“So, how’s the house renovation going?” Zahra leans back against the couch and tucks her legs under her. She reminds me of Delilah, always trying to burrow herself deep into the cushions.
“Good. The contractor has been hard at work with his team while we’ve been enjoying the park.”
“When is it going to be finished?” Iris takes a sip of her wine.
“We actually already put it on the market.” My hands clutching my glass of water tighten.
“You did?” Iris perks up.
“Cal didn’t say anything,” Zahra says.
“Yeah. It’s time.” Yet no matter how many times I tell myself that, I feel like someone grabbed my heart and squeezed hard enough to make the organ pop.
“You’re not happy about it.” Iris frowns.
“No, but I’ll get over it.” I sigh.
“Are you sure?” The skin between Zahra’s eyebrows creases.
“If it means helping Cal, then so be it.”
“What do you mean?” Iris’s brows tug together.
“Cal told me he would go to rehab if we put the house up for sale this week, so it was an easy choice. I was already willing to sell it so I could send Cami to a private school, so Cal only sped up the timeline a bit.”
Iris’s eyes widen. “He promised to go to rehab?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“No.” Her brows scrunch together. “When does he leave?”
“Next week.”
“Next week?” Zahra squeaks. She and Iris share a look.
The hairs on my arms raise from how strange they’re acting. “What?”
“Nothing. It just seems…” Zahra’s voice drifts off.
“Sudden,” Iris finishes for her.
“I’m not putting up with his drinking anymore. He can either get his life together or see himself out of mine.” I lift my water glass in the air.
Whatever nervous energy that was building in the air disappears with everyone breaking out into laughter.
“I like you already.” Iris’s eyes glitter.
“Same.” I grin.
Zahra raises her glass. “Let’s toast.”
“To what?” I ask.
Zahra taps her glass against mine. “To three strong women who refuse to put up with the Kane brothers’ usual bullshit.”
“I can cheers to that.” Iris does the same.
The three of us share stories about each of the brothers. Between Zahra and Iris, I spend the rest of the next hour laughing and crying until my belly hurts and my voice is hoarse. The two of them remind me of Violet and Delilah, and I just know that the five of us need to get together one day.
Once Cal gets sober, that is.
Iris and Zahra are splayed out on the couch, their wineglasses as empty as the bottle of expensive white wine on the coffee table. Neither one moves to go get another one, although they both expressed wanting another glass, so I volunteer to grab one from the wine fridge in the kitchen.
I use the bathroom before going to retrieve the bottle. As I’m grabbing the corkscrew, Declan’s voice catches my attention.
It takes me a moment to realize his voice is coming from outside rather than inside. The kitchen window is open with the faded scent of cigars lingering in the air, making my nose wrinkle.
“I saw you put the lake house on the market,” Declan says in that gruff, no-bullshit voice of his.
“Yup. I doubt it will last more than a few weeks before someone buys it.” Cal speaks with confidence.
Stop eavesdropping and go.
The corkscrew shakes in my hand. I’m about to start walking away and give them privacy, but something Declan says has my feet staying glued to the floor.
“I’m surprised you got Alana to go along with it.”
What. The. Fuck. Go along with what?
“She was the one who suggested we put the house up for sale sooner,” Cal says.
“Shouldn’t be long now before you receive your part of the inheritance, then.”
Inheritance? What inheritance?
“About that…” Cal’s voice drifts off.
“Here we go,” Rowan grumbles before ice rattles in a glass.
I take a step forward to get a better look at them. The three brothers sit on their respective lounge chairs, blowing smoke rings into the sky. While Declan and Rowan have drinks on a side table, Cal only clutches a cigar in his hand.
“Don’t tell me you’re backing out of your part of the will.” Agitation bleeds through Declan’s voice.
The food I ate for dinner sits like a lead block in my stomach and threatens to crawl up my throat.
Cal spares him a look. “I’m not backing out. I’m just…amending it.”
“Fuck.” Rowan sighs up to the sky.
“Amending what?” Declan’s jaw clenches so hard, I can make out the slight tic from here.
“I fly out to Arizona on Friday.”
“For what?”
“Rehab.”
My chest tightens. I’m proud of him for being open and honest about his struggles. It will only help him in the long run if he feels like he can count on those around him to support the process.
“Rehab? Right now? What happened to the plan?” Declan snaps.
What plan?
The one he obviously never told you about. The hairs on my arms rise, pointing straight up.
Alana, eres una tonta.
Rowan curses under his breath.
“I already spoke to Leo. So long as I sell the house by the end of the summer and commit to getting sober, then it won’t affect earning my part of the inheritance.”
My lungs feel like they might explode from how hard I suck in a breath. The corkscrew falls from my fingers, landing on the wood floor with a soft thud.
Piecing the puzzle together isn’t hard. In fact, it’s so simple, my eyes water from how stupid I was to not put everything together sooner.
Cal’s willingness to come back to Lake Wisteria when he could have left the house alone with me in it.
His insistence on selling the house despite my personal feelings, playing on my dreams and love for Cami to get his way.
The way he made me believe he wanted to go to rehab when, in reality, he was only getting sober for a stupid freaking inheritance.
Oh, Alana. When will you ever learn?
I might not have every single detail, but I have enough to understand just how easily I was taken advantage of. How desperate I was to believe he wanted to get help after he spent six years doing just fine without me and sobriety. How stupid I must have looked, willing to put the house on the market sooner solely because I wanted him to get help.
Just another person who lied in order to get something out of me.
A single tear slips out of my eye, but I’m quick to swipe away the evidence.
You will not cry over him.
My gut churns, and I cling to the sink, willing myself to keep my dinner down. Acid crawls up my throat regardless, and I breathe through my nose to stop myself from getting sick.
Declan breaks the silence. “What happened to the original plan?”
“It changed.”
“Then change it back. There’s too much at stake here for you to be betting twenty-five billion dollars and your shares of the company on your sobriety.” Declan’s voice comes out flat, as if the topic of getting sober is a chore rather than an accomplishment.