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"And do what? 'Diva Denise' doesn't look like she even owns a pair of flip-flops."
"I don't know. Hit up Seacrets ... have a few drinks ... listen to a few bands."
"And you think she'd be into that? She's a fish out of water. We're all barefoot and sandy, and she's in stilettos. She would have looked more comfortable wearing bubble wrap."
"And you got all of that from that brief meeting?" Declan scoffs. "You're impossible."
"It's a gift," I snarl.
Declan's spine stiffens as he throws me a deadly glare. "You know, the double standard is getting old. You're judgmental and rigid, and you apply it to everyone and everything. You think I don't know you? You not only judged her the minute you saw her, but you also didn’t like that she didn't fit into the plan. You talk about entitled? What about you? You think all of us should just go along with your OCD and not say anything. Well, guess what? I judge you for that. You know you have a problem and, instead of fixing it, you expect all of us to live with it. Not me. Not anymore. Fuck you and fuck your need for control. If you ask me, you're the one who's entitled. You get to do and say what you want, and we're all supposed to play by your rules."
"Stop! Just, stop!" Mom's plea splits the air.
"See what you did?" Declan's question is a conviction.
"I didn't do shit and I resent the implication. Go back to your fuck buddy." I spit the conviction back at him.
"She's not my fuck buddy!" Declan steps toward me with a clenched fist.
"Just stop it!" Lacey's voice cracks with anger. "Enough." She shoots us both a piercing look and her tone cuts the tension like a sharp blade. We've hit a trifecta, it seems; anger, disappointment, and hurt.
Instantly, I feel the weight of my actions. Mom's right: I did have a chip on my shoulder, but it graduated to the size of a boulder. No one knows what I have planned, yet I'm holding Declan responsible in advance for disrupting it. As I look at Lacey, her arms wrapped around my mother whose cheeks are damp with tears, I feel sick to my stomach and full of remorse.
"Sorry, Mom." Declan's voice drops and his tone is filled with sorrow.
"Sorry," I echo.
Mom's shoulders tremble as she stares down at her lap.
"I didn't ..." I look away, disgusted with myself.
"I know," she says softly. "Can we please just let this go and try to have a good week together?" She sniffles and Lacey grabs a box of tissues from the counter. "Thank you." Mom pulls a few from the box and gives Lacey a forced smile. She wipes her eyes and wipes her nose, then looks up. Her gaze travels between my brother and me. "I'd like you two to work this out. For me."
The room falls silent as the weight of her words hits us. Mom doesn't ask much, and when she does, it's rarely for herself.
Instantly, I attempt to make amends, but words seem to fail me, and Declan is the one who breaks the silence.
"This isn't about Marisol, or me. It isn't even about me bringing her here. This is about the order in your head, Carter, and I get it. We all get it. One thing doesn't go according to plan, and it does something chaotic to your brain. While I might not understand it, I know how it affects you, and I should recognize it for what it is. But it affects us all. You gotta give us a little room to breathe, brother. If you want to keep a tight rein on yourself, that's fine, but you can’t put that rope around all of our necks. You're choking the joy out of everything."
CHAPTER 6
Lacey
Ineed a reprieve from the tension. I leave Carter and Declan with Rose and escape outside. While the three of them huddled at the table, I grabbed a beer. The setting sun has given way to an inky dark sky. As I pinch the long-neck bottle and bring it to my lips, I look out at a night sky filled with hundreds of stars. I inhale deeply. It doesn't take long before the tension unravels, and a sense of ease lengthens my muscles.
The screen door slams.
"Where's your mother?" I ask as Carter comes up alongside me.
"Laying down."
His answer is short but so was my question. I'm not feeling particularly lovable toward him right now—or toward Declan, for that matter. He and his brother acted like two little brats, and they really pissed me off.
"What's the problem, Lace? You might as well spit it out now." He's curt.
"Lose the attitude, Carter." I turn, impatience rolling off me. "It is amazing to me that you feel so challenged—dare I say, even threatened—by Marisol. And don't tell me it's just that she's an 'unexpected' wrench in your plans. You resent her being here but, more than that, you resent her."
"Now, this is a first," he says as he draws his spine toward the back of the chair. "I would have thought you, of all people, wouldn't like someone so pretentious."
