This is going to be so much worse than I thought.
My entire life, I’ve been the good girl.
The one who always did the right thing and always did what I was told.
I spent a lifetime building a level of trust with Brandon and her.
And in one night, I destroyed that.
“Madeline . . . I . . . I just don’t.” She rips one of the bottles out of my hands and turns her back on me as she opens it herself. Once she fills her glass and swallows it in three gulps, she turns back slowly. “I’m trying to stay calm, but I’m not sure I can,” she tells me, slightly more in control than she was a moment ago. “I don’t understand what you were thinking. Are you acting out? Are you on drugs? Is this because you gave up skating and now you’re floundering, trying to figure out what you want to do with your life?”
Ouch. That hurts.
“I need you to explain this to me because I’m having a really hard time trying to understand what in the ever-loving hell you were thinking.” She gasps and covers her mouth. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“No, I’m definitely not pregnant,” I answer, mortified.
“Ashlyn,” Lenny whispers, and Mom’s fiery eyes fly to hers.
Len takes the other bottle from my hands as I stand there, frozen in place, certain my mother has never been this disappointed in me before. “Sit down, Lindy.” She pulls out one of the counter stools and pushes me into it, then pours me a glass of wine.
“That’s it, Len. Reward her with more alcohol. Because I’m sure she didn’t have enough last night when she married Easton in a dirty chapel in Las Vegas,” Scarlet taunts and yanks the bottle out of Lenny’s hands, then sets her sights on me. “If you’d at least warned me, I could have gotten in front of this with the press. Haven’t we taught you anything?”
“The press?” I squeak. Then I think about the Philly Press and ESPN articles I saw earlier. Son of a bitch. If there’s already two, there’s bound to be more.
“Yes, Madeline,” Mom snaps like one of those dragons from Game of Thrones before it opens its mouth and decimates an entire city with one fiery breath. “The press. You are one of the wealthiest heiresses in the entire country. An Olympic gold medalist. You have how many million social-media followers? Did you think the press wouldn’t take notice when you married the boy who saved your life? The one who happens to be one of the top goalies in the entire hockey league and whose social-media presence rivals yours?”
Lenny sips her wine. “Maybe if Everly hadn’t posted a picture.”
“Maybe if that stupid Kroydon Kronicles column wasn’t obsessed with the whole group of you . . .” Juliette adds.
“Or maybe if you had behaved like an adult instead of a reckless, irresponsible child.” My mother levels me with a hard stare.
“You know what?” I slowly stand, attempting to hide my rapidly shredding confidence. I should tell them to back off. That I’m twenty-three and have never given them a reason not to trust me or my judgment. Remind them that it’s Easton, and he’d never do anything to hurt me. But I can’t.
Although, I think I needed that last reminder myself.
For a hot second, I think about telling them all to shut up.
But that’s not going to fix anything.
My family doesn’t know how to shut up.
I’m not even sure it would make me feel better.
Instead, I decide to tuck my tail between my legs and act like their version of the adult they want me to be. “I’m sorry I let you down. I’ll talk to Easton, and we’ll get this taken care of.”
I move to leave the kitchen but stop without turning around when my mom calls out my name. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To kiss Brandon and Raven goodbye and grab my dog. I’m exhausted.”
“You’re just going to leave?” Mom’s tone wavers for the first time tonight, and I almost feel bad for what I’ve put her through. Almost. But I don’t. Because this is my life. And not a single person in this room bothered to ask me if I wanted to marry Easton Hayes.
No one asked me if I loved him, or if he loved me.
They’ve all just assumed I was a drunken idiot.
Which, okay, so maybe I was.
But for my entire life, I’ve been the good girl. The smart girl. The girl who trained harder, longer, and more often than anyone else. I’ve been the perfect daughter. Perfect partner. And the perfect Kingston. What I’ve never been is irresponsible.