Page 4 of Playing Dirty (Leighton U #4)

Madden

Mom sets the remainder of the dishes on the kitchen counter beside me, and I rinse them before placing them in the dishwasher. She’s been relatively quiet since Theo stormed out an hour ago, but I can tell it’s weighing on her.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad do you think that went?”

I roll my teeth over my lower lip in thought, continuing with the task at hand.

I can count the things I know about Theo Greyson on one hand.

He’s a senior—making him a year older than me—and he’s a damn good shortstop for Leighton; kills it when he’s at the plate too.

Outside the baseball diamond, our interactions have been brief, mostly taking place at various parties my teammates and I would crash over on Leighton’s campus.

So gauging his reaction isn’t really something I can do. But for her sake, I try.

“Five or six?” I offer hesitantly, and I hate the way her face falls.

“That bad, huh?”

My heart sinks, knowing the hope she had for things going better than they did.

Not just the whole plan for a trip over break, but for our first real holiday after she and Adam got married.

Even with me telling her it was too soon to try forcing Theo into accepting us, she remained optimistic.

But with his meltdown, that’s all been shattered.

I finish cleaning up the dishes before facing her, pressing my hip against the granite countertop and whispering, “I didn’t want to be right.”

She gives me a sad smile, the same one I’ve seen far too many times on her face before. One I haven’t seen at all in the months since she married Adam.

“Oh, I know, sweetheart. I just wish there were a way…” She trails off, her shoulders lifting in a helpless shrug.

And it shreds a little piece of my soul to see it.

I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into a hug and pressing my cheek to the top of her head.

If I could do anything to help, I would. In a heartbeat. But this is all Theo, and he’ll either come around to this in his own time or he won’t. Though, if I had to place a wager on it, it’d be the latter.

But she’s had enough disappointment for the night, so I decide to keep that to myself and offer the tiniest consolation I can.

“We’ll have a good time no matter what. Even if he doesn’t come.”

Her arms wrap around me tighter, squeezing me at the waist with more strength than I’d think her capable of with such a tiny frame.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you too, Mom,” I murmur before pressing a kiss to her hair.

I spend the rest of the evening watching football with Adam before heading up to the guest room for the night. Though, I guess it’s technically my room now, what with all my things from Mom’s apartment having been moved in this past summer.

It’s weird, being in a home that isn’t mine, yet sleeping in a room filled with all my things. Same dresser and mattress, and the trophies lining the wall that I insisted she didn’t need to set up. Everything looks so identical to how it was this time last year, but none of it feels that way.

Part of me thinks I’ll never get used to it.

But I do my best for my mom, and that’s a lot more than I can say for Theo.

When I drop down on my bed and finally check my phone, I see the group chat between me and the rest of the Core Four has been popping off like bottle rockets on the Fourth of July.

Torin: How’s it going back home?

Vaughn: Send an SOS if you need one of us to come get you.

Miles: A funny sentiment coming from the only one of us who still can’t drive.

Vaughn: I would if I could.

Miles: Yes, but instead, you would make ME go do it.

Torin: Jesus Christ, I’m gonna block you both and just call Madden myself if you don’t shut it.

Vaughn: Okay, but really. Send a signal of life.

Miles: Yeah, starting to get worried stepbro took you out back and buried you alive.

I scan over the messages that came in one after the other while I was downstairs, and despite my relatively shit mood post-dinner, I can’t help but chuckle at the antics of my three best friends.

Me: Everyone’s still breathing, so it could be worse.

Miles: Oof. Okay, Vaughn’s offer is definitely still on the table if you need to be bailed out.

Me: No need. I’ll see you guys Sunday night.

Vaughn: Can you bring back some of Carla’s homemade apple pie? Mom may have her recipe, but it’s never as good for some reason.

Torin: I second that request, actually.

Miles: I’m friends with a bunch of heathens, choosing apple over pumpkin on Thanksgiving. It’s blasphemy.

My lips twitch into a smile, and I quickly make the promise to bring some of both back for the three of them—though Miles will one hundred percent hog the pumpkin all to himself—before getting ready for bed.

No matter how strange our friendship may seem from the outside, regardless of how different we all are from one another, we just…work. And I don’t think I would have survived the weird transition this past year without them.

I get a separate text from Miles—this one outside the Core Four group chat—while I’m in the middle of brushing my teeth.

Miles: You sure you’re good? I know you were worried about how it would go today.

Gratitude sends warmth through my extremities.

Miles puts on an aloof front even more convincing than Torin’s, pretending to fit the mold of the preppy, rich frat boy who takes nothing seriously, who has never known hardship.

But deep down, he’s the most loyal and considerate person I know.

He’d give the shirt off his back, and he always shows up.

It’s what makes him one helluva best friend—and roommate too.

I’m in the middle of texting him back as I leave the bathroom, attention locked on my phone, when I unexpectedly run smack into a wall.

No, not a wall. A chest of smooth, warm skin and hard muscle.

Instinct has me reaching for the first thing I can find to right my balance, which just happens to be the forearm of the person I ran directly into.

It’s only a few moments later when I realize whose skin is beneath my touch, but then my gaze lifts to find two angry, light-green eyes.

Ones belonging to my stepbrother.

He rips his arm from my hold, glaring daggers at me in the dim glow from the lamp down the hall.

“Jesus Christ. Do you mind ?”

It takes me a second to gather my wits, still slightly shocked to see him at all.

With the way he stormed out after dinner, I figured he’d spend the night at his Mom’s instead.

Yet, here he stands before me, and in nothing but a pair of dark sweats hanging low on his hips.

My pulse quickens instantly, though I’m not sure if it’s from his lack of clothing or those damn eyes slicing through me like a blade.

“My bad. I wasn’t expecting you to even be here,” I utter after putting another foot of distance between us and swallowing down my unease.

He scoffs. “Shouldn’t be much of a shock considering this is the house I grew up in.”

Any bit of embarrassment is gone in a second, the snarky insinuation laced in his statement instantly causing it to dissipate.

And I try to bite my tongue, I really do.

Getting in verbal smackdowns with the guy isn’t going to do a damn thing but make this whole situation worse for everyone involved.

But I did more than enough minding my words for the night, and my patience has depleted entirely.

“What the hell is your problem?”

His brows lift slightly, obviously not anticipating the bite in my tone, but he’s quick to recover with a sharp tongue himself. “My problem? Let’s see. Why don’t we start with the fact that your mom destroyed my family? ”

A sharp laugh slips out, despite my better judgment, and I shake my head. “Destroyed it. Right.”

“You disagree?”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I offer him a noncommittal shrug. “Just seems like an odd way to put it when, from what I’ve heard, your parents’ marriage was over long before she ever entered the picture.”

I can tell I’ve struck a nerve instantly—likely one he’s done his best to ignore, if I had to guess. And now I’ve just brought all the throbbing pain and discomfort front and center, and from the tic of his jaw and flare of his eyes, he’s not happy about it.

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Right. Of course not.

Doubling down on whose fault it is that we’ve ended up here—forced to meld into some screwed-up semblance of a family—isn’t gonna get us anywhere. If I had to guess, I’d say it’d have the opposite effect, and I’m not looking to make this any harder than it’s already proven to be.

Which is why, despite my desire to defend Mom, I let out a relenting sigh.

“Look, maybe we just need to…start over, all right? We’re family now, so—”

The rest of my thoughts die on my lips when Theo barks out a laugh, one laced with bitterness and venom, only to snarl, “You’re not my family. You and your mom? You’re nothing more than fucking strangers.”

As if I couldn’t say the same thing about his father and him. But at least I’m trying here, putting in the effort to make this work. For their sake.

“That might be the case right now, but we’re not going anywhere.”

Another sharp laugh leaves him, and he shakes his head before motioning toward the stairs. To where our parents are.

“If you think that’s going to last, you’re even more delusional than them, MadDog .”

I may as well be arguing with a brick wall, he’s so hard-headed and stubborn. Any effort I make for peace is in vain at this point, and I’m aware we’ll only spend the night arguing ourselves in circles. But that doesn’t stop me from throwing back a spirited little jab either.

“Whatever you say, Teddy Bear. ”

His nostrils flare, the sage of his eyes now lit aflame. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

Ah, so he can dish it, but he can’t take it.

I can’t help but smirk from the irony that Theo is acting like nothing short of a grizzly right now; there’s nothing cute or cuddly about him. No doubt he’d love to run me down and rip my throat out too.

“Sure. Right after you stop being a dick and start accepting—”

“Nah, I won’t be accepting a damn thing,” he cuts in, a deadly edge to his tone.

“You see, whatever this…midlife crisis is, it won’t last. He’ll grow tired of being a sugar daddy to a woman fifteen years younger than him, and he’ll throw this marriage away too.

” He lets out a scoff and rolls his eyes.

“I just hope he was smart enough to get a prenup.”

The insinuations he’s making set my blood to a boil.

I’ve been talked down to most of my life, having been viewed as the trash kid with the junkie, deadbeat dad and the mom who “wasn’t smart enough” to not get pregnant in high school.

Even when I proved, time and time again, to be more than the circumstances I was born from, there was always someone trying to shove me back into that little box.

So I learned to take it—the criticisms, the bashing, all the negative bullshit spewed my way—and let it slide off my back.

But speaking of my mother like she’s some gold digger trying to sink her claws into his dad? Nah. That’s when the gloves come off and shit gets real .

Keeping my voice low and even, I lay into him without holding back.

“You know nothing about my mother or her relationship with your dad. How could you, when you haven’t been around enough to see it?

If you were, or if you’d open your fucking eyes to what’s right in front of you, you’d know how happy the two of them are.

But instead, you’re too busy throwing temper tantrums to get daddy’s attention. ”

“Yeah, well, at least mine decided to stick around to do the job. Which is more than can be said for yours, apparently.”

I gape at him, floored by the words that just left his mouth. Bringing my father into this is a low blow, one I wasn’t anticipating, and it’s a gut-punch to my system, momentarily stealing my ability to think.

Then again, that was likely what he intended: a final attack to make the enemy submit to defeat. I don’t have to be the enemy, though. He’s just hell-bent on making me one.

“The two of us were getting by just fine before your dad came into the picture,” I mutter, my voice nothing more than a whisper now.

“‘Getting by,’” he echoes, something of a sneer pulling his lips back. “You’re not making your case any better.”

God, I’ve never met anyone as volatile as him. And he’s like this for no reason.

The people he’s making me and my mom out to be? They don’t exist. They’re a figment of his imagination, drawn up as nothing more than a scapegoat to blame for his life falling apart while he was helpless to stop it.

But I think the saddest part of all this is that he really, truly believes the shit he’s spewing.

Doesn’t mean I have to stand here and listen to it.

“If you’re gonna be a piece of shit, go do it on someone else’s time,” I snap, taking a step toward my room.

Our shoulders brush as I duck around him, and my hair stands on end, feeling his gaze on me the whole time.

It stays there, fixed on my back, but I don’t turn around—don’t look at him—even when I finally find the words to say, “And for the record, my father’s dead. ”