Page 207 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
“Fucking hell, Reed. Who are you?”
“Same person.” He shrugged. “Everyone considered me to be the golden boy, and I liked it that way. Easier to sneak around as I pleased.”
I nodded at Basil. “For her.”
“Yeah.” A smile softened his face, and it reminded me of us before Eastridge sunk its claws into my family. “You finally here to tell me the truth?”
It defied every instinct of mine, but I did.
We talked about Dad’s diagnosis, the fights I got into to raise cash, beating up Small Dick, the ledger, and how I’d unknowingly built my company on Gideon’s money.
By the time the sun set and his douche friends moved on from weed to harder drugs, Reed told me he didn't agree with what happened the night of the cotillion, but he forgave me.
Reed swapped his soda for the vodka, pouring in Coke to chase it. “I knew about you and Emery on my bed.”
The fuck?
My water bottle hovered before my lips. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Figured having sex with you mortified her enough.” He stole my cap and used it as a trashcan for the junk food he’d eaten. “I saw her running from the cottage, half-naked. Then, she moaned your name one night. I’m talking full-blown moaned. I’d passed out on her floor after sneaking back from the Berkshires. Didn’t want Ma to find me.”
“Thanks for the play-by-play, Jerry Springer.” I pretended to check my watch, feeling some sort of cosmic. Like someone had rigged my life against me, and I somehow still had a shot at winning.
Reed tossed the cap, wrappers and all, into the bonfire like a frisbee. He pitched the vodka into it, forcing the flame higher. Tossing the bottle at my feet, he hovered over me. “Consider this your obligatory warning. Brother or not, I'll happily burn your ass if you hurt my best friend.”
Too fucking late.
Sweat slicked my palms.
I sat on the steps of his new house, debating whether to enter. I'd seen it in an email attachment, yet it surprised me. Smaller than the Prescotts’ cottage, it countered every definition I possessed of Dad.
Of Gideon.
What else has changed?
I doubted he still dressed in the suits. A sensible Toyota parked in the driveway. The foliage seemed maintained but not immaculately groomed. This wasn’t a three-piece bespoke suit kind of place.
Truthfully, I feared looking at my dad and seeing a stranger.
Because if I didn't have blood to bond us, what else was there?
“You coming in or what, sweetheart?”
Querencia.
It came to me with the force of a battle cry. Overwhelming and fierce. The urge to shout it gripped my vocal cords, but I suffered in silence. I mouthed the word, taking in Gideon, who stood near the bend of the house.
He wore a plain white t-shirt, faded blue jeans, a Hornets baseball cap, and a pair of Timberlands. My querencia disguised as a regular guy. He tore off his gardening gloves and tossed them into the nearest topiary.
A smile crinkled the corner of his eyes. “What’s the magic word this time?”
He still understood me.
I wanted to fall against him and finally, finally shed the tears I’d kept at bay for four years. Relief wobbled my feet forward like a rickety rocking chair. Dad caught me before I fell off the steps.
I clung to his arms, breathed him in, and released my grip on him with the exhale. “Querencia.”
“You’ll have to explain to an old man what it means.” He tapped his temple. “Mind’s not what it used to be.”
