“I’d be staying with Kathleen and Miranda,” I continue, and Dad’s gaze swings right to Creed. The boy’s shoulders stiffen, but thankfully, he keeps his cavalier little mouth closed.
“Isn’t the Cabot boy one of your bullies?” Charlie asks, looking at Creed with such a pained expression that my hurt hearts for them both. “Why?” he says suddenly, turning from Creed to Zayd to Tristan, and then swinging over to Zack. “Why my little girl, my heart?” Dad’s face tightens up with such a strong mix of anger and sadness that I take a step toward him. “Marnye’s had a hard life, with my idiot ass getting drunk, and her mother …” Charlie exhales, closes his eyes, and opens them again. “Why did you have to pick her, of all people? What did she do to deserve your hatred?”
“Sir.” The first person to speak up is Creed, surprising me. Dad glances his way warily, meeting those ice-blue eyes dead-on. “There’s no excuse for what we did. We picked on Marnye because she was poor.” Dad bristles, but Creed carries on as if he doesn’t notice. “We thought she was an easy target; she’s not. Mr. Reed, your daughter is strong.”
Creed pauses and exhales, slouching slightly, like that speech took a lot out of him. My skin turns a bright red, and my palms sweat, but I’m not really sure what to say. Glancing over, I find Miranda with this tender expression on her face as she gazes at her twin. She said she thought Creed was redeemable; maybe she was right?
“Pretty words, son,” Charlie says, reaching up to rub at his forehead. “But I can’t for the life of me figure out why you’d all come here and invite my daughter on a trip if it wasn’t for some sort of prank.”
“I can assure you,” Tristan interrupts, his voice that authoritative steel that works on everyone … except for Charlie. Dad does not look he’s going to be convinced by anything Tristan has to say. “That there are other reasons.”
“Like?” Dad begins, and Windsor grins. Zack looks frustrated, and Zayd won’t look at my dad for shit. He’s clearly ashamed to be sitting here right now. Our eyes meet, and I have this desperate need to just sit down and talk with him. For hours. Maybe days.
I need to go to the Hamptons.
“Like, we’re all crushing—” Windsor starts, and I step forward, elbowing him hard in the side. Dad, however, has heard, and now he looks just as terrified as before, if not more so.
“Call Kathleen Cabot,” I say, glancing back at Miranda, and she nods, a small smile lighting on her lips. I turn back to Dad. “Call Kathleen, and she’ll tell you. I’ll be staying with her and Miranda.”
Charlie looks so skeptical right now, like he wouldn’t agree to this arrangement if you paid him.
“We’ll only be there for a week,” Miranda adds, stepping forward to hook her arm through mine. Creed notices, narrows his eyes, and huffs as he looks away. Huh. Okay. I refocus my attention on Dad. “My mom and I, we’ll take good care of her, I promise. And we won’t let Creed bother her ever again, I swear it to you.” Charlie frowns and reaches up to rub at the back of his head.
“I could call Kathleen, I suppose,” he starts, looking over at me. I lift my chin and meet his gaze. Don’t worry about me, Dad, I think, but my heart is breaking as I think about his words. “My little girl, my heart.” It never occurred to me how much my being bullied must’ve affected him, too. “I’ll check in with her and see,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “Now, if the four of you could leave, I’d appreciate it.”
He heads for the door, and stands aside while Tristan, Zayd, Creed, and Zack file out.
Miranda, Windsor, and I wait until we hear the front door close behind them, and then the rumble of Charlie’s voice as he greets Mrs. Cabot over the phone.
“My mom once convinced a Japanese businessman who didn’t speak English to invest in her company during their first meeting.” Miranda glances over at me with a grin. “If anyone can get you a ticket to spend the summer with us, it’s her.”
“If not, I can always make a royal decree,” Wind jokes, and I roll my eyes again. I do that a lot when he’s around, but mostly it’s out of a burgeoning sense of affection. He’s becoming a good friend. “Of course, you Americans don’t have a lick of respect for authority, so I doubt that would work.”
“Here we go with the American comments again,” I mumble as Windsor makes himself comfortable on my bed, folding his arms behind his head and staring up at my ceiling. He even kicks his boots off like he plans on staying a while. “Aren’t you supposed to be in England for the summer anyway?”
