Page 17 of Wicked Deceit

Their phones buzz in their pockets, and I know they do. Each of their eyes gazes at me, and then they stare up at the ceiling, pretending this is nothing to be concerned about. Discreetly, I try to motion for them to answer their damn texts. I plead with them with my best puppy dog eyes. And yeah, nothing. They don’t flinch or look at me. Bastard-coated bastards. They’re going to regret the day they agreed to lunch with my mother, Mercy Cole.

Me: I hate you all. You asked for it.

Buzzing sounds again, and still, nothing. I narrow my eyes at each of them. Chase smiles. Carter winks. And the twins grin in unison. Fine. Let the battle begin.

“So, boys, tell me a little about yourselves. We’ve been cooped up in that tiny hospital room, and I feel we’ve barely scratched the surface of getting to know one another. So, let’s start over.” She takes a sip of her drink, eyeing the boys critically. “You know I’m Mercy. So, tell me more about yourselves.”

Chase’s eyes light up, smiling back at her. “I’m Chase Benoit,” he says, holding out his hand. She takes it, shaking it up and down.

She cocks a brow. “Benoit? Like…”

“Yeah.” He beams, nodding his head. “He's my dad.” He swallows hard, fighting to keep the smile on his face. Ghosts cloud his eyes, taking him back to the day they hauled his father off to jail, and my heart hurts for him. He’s trying so hard not to slip back into bed and never get out.

“How’s he holding up? I met him years ago. You know he collaborated with my husband?” My mom asks carefully with a mother-like precision. She must see the hurt on his twisting face.

Chase nods again. “He-he’s doing okay,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hanging in there the best he can.” He plasters a smile back on his face, adjusting his posture. “But, oh yeah, I remember that! Dad brought me to the set. I even had eyes for a cute blonde girl.” A pink tint takes over his cheeks when he slips a glance my way, driving his teeth into his bottom lip.

“Oh, I think I heard about you. You two were the best of friends on set. My husband, Cam, and your father, Tate, always joked that you’d marry each other one day.” My mother flashes a grin so bright that I go blind. Friggin’ blind and taken aback at where this conversation is going.

“Yeah,” Chase says with way too much enthusiasm. “One of these days!” He winks at me again and—

What circle of hell am I in?

Why are they torturing me? Together? Was this a planned Kaycee torture session? I frown, bringing up the group chat. Fuck! Typing with my left hand is so much harder than I thought it would be.

Me: Stop panfering to hger

I peer around the table when I hit send, only noticing then that I fucked up almost every word. This left handed thing is going to suck for the next few months until I can get this cast off and have a healed arm.

Seger snorts from across the table, tucking his phone back into his pocket. Mischief swims in his moss-green eyes as he leans his elbows on the table.Set. On. Fire. I hum in my mind, wishing I’d never agreed to this. Who knew going to lunch with my mom would turn on me.

“And how about you two?” my mom says, resting her chin on her palm, staring at the twins.

“I’m Zeppelin West,” he says, extending his hand.

Didn’t we spend three days in the hospital together? Wouldn’t they have talked without me alert and present? Ugh. I need to fake an injury and lay down. This is... too much. I need to leave this restaurant ASAP. I need to get away from here.

“I’m Seger West.” He also shakes my mom’s hand, falling into a conversation about their father and how my mom grew up on his music.

“And you?” she asks Carter.

“Carter Cunningham,” he says as politely as I’ve ever heard him. He shakes her hand, smiles, and jokes with her

What the hell? Where’s Grumpy gone? Impressing my mom? Ugh. My head hurts.

I rub my hand along my forehead, silently pleading for a bed.

“You, okay?” Mom asks, patting my legs.

“Yeah,” I breathe. “Just ready for food and bed.” She taps my leg again as our food comes.

The guys dig in like animals, devouring their cheeseburgers. I blink as silence finally settles around the table. Even my mother digs into her salad with zest. Thank goodness. Someone needed to shut her up. And if it had to be rabbit food, then by the grace of God, bless the lettuce for its sacrifice.

“So, boys,” my mother begins again, swiping a napkin across her lips. “What are your intentions with my daughter?”

The boys stop mid-bite, suspending their burgers in the air. A piece of meat falls from Chase’s mouth before he can swallow the lump of food in his cheeks.

“I—uh—we love her,” Chase says, setting his burger down. “We just want to, you know, grow together. Nothing but good intentions, Ma’am.” The other boys nod in agreement.