He turns to look at the both of us and plants his hands on his hips. “I don’t know why Mom and Dad enjoy having us around each other, because this is what it always turns into: a pissing match. Who is better? Who is doing the most with their life? Who is the loser of the bunch? Well, I’m fucking sick of it. I’m . . . hell, I’m sick of you two. I’ve busted my ass to make a name for this family, and all you two can do is complain about it, be ungrateful—”
“We’re not ungrateful,” Palmer yells. “We just want to be a part of it. You won’t let us.”
“You don’t want to be a part of this,” Ford yells back. “It would actually mean that the both of you would have to show an ounce of responsibility and follow through on your plans, something you know nothing about.”
“Really? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve created a job for myself out of sheer grit and follow-through,” Palmer says. “But you wouldn’t know that because you don’t actually know me.”
“And we don’t know you because you don’t fucking talk and you’re never home,” I say to Palmer.
Standing in a triangle, we all stare each other down.
Shots have been fired.
Words have been said.
And our hatred is all out in the open, like a bleeding heart, lifeless on the table.
An outsider looking in might see this fight unfold and be confused. What are they actually fighting about? Is it about the rebranding? The party? Not being open to listening to each other? The fire? It’s a culmination of it all.
Our pent-up frustrations were unfolded. Instead of communicating over the years, we’ve held it in, we’ve protected our truths, keeping them close to our hearts. And with one speed bump, all our grievances came tumbling out.
Slowly, Ford nods. “Glad we had this meeting. Incredibly productive. Glad we had no problem pointing out each other’s flaws and all the reasons we never hang out, but we couldn’t say one goddamn word about the party.” He glances between me and Palmer. “I’m out. Done. I’m not participating in your sparring matches, I’m not indulging your fights, and I’m not bothering to figure out ways to help you. You’re on your goddamn own. As for the party, Palmer, you handle the food since that’s what you’re good at. I’ll take the venue since it’s at the store, and Cooper, you take the rest since you apparently know Mom and Dad so well. If you want to talk to me, you know my email.”
With that, Ford takes off and slams the front door behind him.
I glance at Palmer and then head off too, but not before saying, “Clean out your room. Deny it all you want, but Mom and Dad are moving.”
And then I’m gone too.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LARKIN
Ford: Are you back?
Larkin: Headed to the Bed and Breakfast right now. Everything okay?
Ford: Can you come to my room when you get here?
Larkin: Of course. Be there shortly.
“Everything okay?” Beau asks.
“I’m not sure.” I place my phone in my lap and chew on the side of my cheek. “Ford needs me to come to his room when I get back.”
“Oh yeah, he wants you to come to his room, huh?” Beau teases as he stops at a stop sign.
“It’s not like that, and you know it.”
“It’s not?” Beau asks as we close in on the bed-and-breakfast. “Because you spent the entire night talking about Ford.”
“I did not,” I insist. “I talked about my job.”
“I would say twenty percent of it was your job, eighty percent was him.”
My cheeks heat up. “That’s an inaccurate percentage split.”
“Really? Because tonight I learned about Ford’s workout routine, what he likes to eat on certain days, and how he pulls on his hair when he’s frustrated and can’t figure something out, so you’ve resorted to using a squirt bottle in the office to keep him from losing all his hair.”
“That’s just a funny anecdote. I get to spray my boss with water; how is that not entertaining?” I keep my eyes trained on the road in front of us as Beau drives slowly down Marina Ave.
“Level with me, Larkin. You like him.”
“I don’t like him,” I say as he parks in front of the bed-and-breakfast. Avoid eye contact—your brother can see right through you.
“Larkin . . .”
“Beau . . .”
Sighing, he shakes his head. “Fine, don’t tell me, but when you wind up in love with your boss, don’t come crying to me about how you can’t handle your feelings.”