She licks her lips and smiles gently, still not looking me in the eye. “That’s between Mark and Waverly. I’m sure they’ll reach an agreement.”
“Agree on what? It seems like Mark’s mind is made up. What he says goes. None of you ever question any decision he makes, and let’s face it, some of them are a little questionable.”
More like most of them.
Okay. All of them.
Kath trembles, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Come on, kids. Time for bed.”
She’s not going to engage in this discussion with me.
“You know something, don’t you, Mom?” I want to remind her we are family. She and I. Flesh and blood. That ought to count for something. We should be able to communicate openly without holding things back or else what’s the point?
Her posture straightens and she turns toward me, our eyes locking. The fidgeting and nervousness seem to subside for a second. “Jensen, you will not speak about Mark this way in his house. Do you understand?”
“We have a problem here?” Mark stands in the middle of the only exit out of the family room, his hands slid deep into his pockets. His mouth his straight, his eyes narrowing in my direction. “Kath, everything okay?”
“Yes, of course, dear,” she says sweetly.
Keep sweet.
That’s the phrase I’ve heard Mark say to all the girls. They’re not allowed to have opinions or show emotions. They’re to let him make all the decisions. That’s why Jane didn’t stick up for Waverly and that’s why Kath pretends everything is fine just now.
He’s morphed them into timid, spineless shells of women. They wear blankness on their faces and keep quiet, working in tandem to raise a herd of Millers, taking cues and directives from the man who keeps their beds warm every third night.
My abhorrence of Mark, the one I’ve tried to ignore since the moment I first met him, reignites with a fury.
“Are you staying at our house tonight, Daddy?” Gretchen asks as she runs up into his arms.
“Sure am, sugar plum.” He scoops her up into his arms like he’s some kind of T.V. dad. It still blows my fucking mind that this is all normal to them.
I wait for Mark to disappear into the backyard, making his way to Kath’s house with Kath, Gideon, and Gretchen in tow under the veil of a sunless sky. The house is dark. I assume Jane and Bellamy have retired for the night. I trek up the stairs, knocking on Waverly’s door softly enough that she can hear it without me waking up the other ladies.
She doesn’t answer.
There’s light under her door, so I know she’s up.
I rap again.
Nothing.
I twist her doorknob, showing myself in. She’s lying on her bed, headphones in her ears. Her eyes are shut. My finger traces across her arm softly. I’m not sure if she’s sleeping or not, but I don’t want to startle her.
Her eyes flutter. She jumps slightly, inching back with her hands and sitting up. She glances at the clock on her nightstand.
“It’s not that late,” I whisper.
“What are you doing?” She rubs her nose, crinkling it like an adorable little bunny rabbit. She’s so fucking cute it kills me.
“Get ready,” I say. “I’m taking you out tonight.”
“It’s a week night,” she protests.
I’m not going to argue with her. I’m not going to force her to go. I’ll just leave her with three words and let her decide her fate. “We’re celebrating tonight.”
Tonight, Waverly believes she’s going to college this fall, and she deserves to celebrate. She deserves to be happy, and to have someone be happy for her, even if it’s her jackass stepbrother.
CHAPTER 16
I’ve never snuck out in my life, but here I am, ten o’clock on a school night, walking toward a twenty-one-and-over bar in downtown Whispering Hills. Music travels down the street with a steady thumping that beats in time with our footsteps.
The beating in my chest coincides with the music, giving me an adrenaline rush. My body’s been tingling with raw dynamism since the moment we snuck out of the house and dropped my acceptance response in a nearby mailbox before cruising across town.
“Welcome to the dark side.” My cousin, Liberty, opens up the alley entrance in the back of the place a moment later. She’s always been my rebellious older cousin—the one my father would keep at an arm’s length because he said she would be a bad influence on us. “Jensen, how goes it?”
She slaps his shoulder and gives it a squeeze before leading us down a long, dark hallway. The music grows louder as we pass door after door. My shoes stick to the floor when I walk, making a Velcro noise with each step. It smells like alcohol and cigarettes.