Page 40 of Striking Range

I try not to read into that, to remind myself that Camile is the type to think that everyone loves the people around them for no good reason.

But… why am I defending Skylar when he was probably out all night with another man?

I don’t have an answer to this question, so I take to peering around the house for the millionth time. Skylar grew up in a one-story, five-bedroom, white picket fence home. They have a pool out back and a basement with a pool table.

It’s clean, and not in the way my house is clean. The Parish home looks like a real home—lived in, not a floor model.

I spent a lot of time here when we were kids, imagining what it would be like to live somewhere so warm. And everywhere I looked, whether it was in the pictures on the walls or in the faces of his parents, I saw Skylar.

Camping out in the backyard, hiding under the blankets on his bed with a flashlight, riding bikes around the cul-de-sac—no matter where I look in my memories, he’s there.

Without Skylar, my childhood wouldn’t have been so bright. I find myself grateful, thinking of how I only had to survive ten years without him.

It only takes a few more minutes of reminiscing before breakfast is ready, and right as the table is set, the front door opens and slams shut.

“Hey!” Skylar’s voice rings out. It warms the air around me. “Sorry I’m late. Evie isn’t coming; I think he’s sick—”

He falters in the doorway, eyes widening as he catches sight of me at the table.

“Oh no! You were sick, Evie?” Camile sits across from me, face pinched with concern as she begins loading plates with eggs, bacon, potatoes, and fresh fruit.

I eye Skylar as he sits next to me, slow and cautious. “Ah, yes. But I’m much better now, thank you.”

“Son, you look exhausted. Did you go partying last night?” Phillip asks Skylar, sliding him a glass of water.

“Yeah, I got in late,” he replies casually.

I flinch. Got in late? What does that mean? Is he alluding to Jacob? Did he stay over at his house?

“Well, make sure you’re being safe,” Camile lectures.

Skylar flushes. “Mom!”

“What?! I meant drinking and driving, Skylar! Sweet Jesus.” She fans her face.

But Phillip just laughs, saying, “Wow, Sky. You found yourself a girlfriend?”

Oh. So his parents don’t know. Am I the only one? And why is he blushing like this? Did he actually fuck that guy?

“Yeah, Skylar,” I prompt, shooting him a glare disguised as a perfectly pleasant smile. “Why are you blushing so hard?”

Skylar doesn’t bother hiding his glare, not in current company. “No. I do not have a girlfriend, and I think you know that.”

Camile clears her throat. “So, have you boys been studying for midterms? It’s never too early!”

Skylar dives into a description of his two-week study plan, how he intends to map everything out and focus most of his attention on mathematics—a smart move on his part.

All the while, I can’t get the image of him and Jacob out of my head. Does Jacob praise him? Is he lying there, spread out and moaning, telling that giant just how he wants it?

Fuck.

Fuck them, and fuck this.

“Everett?” Phillip calls to me, and my eyes snap up from my plate to meet his. “I don’t think that fork did anything to you, did it?”

Shit. I have a death grip around the handle of my utensil as if I have a personal vendetta against it.

I set it down on the table gently, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry, sir.”