Page 136 of These Summer Storms

She shook her head. “I don’t know; we didn’t exactly have a great role model.”

“You know,” Sam began, leveling her with a serious look. “He wanted you to run Storm.”

She nearly choked on her surprise. “No, he didn’t.”

“He did, though. Once, I overheard him and Mom talking about which of us would be the obvious one to work at the company. It wasn’t going to be Greta—apparently that year she spent in Geneva was proof she didn’t have the focus—and Emily was still a kid. But Dad made it clear that there was only one answer. And it was you.”

“Well. I showed him,” she joked. When Sam didn’t laugh, she said, “Sam. You can’t play this game.”

He returned to the rain, easier for confessions. “I confronted him once—I thought he’d appreciate my courage. I told him that it should be me. That I was the right choice, because I did want it, and you didn’t. And you know what he said?”

She didn’t dare guess.

“He said,Disappointment is what happens when you eavesdrop on private conversations.”

Anger flared in her. Sam was far from perfect, but he didn’t deserve this. “Dad was an asshole. I know we’re not supposed to say stuff like that now, but it’s true.” She reached for her brother, setting her hand on his arm. “And still, we all rushed to do his bidding.”

Thunder rumbled, loud and close, and they sat quietly through it before Sam replied, “We still do.”

But what if they stopped?

Jack had been right the night before—her family would figure it out. Her mother remained in possession of multiple properties, accounts, and funds, and a life to return to full of fundraising lunches and questionable friendships.

Her siblings were Storms, yes, but maybe if she made the decision for them, taking the inheritance off the table, they would choose a life outside of this island. Maybe Greta could win Tony back. Maybe Sam could find a way to build something of his own. Emily was turning out to be the most balanced of them all—she and Claudia would land on their feet.

And Alice…maybe Alice could go back to the real world. Maybe Jack would go with her.

She didn’t dare think too much about it, because after the previous night, and all the ways he’d made her laugh and sigh and hope, she realized he might be exactly what she wanted.

She liked him. Which was terrifying.

But even more terrifying was the prospect of him liking her, with her family and her father and the money in the way. The only way to guarantee that she had a shot at something real—that any of them had a shot at something real—was for them to get off Franklin’s ride.

She looked to Sam. “What if we didn’t do it?”

He looked at her as though she’d suggested dragging out the garden tools and doing a little light thunderstorm yard work. “What, not play the game?”

“Exactly.

“We don’t have a choice.”

“We do, though,” she said. “We’ve always had a choice.”

“To walk away from a few billion dollars?” Sam scoffed. “It would be colossally stupid to walk away from it.”

Maybe.

He shook his head. “No. I need the money. My god, I locked you in Dad’s vault.”

“That was pretty bad,” she said, teasing him. “I could have died.”

“You could not have died. I’m an asshole, but I’m not a murderer.”

“I said those exact words to—”

His brows rose when she cut herself off. “To…?” She shook her head. “Okay, we’ll play this game, I guess. I came to get you, but you were already gone. How’d you get out?”

Alice’s biggest failing was this: hope that this time, her family would be different. She answered the question. “Jack.”