Arrogant Bastard(38)

“Camp starts Monday.” Mark forks his food.

Jensen’s biting his tongue, I can tell.

“It’s not so bad,” I whisper across the table. “I’ve gone every summer. It gets us out of the house, at least.”

“Camp?” Jensen arches his brows, saying the word like it’s got as much appeal as swallowing a mouthful or razorblades.

“Just eight weeks of camp and then we’ll be shopping for mini-fridges and extra-long sheets,” I say, steering the conversation back toward college in the fall.

Dad chews his mouthful of food. “We’ll see how the summer goes.”

His words pack a punch. I’ve done everything he’s asked of me thus far. I’ve helped put the kids to bed, I’ve carted them around to various lessons and events, I’ve done more than my fair share in the kitchen, and last week I weeded the garden and helped Summer plant flowers.

I pull in a deep breath and excuse myself from the table. No need stick around and get myself all worked up over nothing.

I’ve got this. I know I do. At this point, I don’t see how my father could say no.





CHAPTER 15





This whole family’s fucking bizarre.

I mean, I knew they weren’t normal, but that stunt they pulled with Waverly? Beyond shitty. She might be a prissy little overachiever, but she worked hard to get into college.

I’ve never been one to make a big deal about school and the whole follow-the-herd-mentality, but watching the excitement on her face get washed away by the silent reception her loved ones gave her damn near broke my heart.

We finish eating, her empty chair soaking up the hush in the room.

I make a mental note to go up and talk to her after the rest of the house is asleep tonight. Kian’s band is playing downtown and Liberty said she could get me in. I doubt she’ll go, but it’s worth a shot.

“Jensen, can you play Connect Four with me?” It’s Gretchen. She’s standing there twirling a strand of white-blonde hair around her finger and digging her toe into the wood floor. I figure it’s kind of my duty now to forge some kind of bond with those two, because someday they might need to turn to someone with half a rational thought process.

“Of course, G.” I ruffle her soft, baby hair. We head to the family room where Honor and True are quietly reading. The T.V. is off, Gideon is assembling a dinosaur puzzle, and I’m not sure where Justice is.

Mark’s voice trails in from the next room over—his den. The main house is so big and open that every sound carries, at least downstairs. The upstairs is all closed off and compartmentalized, like shoe boxes stacked side by side.

“You’re going to have to tell her,” I hear a woman say. It sounds like Jane. “Soon.”

“I know,” Mark says.

“Did you see the look on her face?” Jane says, her tone reminiscent of depressing guitar chords. “She’s going to be crushed.”

“She’s a big girl. She’ll get over it. She’ll just have to accept that this is the way it’s going to be.” His voice fades in and out. I’m straining to eavesdrop, but all I hear are the plastic clicks of the Connect Four coins as Gretchen drops in three in a row when she thinks I’m not looking. “As her father, I know what’s best for her future. Her fate is sealed.”

It’s quiet. I strain, cocking my head and leaning my ear toward the den. The conversation seems to have ended. From what I gather, Mark doesn’t want Waverly going off to college and Jane isn’t going to try to change his mind.

Talk about fucked up. They all know how much this means to her.

I return to my game with Gretchen, playing several rounds until Kath calls the kids back to her house for bed.

“Thank you, Jensen,” Kath says. “They really enjoy spending time with you.”

I get up off the floor and stretch. Gideon is putting his puzzle pieces back in the box, and Summer’s kids have left the room.

“Hey, what was that about at dinner tonight?” As Kath’s son, I see no reason why she couldn’t perhaps confide in me.

She shifts her weight, her eyes darting to the ground and then toward Gideon. “It’s not for us to discuss.”

“Mark said she could go to college if she got a partial scholarship.”

Kath tucks her hair behind her ears. I’m making her nervous. Maybe it’s because I’m arguing with the wrong person. Maybe it’s because right now I remind her of Josiah. I’m a dog with a bone, and I refuse to let it go.

“She can still go, right?” I press on.

“I believe there’s been a change of plans.”

“He can’t do that. He gave her his word.”