Page 65 of Raise Hell

Fourteen

There isn’tenough privacy in this damn house.

If I had a choice, I’d be living in one of the dorms, or even better, an apartment off-campus if there was anything but woods within ten miles of the school.

But seniors have to live in Havoc House. It’s tradition.

I hang out in the living room on Sunday afternoon, trying to convince myself I’m not bothered by the constant chaos and noise as I try and fail to get some work done. My laptop sits on the coffee table next to where I have my heels propped while I take my fourth break in an hour.

I swear my distraction doesn’t have anything to do with that kiss.

When the laptop dings for an incoming video chat, Nolan swoops in and grabs it.

Before I can yank it back, Cole comes up from behind the couch and wraps me in a bear hug, trapping my arms against my sides.

“Is some naughty honey wanting to video chat? She must be into that freaky stuff if you have her in here as Mommy,” Nolan drawls.

“Or it’s my actual mother, you asshole.” I struggle against Cole’s grip as his arm tightens around my neck in a headlock. He took me by surprise, which makes it harder to break his hold. “Get the fuck off me.”

Nolan holds his face way too close to the camera so my mother has to look straight up his nose. “Hey, Mamma Amare. Drake can’t come to the phone right now.”

“You better show me my boy. None of you are too old for a whooping.”

If anyone could figure out how to deliver an ass beating from eight thousand miles away, it’s her.

“You can spank me anytime, Mamma Amare.”

“No, thank you.” She sounds unbothered. Havoc House shenanigans are absolutely nothing new.

Cole’s grip loosens as he laughs. I take the opportunity to drop an elbow hard into his sternum. He yelps, and I use his surprise to leverage myself up, shoving him away when he grabs for me again.

Guy is lucky I didn’t aim my strike lower and to the left, or he’d be singing a soprano.

This is a house full of guys with way too much time on their hands. When things are boring, we play stupid games. Annoying the shit out of each other is just what we do. I don’t know why it bothers me so much more today than it has in the past.

I yank the laptop out of Nolan’s hands, but he doesn’t immediately let go. When I pull harder, he abruptly drops it, and the thing almost flies out of my hands.

If my mother wasn’t watching, I’d wipe that smirk off his face with the sharpest part of my elbow.

Instead, I close the laptop enough that Mamma won’t see any more of this cesspit and jog up the stairs to my room.

What does Nolan care if an expensive laptop gets destroyed? He’ll just pay to replace it. That’s the problem with rich people, the reason why even the good ones seem borderline sociopathic. When belongings in your life are easily replaceable, you start to think of everything in the same way.

Including people.

My mother raised us in a one-room house with a thatched roof. When things broke, we figured out how to fix them, or we went without because there wouldn’t be a replacement coming anytime soon.

I’ve never gotten used to having more money than sense. Getting access to the Van Koch name hasn’t changed that.

She spits out her first question before I’ve even sat down at the desk. “How is Felicia doing?”

“It’s nice to see you too, Mamma. I miss you so much.”

“Don’t you tease with me, boy. You know how I feel with both of you so far away.”

Amare Nwosu prides herself on being strong and independent, but she lives for her children. She would sit on the edge of my bed when I was a kid. When she thought I was already asleep, she would pray to every saint she could think of for my protection.

That first time I went to the airport to catch a flight from Cape Town to Boston so I could meet my father, she stood behind me at the window and insisted I count how many different planes there were out on the tarmac. She wanted me to think that we were just passing the time, but really it was because she didn’t want me to see her cry.

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