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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

TATUM

Twelve Years Ago

Just like I suspected, it doesn’t take long for them to all come crawling back to me. Exactly one day goes by before I hear from them.

It’s Dakota first, of course.

I answer the call and don’t say anything. We just sit in silence. Wait ’em out. Let ’em sweat.

“Tatum, I know you’re there.”

My brothers are used to this sort of treatment, but only when they deserve it. Which, to be fair, is often.

“Listen, dude, your mom is really upset. I know you’re pissed at us, but don’t take it out on her. Just…just come home, okay? If you want us to leave, we will. But just come home and make up with her. It’s Christmas. She shouldn’t be sad.”

“Why should I?”

“Because she’s your mom.”

“And? Doesn’t give her the right to treat me like shit.”

Dakota sucks in a breath. “You’re right. But maybe, just this once, you could let it go. Like a gift to her.”

I suck my front teeth, thinking. “Yeah, okay. I guess I will.”

“Yeah?” He didn’t think it would be this easy, but I’m bored here now that I’ve gotten what I wanted. I’d rather be home in my own bed than in this stupid dorm.

“Yeah, what the hell, why not?” Without another word, I hang up and start gathering my things. I can’t wait to tell the boys about the Christmas gift I gave myself.

* * *

Back at home, everyone walks on eggshells around me just trying to keep me happy, but I’m on my best behavior. I don’t apologize, but I also don’t make them apologize to me. I hug Mom and pretend everything is peachy, just biding my time.

When Christmas morning rolls around, we all exchange presents, and I give everyone their gift except for Matteo. Nice gifts, too. Expensive ones, while they just give me cheap shit.

Mom buys us all a ton of clothes, but I’m the only one who gets Xbox games too, which is fine by me. Matteo doesn’t say anything about the fact that I skipped right over him when I was passing out my gifts. No one does, in fact, but I can tell they’ve all noticed. The guys slip on their watches from me. They have lion emblems engraved on their undersides to match the tattoos we got. I told them it was to symbolize our brotherhood, our pride.

We’ve known each other since we were young—three and four years old, and all staying in the same foster home. We were split up a few different times, but we always ended up back together like it was some kind of sign. More likely because there were only a few homes that would take teenagers; even fewer that would take rowdy teenagers who were always getting into trouble. And then Lane and Daphne took me in, and a year later, I was adopted. I thought I’d never have to see my brothers again, and then I did when we all agreed to go to the same college. I decided it couldn’t hurt to have people around who would do anything for me.

Then, freshman year, I got tired of looking at the burn scars on my shoulder from one of the deadbeat foster dads and got a tattoo to cover them up. Shocked the shit out of me when they got them out of solidarity.

At least that’s what they said. They probably just wanted to copy me again.

After presents, while Mom and Dad are putting out Christmas breakfast, I find Matteo in his bedroom getting dressed and toss the watch box at him. He stares at it with an odd expression and, once his shirt is down over his head, picks it up.

“Didn’t think I forgot about you, did you?”

“Wasn’t sure,” he says simply. Matteo’s always been the one to give me trouble. If anyone was going to argue with me or attempt to stand up to me, it was him, but I’m about to put him in his place once and for all.

“I got ya something. I just thought you might want to open it up in private. In case you get all weepy and shit.”

“Thanks,” he says, tucking it into his pocket.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” I ask, dropping down on his bed.

“I thought you just said I should open it in private.”

“I meant not in front of everyone else. You can open it now, though, and you should.”

His hand taps his pocket. “Why?”

“Because it’s the polite thing to do,” I remind him. “And you’re mister manners, aren’t you?”

He wants to roll his eyes or argue. I can see it. I think he’s physically fighting against rolling his eyes, in fact, but he doesn’t. He’s going to keep the peace at all costs.

At least until he sees what I got him.

I swallow, watching as he pulls the watch box from his pocket. My pulse is pounding as I wait.

He senses that something is up, and I know he doesn’t want to open it, but he also has no choice. That’s the beauty of it. I have all the power, always have.

Slowly, he opens the watch box. His expression changes as he processes what he’s seeing. He drops the box on the comforter, holding the crumpled photographs in his hands as he unfolds them. When he realizes what I’ve given him, he shoves them into his pockets and steps toward me.

“What the actual fuck?”

I grin without my teeth. “Are you surprised? Really? I wanted her. You knew I wanted her. Turns out, she wanted me just as bad.” I whistle. “She’s insatiable, bro. No wonder you were trying to keep her for yourself.”

“You fucking asshole!” He launches himself at me, but I stand up, still as stone, and it stops him in his tracks.

“Watch it, because if you lay a single finger on me, if you even think of breathing a word of this to anyone…” A wicked smile crosses my lips as my gaze flicks down to the pictures he’s tucked away in his pocket. “Let’s just say those aren’t the only copies in existence, and I’m more than happy to share. Whether or not you take her class, I do, and I don’t think the dean would be too happy about one of his professors fraternizing with students, do you?”

“Are you threatening me?”

I click my tongue and wiggle my finger at him. “ Promising. Better word. But don’t worry, I’ve gotten what I wanted. You can have her back now.”

“She’s not a toy,” he cries, his eyes filling with tears. My god, how pathetic. He’s seriously going to cry over this? What a loser.

“Could’ve fooled me. She was a lot of fun to play with. So much more exciting than blocks.”

His hands ball into fists again, and though we both know he wants to kill me, he can’t touch me. He never could.

“Shouldn’t have sent me back to campus, Mafia Matteo. That’s on you. What did you think was going to happen? Surely you knew she was there. I mean, you can’t blame her really. She saw what she wanted and went after it. Why would she want you when she could have me?”

“What’s going on in here?” Dakota appears in the doorway, and I jerk my head around to see him. I slide my arm around Matteo’s shoulders, and my hand plants right on his collarbone, applying just enough pressure that he tenses.

“Nothing at all. Right, Matteo?” He’s silent for a long while, and I squeeze his shoulder again, this time harder. “Unless there’s something you need to tell the class?”

He jerks his shoulder away from me. “Fuck off.”

I beam. “Same old Mafia Matteo.”