Page 155 of Midnight Curfew

She’s wearing my shirt. One of my white dress shirts but with the collar open a couple of buttons and hanging so baggy and long it nearly covers her shorts.

I dart my gaze to Krisjen to see she’s wearing a similar outfit.

But I’m sure hers wasn’t six hundred dollars.

I swallow my grumble and tell her, “By three.”

They both acknowledge what I’ve said, and Sophia skips to the door, throwing it open. Krisjen follows and so do I.

“Clay!” Sophia waves her Harris Tweed newsboy cap. “I’ve got a hat, too!”

I peer through the doorway, noting Clay’s baseball cap to keep her hair tidy in the wind. She smiles at my stepsister, reaching over and opening the passenger door for her. Sophia sits right in front, already talking Clay’s ear off, and my chest swells so much it hurts. She looks happy.

“She’ll be fine,” Krisjen assures me.

I tip my gaze back down to her as she leaves the front step.

“The only part of you that was never safe in the Bay was your heart,” she says, slipping on her sunglasses.

I tip my chin up and look over her head as she leaves. She grabs the roll bar in the back of the truck and steps on the rear tire, climbing into the back of the vehicle. Clay never looks over at me.

In moments, they’re gone, and I close the door.

The silence of the house weighs heavier; even the ticking of the clocks and the subtle hum of the air conditioning seem to go dead silent.

The only part of you that was never safe in the Bay was your heart…

But the heart can bleed for years and never kill you. I bet Dallas wishes now that he’d broken my arm or cut off my hand rather than take me to bed back then.

Still, though…my beef was with him, and now it’s with him and the land. I’ll never apologize to Liv and Clay for what I did in high school, but I do regret it. I was young and reacting to the pain I was in, but if I’m not careful, someone’s behavior someday will be a reaction to me. I’m not a fan of cycles.

Heading into my father’s office, I sit at his desk and pull out my phone, dialing.

After three rings, the line picks up. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Dewitt, hi.” I smile naturally, hearing the familiar clicking of the buttons on his game controller. “It’s Ames.”

“Duh.”

My freshman year college roommate was worlds different from me and didn’t fit in at UPenn. He would’ve been better off at MIT or Caltech, but I quickly realized his usefulness when his midnight ramblings about game theory added a nice edge to my Behavioral Finance paper.

“You finally hosting me and about ten beautiful women for my personal viewing pleasure on your boat?” he teases.

“Ten?” I blurt out. “I’ve seen how you handle one.”

He tsks. “I was excited.”

Her hand wasn’t in his pants a minute, and he ejaculated.

I lean my elbow on my father’s desk. “I need a big favor, and I’ll owe you one.”

“Name it.”

I put him on speakerphone. “Your mother still owns Mad Rock?”

“And about fifteen other things,” he answers.

Good. I draw in a breath. “There’s a film in production now her company might be interested in,” I explain. “Can I email you the details?”