Hard Fought (A Stepbrother Warriors Novel)(21)

"Sounds great," he says, and follows me.

"I'd like some privacy," I snap over my shoulder.

"Got it."

I walk around the pool so I can get a view of the water and kick off my shoes. I glare at him as he pulls up a chair at a nearby table. Maybe I should just go back inside, but I don't want to give him the satisfaction of changing my behavior. I should just keep living my life and ignore him completely.

I lower my bare feet into the pool, open the folder, and lay it on the tiles next to me, running my fingers over the Duke emblem on the upper left corner of the papers. A bit self-consciously, I type the phone number into my cell, wondering if Carter is close enough to overhear my conversation.

Twenty-five minutes later, I hang up. Tears of frustration and embarrassment spring to my eyes and I wipe them off before they have a chance to make their way down my cheeks. Why did I leave college when I did? I have so much time to make up, and the administrator at Duke that I spoke to couldn't tell me for sure how many of my credits would transfer to other institutions.

I just can't see myself going back there. It holds too many memories, and at this point I think it would only feel like a step backward in time. I want to start anew somewhere else, but not if it means repeating a whole semester's worth of work. I'm so stupid. What did I ever see in James Mulholland, sculptor extraordinaire, that was worth throwing away my entire future? Every instinct I have, I should always do the opposite.

I stand up and kick the water droplets off my feet.

"Where are you going?" Carter asks as I walk around the edge of the pool.

"Nowhere. Absolutely nowhere."





Chapter Fourteen



After dinner, I roam around the hallways of the main house, feeling antsy but having nothing to do. I hear the sound of a TV from the den and walk toward it. When I stick my head in, I see the TV tuned to Sportscenter, and have to poke my head over the back of the couch to see Bree sprawled out across it.

"Sports fan?" I ask. She starts so violently that she almost rolls onto the floor.

"No." She glances up at the TV. "I mean, yeah, sort of. You know." She reaches for the remote and flicks off the TV, then sits up straight on the couch.

"...Right," I reply. I stand awkwardly at the entrance to the room for a moment before I decide to go in. I drop into the armchair and kick my feet up on the coffee table. "So Jack says you're a writer."

"Yeah," she says, blushing slightly. "I'm trying to own it a little more, being a writer. My boyfriend says that I should."

"Oh, you have a boyfriend?"

"Miles. I'm working on a novel right now, but I haven't let anyone read it yet."

"Not even him?"

"No...in a way, it would be even scarier for him to read it, because I care so much about what he thinks."

"I see what you mean."

"Hey, can I ask you...how's Carter's leg doing? I know you went to physical therapy with him today."

"Let me guess, he won't talk to you about it."

"So there is something wrong?"

"No, no. I just mean he seems like he doesn't really like opening up."

She laughs. "Yup, that's him. Usually he'll talk to me about stuff, but not this time. I don't want to make you feel weird if you don't feel comfortable sharing."

"No, I mean, I don't want you to worry. It seems like his leg is healing well. The doctors seem happy. We just went through some exercises that he's supposed to do at home."

"Oh, good. He's being even more tight-lipped than usual, so I thought maybe it was still hurt or something. He won't even tell us how it happened."

"Really?" That's strange. He told me on the plane.

"No, and his medical records are sealed, obviously." She glances at me. "I don't suppose he—"

"No," I cut her off. "Hasn't mentioned it." I feel fine about sharing his progress, but he definitely told me about the bomber in confidence, even if he didn't know who I was at the time.

"Where did you go in Europe?" she asks, her eyes lighting up.

"Well, Paris, the south of France, Barcelona, Brussels..."

"Are you going to go back to college now?" she asks. I pause. She's definitely blunt.

"I don't know, to be honest. It's harder than I thought it would be. Are you in school?"

"No, but the good thing about writing is I don't need anyone else's help to do it. I mean, I'd love to get a degree, but it's really expensive, and I think your dad's already done enough."

"How do you—" I begin to ask, unsure of exactly what my father's done.

"What are you two talking about?" Carter asks as he walks in. Damn. He offered to help with dishes and I thought I might have ditched him for a little while longer. He's been on me like glue all day.