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SAWYER

A t Jamie’s, I’m trying to pretend things are normal and that Clare Duffy didn’t steal my mom’s Briar Club bracelet out from under me. And also that fucking Brad didn’t help her do it. Unfortunately, on and off, my mind reels from the pain and frustration. I don’t know if it’s too late to get it back somehow. I hope not. Though, I can’t figure out how I’d pull that off.

There’s no way I would whine about it to Briar Club leadership. They know that vintage bracelet was my mom Celine’s, so if they let Clare trade hers in for it, they’ve already decided it should go to an accomplished senior rather than incoming-freshman me, who has yet to prove herself.

My hands are clasped in my lap as I sit on a barstool at the downstairs kitchen island. Jamie sits at the end, and as usual, War is standing. This time, however, War stands because he’s cooking, rather than so he’ll be at the ready to turn and stalk up the stairs.

War is dressed in jeans and a tight black t-shirt for a band called Five Finger Death Punch. As he cooks an Asian chicken stir fry, Jamie drinks whiskey and speaks with an accent so thick I can barely understand him.

I eat a pea pod as I watch them.

Jamie uses a string of words I don’t recognize, and War murmurs, “If you take a nap like a five-year-old, you’re out.”

Jamie chuckles.

Studying him, I cock my head. “What did you just say?”

“Ah, sorry. War lived in Ireland for a time, so he understands me the way people from the island would. I just said I’m feeling exhausted. Knackered, we say.”

I nod. He’s never spoken with such a thick accent around me before. It’s almost as though he’s trying to shut me out or to emphasize to War that I’m no threat to the closeness of their friendship. Since I’ve never done anything that should make War have issues with me, I have to assume it’s because he and Ash are at odds.

Picking up another loose pea pod, I study him. “Where else have you lived, War?”

War dumps a cutting board worth of veggies into a sizzling wok. “New York. Russia. Boston.” His tone is slightly terse. Maybe he does have an issue with me for some reason.

We fall silent for a few moments as I watch him make a stir fry sauce with honey, soy sauce, and fresh ginger, among other things. He mixes the ingredients so fast it’s as though he’s whisking egg whites.

“Where did you learn to cook?”

“Where didn’t I?” He glances at me. “When you eat nine thousand calories a day, flavor’s a priority. I was sick of fuckin’ omelets by the time I was ten, so I learned.”

“This would up your rank in Ash’s eyes. She’s always saying she needs a boyfriend who cooks.”

He doesn’t look at me, but his attention sharpens, as evidenced by the sudden tension in his broad shoulders and the way he cocks his head. It’s very similar to the subtle things Ash does when his name is mentioned.

War’s lip curls with distaste. “She’s so skinny and hyper, I figured her diet was all coffee and cocaine.”

Jamie and I chuckle, but I shake my head.

“She does love coffee, but she loves food, too. Crosby Bergmann claims he’s going to take a cooking class. I hope he’s lying.”

War and Jamie look at me, not trying to hide that I’ve got their full attention.

“You hope he’s lying? Why’s that, Sauce?” Jamie asks.

“I don’t trust him.”

Jamie leans closer, retrieving a leftover slice of carrot from the counter. “Did you tell her that?”

I nod. “I don’t even think she’s that attracted to him. He’s just… unbelievably persistent.”

The hardness around War’s eyes intensifies before he turns his attention back to the wok.

“I should text her to see if she’s had dinner,” I say. “She’s going to Boston today, but her last text said she got sidelined before leaving town. That girl is always traveling at Mach speed.”

War flattens his hand on the stone counter next to the burner but otherwise doesn’t move or speak.

“Nah,” Jamie says, glancing at his friend and then back at me. “Dinner’s almost ready. We’ll invite her another time.”

“Right, okay,” I say, mimicking Jamie’s accent as best I can.

He smirks. “Not too bad, that.”

War exhales a derisive sound, making me lean back and flush with embarrassment.

“Don’t pay attention to him.” Jamie shakes his head. “I’m not having you on. It wasn’t bad.”

I shrug, locking eyes with Jamie. “It’s my favorite thing… the way it sounds when you say it.”

“When I say, ‘right, okay’?”

Nodding, I smile.

“Because he’s agreeing with you,” War says, setting stoneware dishes on the counter.

“It doesn’t hurt the cause.” I raise a hand in a questioning gesture. “Who doesn’t love being agreed with? But calling it the main thing? I suspect that says more about you, War, than about me.” My tone is teasing, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

Instead, he pauses in spooning food onto his plate so his dark eyes can scowl at me.

“She has you there, mate.” Jamie flashes a small smile. “You do like when members of the opposite sex behave the way you want them to.”

“Not the same thing. Also…” War raises his middle finger and directs it at both of us before turning off the burners, grabbing his maximally full plate, and heading upstairs.

“Think it was an accident that he left us to clean up?” I ask.

“No.” Jamie studies me for a moment between bites. “It wasn’t an accident your bringing Ash into the conversation, either, was it? Why do that?”

“Testing a theory.” When he doesn’t ask, I change tack. “They need to make peace with each other. Mentioning another guy who’s making an effort to get close to her is my attempt to motivate him.”

“You need to leave off where they’re concerned.”

“He’s your best friend on campus. She’s mine. If we’re going to be together, they will bump into each other. Are we going to accept their being at each other’s throats every time they interact?”

“Cranberry Sauce,” he says in a warning tone.

“Listen,” I say, trying again to mimic his accent. Which earns me a tap on the arm. “I think they may be attracted to each other.”

“I said leave off.” His tone has hardened, and my lips purse into a pout. “And don’t try to tempt me with those lips. It won’t end well.”

My brows rise. Something is definitely off.

Jamie finishes eating and puts the plate in the dishwasher. I’m not super hungry, so I finish too and put the extra food into a freezer bag. While we’re tidying up, he pours himself another glass of whiskey. After draining half of it, he sets the glass on the stone island.

Reaching across, I put a hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”

Blowing out a breath, he studies me. “Well enough. But, listen…” His gaze falls to my hand and then he tugs his arm away.

My brows rise. “What’s wrong?”

“Fuck this,” he whispers, rubbing his jaw. “I want to ask you something.” Grabbing his glass, he raises it and drinks the last of the whiskey. When he sets the tumbler down hard, there’s a cracking sound that causes me to wince. “Do you know about the evil in your family, Sawyer?”

I freeze, my jaw dropping open a fraction. “I—what do you mean?”

After a beat, he winces and tilts his head. “You’ve gone white.” He licks his lips then scowls. “Christ, you do know. How? From a police investigation? Or another way?”

I don’t understand how he found out about my bio mom.

Or maybe I do. Brad told Clare, and Clare started spreading the rumors. Is this how she’s already undermining me in the club? And how she convinced them to give her Celine’s bracelet?

“For how long?” Jamie hisses.

I shake my head, starting to retreat.

He leans forward and grabs my forearm in a tight grip. “I asked how long?” His tone is like a slap.

Growing so stiff my body hurts, I’m overwhelmed by all the things I’ve been holding inside and trying to hide. I don’t deserve to be attacked over things I can’t control. Things that happened when I was a child.

There’s no explanation as to why a lifetime of shame and fear becomes too much to take in an instant. Maybe because I feel so betrayed. I almost told him about my bio mom myself. Never in a million years did I expect Jamie to blame me.

“Why would it matter how long I knew?” I say, my tone angry and frustrated. “I’m not the person who did something wrong. Let go of my arm.”

His eyes flame with rage that threatens to burn me alive. As soon as he releases me, I draw back.

“Right.” His voice is blistering in its intensity. “This is us done, then.” He stalks over to the stairs. “War!”

After a moment, the formidable housemate appears, towering from above like a barbarian on a cliff. “What?”

“The girl is going back to the dorm, and I’m too drunk to drive her. I need you to take her, mate.”

War scowls and then disappears from view.

“Goodbye,” Jamie says in a low voice before walking to one of the couches and sitting with his back to me.

There are a thousand things I want to scream at him, but what would be the point?

Mostly, I want to know why the shame of my bio mom is such a deal breaker. I don’t even have the same last name. Unless he figures it’ll get out because of my pseudo brother’s spite, which is very likely. But why is that so deadly to our relationship? Jamie’s not set to inherit a throne, and he’s never said he plans to go into politics or public life. I can’t see why it matters so much.

Maybe his brother overdosed? And he sees all drug dealers as the scum who are responsible? It’s not a completely crazy sentiment. My bio mom did things to trick people into more powerful addictions. And the type of narcotics they laced the drugs with meant she’s responsible for several people dying from accidental overdoses.

Knowing she deceived kids as young as thirteen into taking things that killed them is despicable. And yeah, a part of me despises her for it. But she went to jail for that.

There’s no way I’m going to walk around with my head hanging in shame. My plan has always been to rise above the early part of my life, and no one is going to make me feel bad for trying to move on.

By the time War comes downstairs, I’m standing at the front door with my coat on and my bag in hand.

When he opens the door and walks out, I follow him.

No look back at Jamie.

No final goodbye.