My family home is in escrow.
My brother is being questioned by the authorities.
My life is in shambles.
And I can’t stop smiling.
I wear the expression no matter where I go, clinging to it like a life raft. I wear it during the painful trek up to my bedroom to get dressed and pack clothes before I take one of the cars to the hotel Hunter mentioned. For all I know, the car has been sold as well, but it just makes for yet another location Blake Lorenz can invade in the middle of the night.
I keep smiling when I finally meet Hunter at the hotel and find him half-drowned in a bottle of wine, and my grin remains as he drunkenly tells me everything he failed to mention.
“Sorry, Snowy,” he mumbles before taking another sip from his glass. Ronan is a gluttonous drunk, but Hunter is a sloppy one. With his eyes glossy, he resembles Mother more than ever. “I’m stupid. I fucked up. I—”
“You could go to prison,” I say.
He flinches and reaches for the wine bottle on the settee beside us. It goes without saying that, by booking this room, my prideful brother is still in denial as to our current circumstances. It’s a four-bedroom suite on the topmost floor of the city’s most exclusive hotel. Funny, I never stopped to tally up expenses before now, so I don’t even know which range to aim at. Thousands? Tens of thousands? Either amount is far beyond our reach.
“I’m sorry,” Hunter insists, though he seems more intent on finishing off his bottle than doing anything worthwhile.
“Where is Ronan?”
“Dunno.” He lifts his arm in a shrug and winds up collapsing against the back of the settee. “Dumb…bastard…left.”
With a sigh, I stand and snatch the wine bottle before he can grab it. “Get some sleep,” I tell him, knowing that the request is impossible. My head hurts. The room is spinning, but I do my best to stay upright as I cross into the foyer of the suite and toss the wine in the garbage. Can’t fall apart now. Need to focus.
Need to think.
I take up a position on the couch and attempt to do just that. Ronan was the mastermind at plotting—or he used to be. He devised some of the best plans for outwitting Papa’s rules or Mama’s sensibilities. Once, he was my greatest champion.
And now?
It hurts to think about who he is now, so I move on to a more painful topic. After all, Brandt Lloyd may be dead, but his memory festers on my soul, an agonizing open wound. My craving for misery must know no bounds, because I can’t stop myself from replaying the image of Blake Lorenz’s face over and over.
I could kick myself for not asking him outright about his past. I could kick myself for visiting him alone in the first place.
Hunter and Ronan, as imperfect as they may be, should take the lead on this matter. After all, their bumbling incompetence got us into this mess in the first place. And I’m…
“Snowy?”
Speak of the devil. I look up and find Hunter stumbling from the bedroom, his cell phone pressed to his ear. One look at his face has my blood running cold. My fingers fly to my chest, anticipating the painful surge of my heart.
“What is it?”
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Bloodshot eyes betray the tears he tried to disguise by swiping them away with his sleeve. I’ve never seen him like this. Not even when Mama died.
“It’s Ronan… There was an accident. His bike.”
God, no. I’m on my feet, swaying. The next thing I know, I’m in Hunter’s arms and he’s whispering words into my hair. Phrases I’ve never heard him utter.
Prayers.