My mind stutters over what she’s just spilled.
Summer clears her throat and glares at her sister, maintaining her composure beautifully despite the red splotches popping up on her cheeks, all the way down her neck and onto her chest.
Am I going to harass Summer about this later? Absolutely. I love to spar with her. It might as well be foreplay for how well she holds her own. But right now, I’m miffed. I see her older sister being intentionally cruel to her. Trying to embarrass her. It makes me plaster a vicious smile on my face while still gripping Winter’s palm in a handshake that has now gone on for too long.
I wink at her. “Sounds like you remember it quite clearly yourself, darlin’。”
Bitch.
Her lips flatten, and she yanks her hand from mine. “Maybe next family dinner you can join us. I know that would be a dream come true for Summer.” She turns her scathing gaze down at Summer and then brightly adds, “Well, I have a patient’s scans to tend to. It was a pleasure seeing you both.”
And with that, she’s gone. Same petite stature, but all harsh, slim lines—almost sprite like—as she walks away, head held high, completely unrattled.
“Oof. Ice queen much?” I breathe out before flopping back down.
It’s the small, strangled noise coming from Summer that has me turning in her direction. She’s covered her face with both hands, and I’m not entirely sure what she’s doing. But I think she might be laughing based on the way her body is vibrating.
Or crying. One of the two.
“You okay?”
“No,” she wheezes.
“Are you hiding because your sister is a grade A bitch or because I now know that I’m your teenaged spank bank fodder?”
I’m pretty sure I hear her mumble a choked, “Oh, my God.”
When she peeks out at me from between her fingers, I waggle my eyebrows. And when her only response is to groan and tip her head back against the vinyl chair back, I laugh.
“Can we please pretend that never happened?” Her palms muffle her voice.
I grin and shake my head, crossing my arms, irrationally pleased with the whole thing. “Not a fuckin’ chance, Princess.”
16
Summer
Dad: Can you come to the staff meeting this week?
Summer: Which day? What time?
Dad: Thursday at one.
Summer: Yeah, I might have to shuffle one of Rhett’s appointments that will conflict with it.
Dad: I’m sure he can manage an appointment on his own. Seems like you’ve got him on a pretty tight leash.
Summer: Again. He’s not a dog.
There’s a chinook rolling through today. You’d think the breeze would cool my cheeks, but the air is downright balmy. All the hard work I did in the waiting room to compose myself while Rhett had his scan went right down the toilet the minute he came striding back out with a knowing grin on his face.
Cocky motherfucker.
On our walk out the main doors of the hospital, I avoid his eyes. It’s awkward. Really fucking awkward. And it’s such a Winter move. She’s never outright mean to me. She’s passive aggressive, she’s calculated. Winter plays the long game. I can just see our dad mentioning what I’ve been up to and her filing that information away for the perfect moment to embarrass me with it.
I hate to call her conniving, because there’s this little part of me that truly loves her. Admires her. I wish we’d been given the opportunity to forge our own type of relationship. But the evil stepmother got her fingers in there and played us both like puppets, easily making me out to be the source of all family strife. Winter never got a chance to like me, and no matter how hard I try, she doesn’t seem interested. It’s something that keeps me up at night. I long for a relationship with her. Yearn to have one more person I can consider family, rather than just Kip.
Seeing Rhett and his family together—even pestering each other the way they do—makes my chest ache. I want that one day.
“Did you doodle our names with a heart around them in your binders?”
That’s how he breaks the silence.
I press my lips together into a firm line, willing myself not to smile. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of laughing at his joke. Even if it’s funny.
“No.”
“Did you. . .” He trails off, scrubbing at his beard. “Kiss the page you ripped out of a magazine?”
I scoff. “I didn’t rip it out. I cut it out very carefully. And now I’m looking forward to throwing darts at it.”
He barks out a laugh and grins down at me, looking altogether too handsome and pleased with himself. Which forces me to glance away and try to hide my smile. But when I do, my eyes land on the McLaren parked ahead of us, in a towaway zone with its hazards on. It’s the license plate that makes me stop in my tracks.