Page 32 of Distorted Obsession (The Distorted Trilogy #1)
eva
“Thanks for being amenable to grabbing breakfast instead of dinner,” Callum begins. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to attend your game tonight. Mom and Dad had an emergency meeting with the Council back in Edgewood. So, I need to head back to Pierce Towers until Dad returns.”
Secretly, I’m glad he can’t make it. Things are still strained—our relationship is far from its usual ease.
It’s been more fumbled phone calls or mundane deflecting text messages.
Each time he tries to bring up what happened with Farrah, I dance my way right out of the conversation.
I’m not ready to broach the subject again.
I desperately want to go back to the way things were—back to when my friend was alive and the most complex thing in my life was my mental and physical well-being.
Nodding, I slide my hands under the table and wipe my sweaty palms against my khaki shorts as he continues.
“Normally, I would leave Safa in charge in my absence, but we just acquired Fort Mose, and I need to be present to finalize the terms of the agreement before the contract is officially signed.”
“What’s Fort Mose?”
“The whiskey company we bought from the Bradleys,” he replies.
Bradley? Aren’t Liam and Mason Bradleys?
I don’t get time to ruminate on my questioning thoughts before they’re interrupted by another onslaught of my brother’s apologizing.
“Evie—”
Sighing, I hold up my hand, cutting him off with whatever faux confidence I can muster. “You know it’s okay. There will be more games and other times to visit.”
Callum studies me from across the table, and I know he’s assessing whether it’s actually okay .
I would welcome his keen perception any other time, but at this moment, I wish he were a little more dense.
His penetrative gaze denotes every nervous twitch I make.
This is precisely why I declined when he offered to pick me up this morning.
I wasn’t ready to be in a confined space with him for this very reason.
Fighting the urge to look away, I wring my wrist as I mentally kick myself for forgetting my fidget ring. He sits forward, rubbing his stubbled chin. “Are you sure it’s okay? I can reschedule?—”
“No,” I yell loudly before snapping my mouth shut.
Well fuck, there goes my defenses!
Unable to hold his gaze, I look away, grabbing the white cloth napkin and laying it over my lap instead of allowing him to dissect every facial tick. Hoping to buy some extra time before we have the dreaded conversation, I blurt, “ Now, tell me, what’s going on back home?”
I’ll take deflection for five thousand, Alex.
Callum’s hazel-brown eyes soften, and I avert my gaze, allowing myself another moment to regain my composure.
You don’t want him worrying about you, Evie.
Clearing my throat, I inhale before returning my attention across the table in time to his resigned acceptance that I won’t change my mind.
He watches me, and I hold my breath, hoping—praying—he won’t push. Hoping against all hopes he’ll ignore the five-alarm blaze raging at him to fix it.
But he can’t.
This is one fight my big brother can’t win for me.
I have to save myself.
The problem is… I don’t know if I deserve to be saved.
And worse—I’m not sure I want to be.
“Too much shit to even begin to try and unwrap,” he laments, and I know I’ve successfully diverted the focus off of me.
“Owen’s finally back, but there are still too many moving parts—enemies popping up at every turn, and they’re not only threatening our entire community but the Fraternitas as well. ”
By the time I left for Groveton, Edgewood was a dumpster fire.
Everything flipped on its head once Ariah Bishop and her family moved into my hometown.
The death toll in a community as small as ours is something crime statisticians would salivate to study.
The Selection brought out the worst in people.
“It was a shitstorm by the end of the school year. I can only imagine what fuckery is transpiring,” I state.
Humming in agreement, Callum replies, “The Council is up to their necks trying to maintain control. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He’s about to continue when he suddenly freezes. His eyes bulge, and his mouth opens slightly.
Curious at what has my brother awestruck, I turn and immediately know why he looks like he forgot his words.
“Good morning. I’m Lexi, and I’ll be your waitress today.
” The beautiful, curvy server stands before our table with her diamond-pierced, dimpled smile.
Gulping, I gaze up to meet the prettiest bluish-green eyes before I continue my perusal.
She can’t be more than five feet six inches or seven inches tall.
She’s in a maroon-colored short-sleeved top tucked into the tapered waist of her ripped denim jeans that fit over her sculpted, thick thighs.
Fuck me. She’s gorgeous.
A hand waves, breaking Callum’s and my obvious ogling.
“Oh, sorry. Did… did you say something?” my brother fumbles, and that’s enough to ultimately break the spell Lexi had us in. I snort, and Callum’s head whips toward me, making me snicker. His eyes narrow into slits, and I quickly mask my mirth with a cough.
She grins, suppressing her laugh before she repeats what Callum and I were too distracted to hear. “Can I get you started with something to drink, or are you ready to place your order?”
When my brother still looks stuck on stupid and simply can’t get the neurons in his brain to signal him to speak, I respond, “He’ll have a cup of coffee—black with no sugar, and I’ll have a cup of any herbal tea you have.
” I quickly pick up the menu as she pulls out an order pad and begins to jot down our order.
Unsure of what I want, I peruse the menu and realize we’ll need more juice.
“We’ll also have a pitcher of orange juice, but we still need more time to decide what we’d like to eat,” I state, peering back up at her.
Nodding, she replies, “I’ll get those right over and then check on a few of my other tables before returning to take your order.” Lexi turns and walks away, and I can’t lie—I shamelessly watch as her hips sway and her Georgia-sized peach ass bounces with each step she takes.
“You’re drooling,” I say, taunting Callum when I turn to face him.
His mouth snaps shut. “I am not.”
“The big boss, the vice president, is blushing,” I snark.
Arching his eyebrow, he picks up his menu, averting his gaze before retorting, “If I’m not mistaken, that’s a bit of drool on your shirt.”
I glance down, unsure of what I did while I was entranced.
“Made you look,” Callum snickers.
“Jerk,” I mutter, balling my napkin up before tossing it at his face.
He lifts his menu, blocking my napkin assault. “How has the start of the school year been?” he questions without lowering his makeshift protection shield.
Biting my lip, I contemplate how to answer this so it’s as truthful as possible, without saying on day one of classes, I was drenched in pigs’ blood as they shouted ‘murderer , ’ and before the end of the first month, one of the students responsible died.
Avoiding the entire macabre dumpster fire that would probably end up with me being pulled from school, I go with, “I’ve made some really great friends, I enjoy my classes, and we have a kickass volleyball team that I think will go all the way. ”
Callum lowers his menu, a bright smile on his usually serious face.
It makes him look like the youthful twenty-year-old who graduated from college with two master’s degrees in international business and finance before he turned eighteen.
While I chose to go the more traditional route, my brother, a MENSA scholar, was too smart to go the cookie-cutter way.
He pauses like he’s doing a mental cost-benefit analysis of my response and the look on my face.
His grin grows, seemingly satisfied with my answer, and he hums, “Good. You need some good ole normal in your life, Eva.”
I nod in agreement, and for the first time in months, I feel like we’re back before our world imploded. For the next two hours, we are Cal and Evie—no barrier between us, and it feels like water to my dehydrated soul.
The snap of the serve jolts me back to the present just as the volleyball travels over the net toward me.
“Mine,” I shout, my voice amplifying over the raucous crowd.
Planting my feet, I bump the ball to our setter, and then she sets it outside as Jade soars through the air, spiking it down between two of the opposing team’s players, earning us a point and possession of the ball.
Cheers ring from our teammates on the sidelines. We’re up two sets to one, and we’re one point away from match point.
“Let’s go, ladies,” our coach exclaims, clapping from the sideline. She’s up from her seat, elated that we’re four points away from winning the match. “Time to bring it home.”
We rotate, and Cammy takes her place at the serving line. She bounces the volleyball three times, her signature pre-serve ritual, before tossing it into the air and jump-serving. The volleyball careens over the net, heading for our favorite sweet spot.
“Out,” a few girls from the opposing team shout as the ball splits between two players. One person shuffles back, but the play happens too quickly for any of them to adjust. The volleyball smacks the line, and we wait for the referee to make the call.
The middle-aged giant of a man, who, if he’s never played volleyball, would be a travesty to the sports world, signals for someone to bring a tablet to watch the replay.
“Bring it in, ladies,” Coach orders, and we hustle over to the bench. “We’re playing hard out there tonight. Let’s end this now.” She pulls out her whiteboard and immediately points to areas to tighten up when the ref declares the ball in, making it three away from match point.