Page 43 of Reckless Devotion

“Deal.”

***

“Chase, what is wrong with you?!” A sharp sting on my shoulder accompanies the words and I start, focusing back on the three women sitting on Mia’s large U-shaped couch.

“What was that for?” I whine, rubbing my arm.

Chloe rolls her eyes, batting my hand away. “You’ve been sitting there grunting at everything we say and not paying attention!”

“Oh…sorry,” I mutter, taking a sip from the beer bottle in my hand.

“You have to listen to us moan about men. It’s the rules of girls’ night.” Mia nods, taking a sip of her wine.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. What were you saying? Something about Zeke leaving his socks somewhere?” I raise my eyebrows at Chloe, who just grins.

“He’s probably brooding about the pretty girl I caught him with the other day,” Emily drawls, twisting her untouched beer bottle as she side-eyes me with the distinct expression of someone who is intentionally dropping me in it.

She’s right.I can’t quit thinking of how glassy her eyes got when I leaned over her, or the way her breath felt on my skin, making me think of all the other noises I could pull from her. Logic seems to escape me when I get too close to Pepper and I make a mental note to keep a safe distance between us from here on out. Any more of this and I might have to take a long, hard look in the mirror and decide if I have acrush.Like I’m some fucking teenage boy.

“What pretty girl?!” Chloe yelps like the mother hen she is, shooting forward in her seat so quickly a fluffy blanket slips off her legs.

I roll my eyes at the floating fireplace that gently pops and crackles behind the glass, lifting a hand to test if the pink clay face mask painted onto my T-zone is dry. “Just someone I’m working with.”

“Is this the one with pink hair?” Mia asks, a twinkle of curiosity in her ocean-blue eyes.

“Yep.” Emily ends the word on a popping sound, looking extra pleased with herself.

“Pink?” Chloe chimes in, stretching to pick the blanket back up.

“Yeah, like a pearly pink rinse. She’swaytoo cool for Chase,” Emily adds.

“Did you check on Mom earlier, Emily?” I cut across them to steer the conversation away from the woman whosescent still haunts my nose, but almost immediately regret it when the mood turns from bubbly and light to heavy and sad.

My sister’s face falls flat. “Yeah, she’s doing okay. Still won’t get out of bed, though.”

The room falls into tense silence until a soft throat clearing drags my attention sideways.

“When do we say enough is enough and get her help, even if it isn’t what she wants?” Mia asks quietly, reaching over to place her glass full of golden wine onto the low coffee table in front of us.

“We can’t force her.” I’m taken back in time to a dizzy image of my mother’s unconscious body being pulled from the bathtub, and sit forward, wedging my elbows on my knees—focusing on breathing slowly to quell the snatching fingers of panic that rise with the memory.

Mason’s much younger face swims into my mind’s eye, chalky and clothes covered in blood as he uses towels to try and stop the bleeding, yelling at me to call for help. We had tried to force her into therapy then, and we very nearly lost her because of it. No, my mother is content to live in the oblivion of prescription drugs and denial. That way, she doesn’t have to face the ghosts that haunt this family.

Mia reaches over and squeezes my forearm, and in that moment my long-standing suspicion that she knows all about that night twenty years ago is confirmed.

The lobby doors hiss open and the sharp clip of Italian shoes rings out on marble, seconds before my older brother comes into view, dressed as impeccably as ever in a designer suit, and with his signature scowl heavy at his brows. He makes a beeline for his wife, icy eyes fixed on her the whole time.

“Ger your sick bags ready, folks,” Emily mutters, pulling her phone from her sweatpants pocket and swiftly diverting her attention to it.

I swig my beer as Mason reaches the back of the couch, leaning over his wife and curling a hand around the side of her neck when she arches to look up at him. “Hi,” he says in a low voice, pausing to do a sweep of her before he kisses her—like he’s checking for injuries. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Mia whispers back, smiling at him with love-heart eyes.

“Are the kids okay?” he follows up, uncaring that anyone else is in the room.

“Asleep.”

“I’ll go and check on them,” he rumbles back to her, delivering a final kiss before he straightens and acknowledges someone other than his wife. “Red.” He nods at Chloe, who grins at him, my brother’s eyebrow raising when he spots the pink clay face mask currently coating every inch of her face. His cool eyes land on me next, and turn positively arctic, his upper lip threatening to curl while he clocks my face mask. And suddenly, I don’t want to be the joker in this moment.