Page 20 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

“What if we…” He trails off as he grabs his sketchbook and starts drawing on a new page, his artistic brain already in hyperdrive.

My phone pings as I smile at him. One glance at the name on my screen has my stomach hardening. When I saved my father’s contact information, I didn’t go with the name Dad or Raymond. I chose a more apt moniker.

Life Wrecker: I hope not hearing from you is a good sign. That you’re still considering meeting with me. I know how hard this must be for you, but it’s important.

I nearly crush my phone in a death grip. My pulse strikes my neck. A second later, my cell rings. I make a weird squeaking noise and drop the damn thing, hunching lower, sure my Benedict Arnold of a father is out here spying on me. Thankfully the flashing name on my phone is Desmond, but hearing from him ups my already tweaked anxiety.

I’m supposed to have Max for another hour, minimum. Des should be locked in his bedroom with Sadie right now, not calling me. Unless he somehow bugged my phone and knows our traitorous father is reaching out, and he’s calling to warn me that he launched a nuclear missile at my cell.

I answer and say, “If you’re having trouble getting it up, it’s probably because you’re masturbating too much.” The joke comes out high-pitched and shaky.

“Fuck you,” he mutters. Then, “The advanced copies of Dad’s tell-all are out. Family meeting here tomorrow.”

“Isn’t that earlier than expected?”

“It is.”

This can’t be a coincidence. The Life Wrecker reaching out at the same time as his tell-all biography hits early readers is alarmingly concerning. Maybe I should meet him. Find out what this is all about, get the lowdown before more shocks blindside my family, but the thought has my phone turning slippery in my grip. I’m also still not sure I should tell my family about the texts yet. They’ll explode and demand action—blocking Dad from my life—when I don’t know what I want to do.

“I’ll be there,” I tell Des. “And seriously. Less masturbating.”

He growls and hangs up.

Feeling like the ground is tipping sideways, I look up and try to focus on anything but my phone. My eyes dart to Maggie, like the sight of her will stop the sinkhole in my stomach from deepening. She’s watching me intently, concern in her pinched brow.

Are you okay? she mouths.

I could mime drinking, pretend my likely panicked expression is a hangover, but I’m too overwrought to even joke. I shake my head and mouth No.

I don’t bother watching her for a reaction. Not when I have to see the limp-shaker beside her. I get Max up and hurry us to my truck, hoping a Smash Shack strawberry shake will cure what ails me, like it did when I was a kid.

chapter eight

Bower Family Meetings never end on a high note. The tense discussions have revolved around a plethora of fun debates, such as which fake names we should choose for the fake lives we didn’t want. That particular chat ended with Jake punching the wall. When we needed to stage an intervention for fear E would chain himself to his computer and wither away as he scoured the internet, searching for news of his lost love, Delilah, the night culminated with E in a heap on the floor, bawling into his knees.

The meeting Mom called, where we learned Dad hadn’t started laundering money recently, as we’d assumed, but that he’d been lying to us for eight fucking years, we debated hiring a private eye to find him so we could light his house on fire. Cal talked us off the ledge, but Des threw a lamp across the room in a glorious, shattering mess.

Today, we’ve gathered to discuss Dad’s upcoming tell-all book—the biography he wrote to earn more cash from his devastating betrayal—and the energy in Des and Sadie’s home is shocking, to say the least. Everyone is actually smiling.

Delilah’s on the floor with Max and her two dogs, Candy Cane and Macaroon, playing tug-of-war with them. Mom is watching Desmond with a small smile on her face as he whispers something to Sadie. Sadie blushes and swats his stomach. Desmond, no lie, grins like he’s swallowed a bowl of Christmas cheer. He kisses her temple, his hand splayed on her waist in a possessive hold—his usual stance with his future wife.

Jake and Callahan are here too. It’s their first time visiting Windfall since we left WITSEC. While they’re more subdued, they’re listening to some story E’s telling, looking entertained. E gestures wildly and mimes slapping the air, then not-so-subtly nods to Delilah.

She levels him with a baleful squint. “If you’re telling the story I think you’re telling, I’ll be changing our apartment lock.”

“What story? There’s no story.” E does an abysmal job of hiding his amusement.

Cal quickly shakes his head. “No story here. Just reminiscing about the time E tried to play tennis and kept tossing his racket at the ball to hit it.”

“That was one time,” E says.

Cal pats his shoulder. “Keep telling yourself that. So there’s no story,” he reassures Delilah, but his lips are compressed to keep from laughing.

She huffs. “You’re all liars.”

“Nope.” Jake stands in his usual crossed-arm pose. “We’re definitely not talking about the fact that you approached a stranger bent over the open hood of his truck, smacked his butt, and said ‘nice booty.’”

She huffs out an irritated breath and covers Max’s ears. “Assholes, every single one of you.” She releases Max’s head and sharpens her glare. “The guy was wearing the same shorts as E and driving the same truck, and I didn’t know E had moved his truck so the guy could pump gas.”