developer.
The boys may have shunned the rigidity and expectations of their parents, but they certainly enjoyed the umbrella of their protection.
“Is it good to be back?” Mrs. Crist asked as she cut a piece of salad. “I know it must be hard, being separated at college.”
“It is hard,” Will said mournfully. “But I just call one of the guys when my heart needs a hug.”
I pursed my lips, trying to hide my smile as Damon snorted across the table.
“Actually,” Kai started, leaning back in his chair. “I’m considering transferring to Westgate. I’m bored at Braeburn, and Westgate has a much better swim team, so…”
“Great,” Trevor cut in. “You and Michael can continue your bro-mance now.”
“Aw,” Will cooed, looking over the table at Trevor. “You feeling left out? Come here, Pretty Boy. I’ll show you some attention.” And then he leaned back in his chair, patting his thigh for Trevor to sit in his lap.
I snorted, bowing my head and feeling eyes on me. Probably Trevor’s glare.
I picked up my fork to start eating, ignoring him. Trevor didn’t tolerate Michael’s friends any more than he tolerated his brother.
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