Page 172 of Double or Nothing

His eyes are like steel.

“No, apparently I don’t. But I know men who mistake money for ownership. I’ve met plenty of them in my time, believe me.”

I look away.

Because he’s right. Dad is one of those men. My whole foundation has been built upon it.

Jack’s attention moves to Bryce. “And you? Come on, don’t be a pussy about it.”

“What about me?” Bryce says.

“Are you seriously going to stand there holding William Parker’s coat while he gives Alice away to this Otley guy? Fucking hell, grow some bollocks, BT, it’s ridiculous.”

The words cut through me on their way to Bryce.

“That isn’t fair,” Bryce says. “You don’t know what’s at stake here. Not for me, and not for Alice, either. It’s not that fucking simple!”

“Excellent.” Jack flicks off the toastie maker. “Everyone keeps saying that to me when I’m right. Because I am right. It’s a load of absolute bullshit.”

“You don’t understand what’s involved. You have no idea,” Bryce says.

“No.” Jack leans on the counter top, eyes accusatory. “Because neither of you bothered to tell me. You kept this crap in the shadows, waiting to take a shit on the high life.”

Jack suddenly turns his attention right back to the Toastique Pro, fiddling with the settings. He’s still sitting at the island with us, still close enough that I could reach out and touch him, but I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.

Emotionally, he’s gone.

Bryce and I exchange loaded looks over a future neither of us has explained. Neither of us wanted to.

I want to tell Jack everything right now. Every single thing that’s been put on my plate, and what’s on the line here. Dad’s demands. Having a highbrow heir and what it means to our family. The threat hiding under pretty girl princess support. The way my entire life belongs to me only for as long as Dad continues allowing it. Or that’s what it feels like. That’s what it’s always felt like.

Instead, I say nothing.

Bryce says nothing too.

Jack looks between us one final time.

Then he shrugs.

It’s way too casual. That’s how I know it hurts.

“Fine,” he laughs. “Whatever. Your family nightmare, Soul Girl. Your boss, Bryce. Your problem.”

“Jack,” I say.

“What?”

His smile is so bright, it’s off the colour spectrum. The playboy pulling his mask back into place.

“Honestly, whatever. This family bullcrap doesn’t mean anything to me. Why would it?”

My chest tightens.

He gets up from the stool and walks to the fridge, opening it with a flourish.

“So, we’ve got nine days, apparently. Thanks for the countdown, guys.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Bryce says.