Page 44 of Never Dance with the Devils
More afraid of her than of me, he sobers, crossing his arms over his chest and going silent.
Despite the immature back and forth, the truth of what I said landed for everyone. I was happy until it became this Big Thing. And now? I don’t know. It’s all so messy, and I hate messy. It’s the antithesis of everything I am, which is orderly, planned, above reproach.
Boring. Alone. Lonely.
Except I haven’t been any of those things lately. I’ve been excited, open to experiences, and even a bit, dare I say, giddy at learning more about Riggs and Maddox and sharing more of myself with them. I’ve felt alive in away I’ve never been before. I’ve felt unmasked, something that should make me terrified and vulnerable but has felt safe and comfortable because of their acceptance of me, just as I am.
No, theircelebrationof me.
“Do you know their history?” Cole says quietly. “Especially Patrick’s. I’ve already done background checks if you want the low-down?”
I clench my jaw, feeling protective of Riggs. I did my own research on them, but Cole’s offer of more feels invasive. Offended, I growl, “I know what I need to know, from them directly.”
He narrows his eyes, his gaze penetrating, and I don’t back down a bit, flat-faced staring back at him and challenging him to say something stupid. We don’t have the twin telepathy thing they talk about on TV shows, but a lifetime spent together has given us some ability at reading each other wordlessly. So when he dips his chin the slightest bit, giving in, I know that he’s at least acknowledging he didn’t find anything too damning. There are no felonies, no suspicious motives, no instant vetoes to either man. It doesn’t mean he approves of them, especially both of them, but he’s not fully against them based on the detailed reports he compiled. Not that I want to see those reports. I trust what Riggs and Maddox have told me. And my own research too.
Still, it’s the slightest shift in the chess board. It’s no longer Kayla, party of one, Harrington boys, party of five. It’s more like 1.5 vs 4.5.
“Kayla, what are you doing?” Cameron asks, shaking his head like I’m exhausting him. And confusing him.
My oldest brother and I have had a tumultuous relationship in a lot of ways. I saw him at his worst after hiswife died unexpectedly, when Mom and Dad worried he was going to take Grace and the rest of the world along for his devastating ride to destruction. I held his hand, stepped in with Grace when he couldn’t, and played therapist for his breakdowns. When I came on at Blue Lake, Cameron and Carter were deadlocked in the competitive war Dad always fostered between them, and I stayed out of their way for the most part, building my own mini-empire inside what was effectively their walls. When Carter left and it was the two of us, Cameron and I suddenly had to figure out how we were going to work together without stepping on each other’s toes or killing one another. And we did it, forging our own paths to success while seeking out the best for the company overall.
Most recently, I’ve watched him come back to life, something I thought impossible and is one hundred percent Riley’s doing. It hasn’t been an easy, nor sudden, resurrection, though. It’s been painstakingly slow, and has come with a fair amount of judgment of its own because Riley was initially Grace’s nanny and is quite young compared to Cameron. But through all of that, good and bad, I not only supported him, but I also made sure that Blue Lake was a sanctuary for him, where no one questioned him nor his decisions, at least to his face.
I deserve that type of unflinching support too. I expect it. I demand it.
Everyone’s eyes bore into me as they await my answer to Cameron’s question or some sort of explanation for this out of character behavior. And while I don’t like disappointing them and hate that they’re looking at me differently now, I’m not sure I have a reason they’ll understand.
My whole life, I’ve been on the outside of their brotherhood. Early on, I tried my damnedest to get into their clique, one I was rejected from solely because I was a girl. Later, I found a way to skirt around the outlines of their complicated connections, forging individual relationships with each brother as their own bonds faded into chaos. Now, as adults, we’ve worked our way back to being family for the most part. It’s not perfect, but just as things are improving, to the point we can talk in a group chat, have each other’s backs when crises arise, and sit down for regular dinners, here I am on the outside once again.
It's where I always am—the only girl in a family of boys, the only woman in a position of power at Blue Lake, the only one who gave a shit about all the rest of them when Dad was gone for work and Mom was busy keeping the foundation running. So this outlier position is home in a way—a place where I know how to act, how to respond, and how to address their invasion, because this is my territory. Not theirs. My life, not theirs.
“For the first time in my life, whatever the hell I want,” I answer clearly and evenly, injecting confidence I don’t feel into my voice.
“Whatever you want?” Chance says hollowly.
“For the first time?” Carter echoes, his face screwed up in confusion. “What are you talking about? You’ve always done what you want. Who would dare to stop you?”
“Someone with a death wish,” Cole murmurs.
My brothers look from one to another, outright rejecting the idea that I don’t wake up, decide to fuck things up, and go about my business with only my own voice in my head.
Do they really think I’m not as fucked up as they all are?
I’ve always been Mom’s backup, a role I didn’t necessarily want but took on naturally. Maybe I played it too well, to the point that they never considered I didn’t want to be responsible for the whole damn family?
“You think Iwantto worry about all of you every single day?” I demand, searching the lot of them, hoping one of them will have the sense to say no but they look like a match set of our father—chiseled jaw set hard, blue eyes somehow both empty and angry, and shoulders squared against the fight I’m putting up.
Once upon a time, with Dad at least, I would’ve silently given in, the quintessential people pleaser. Later, I learned to fake the surrender and then carry on because once his attention was off me, it would be weeks or sometimes months before he tuned in again. As I grew up, I changed. It wasn’t a quick rip of the Band-Aid, where I was suddenly strong enough to stand on my own two feet. No, I changed slowly and painfully, and it was brutally violent on my spirit, but I became a person who doesn’t want to do things ‘the right way’ according to Dad, or my brothers, or anyone else. I want to do things that feel right to me, even if no one else understands it or supports it or expects it of me.
So for the first time in my life, I stand up to my brothers in a new and sharply targeted way, calling them out in ways I never have before.
“You think I didn’t worry if you were dead in a foreign country?” I lock eyes with Cole, remembering all the years I read the morning paper, looking for a little snippet of ‘unknown body found’ and breathing a sigh of relief when he’d make a surprise appearance, only to disappear again.
“Or crashing out and taking Grace to hell with you? You think I didn’t sniff your breath every goddamn time we were together in those early days, trying to figure out if I had to carry your load, or worse, make sure that you didn’t get behind a wheel?” Cameron’s turn.
“And how fun do you think it was, watching you dive into the murky underbelly of red-pill podcasts to rescue people? All the while, knowing they were psychologically designed to trap you there and hoping you’d escape before they hurt you or someone else?” Chance.
“And of course it was great preventing you from self-destructing with high-stakes risks and even stupider decisions, all in an effort to best someone who didn’t give a shit about competing with you?” Carter.