“You want to get out of here? Take a walk or something?” Steven asks.
“Or you two can be the first to see Grandpa,” his brother, Seth, says from the doorway, a big grin on his face. “The nurse said he’s ready for his first visitors and we can go in two at a time until he gets tired.”
“Yes, please,” I say, my heart leaping as I grab the bag with my gift in it from a nearby table. “I’m dying to see him.”
The rest of the family calls out for us to tell Gramps how happy we are that’s he’s okay—just in case he’s too tired to see all of us in person—and Steven and I head toward the entrance to the intensive care unit.
As soon as we’re clear of the waiting room, Steven asks in a soft voice, “So what’s up with you and Weaver Tripp?”
I cut a surprised glance his way.
“Cathy was saying something to Aunt Sue about March women having a weakness for Weaver Tripp,” he adds, answering my unspoken question.
“March” women. So, I’m a Sullivan when they need me to toe the line for the clan, but a “March,” my mother’s maiden name, as soon as I do something Cathy isn’t happy about?
Good to know.
Meanwhile, I haven’t talked to my mother in well over a decade and never met the March side of my family, aside from sweet Grammy March who passed when I was in kindergarten.
“Cathy’s a menace,” I mutter.
“Oh, for sure,” Steven agrees, “but she’s not wrong about Weaver Tripp. He’s dangerous.”
I sigh. “He’s not, Steven. I…I know him. He’s actually a pretty great guy.”
Steven grunts. “Yeah? Tell that to Chris. Cops just showed up at his place to arrest him for aggravated criminal mischief for getting on Weaver’s bad side.”
I grind to a halt several feet from the intensive care unit, causing two nurses behind us to trip over themselves to avoid stepping on the backs of our feet.
“Sorry,” I apologize to them as I grab Steven’s shirt and tug him toward the railing overlooking the atrium. “So sorry.”
Once they’ve moved on with irritated assurances that “it’s fine,” I turn back to my cousin and hiss, “What? How is that even possible? What did he do?”
“He didn’t do anything,” Steven says, running a hand over his close-cropped brown hair. “Mark invited him to party on the yacht, so he and Stella went. But apparently, Mark’s not allowed to use the yacht anymore. I guess Weaver got it in the will after Mark’s dad died or whatever.”
“Yeah, he did,” I say. “So?”
“So, Weaver showed up, saw them drinking beers on his fancy boat, and flipped out. He called the police and had everyone arrested. And then Chris called me to beg for a loan to pay for his lawyer.” Steven’s upper lip curls. “Though I’m sure Mark isn’t shopping for lawyers. That little shit always wiggles his way out of trouble. I told Chris not to hang out with him, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“Shit,” I say, remembering the camera I encouraged Weaver to set up. With video evidence, he won’t have any trouble proving my cousin and his friends were trespassing.
But is that really their fault if they were just following Mark’s lead? If he told them that it was fine? After all, we’ve all hung out on the yacht with Mark at one point or another. He wasn’t supposed to use it when it belonged to his father, either, but he always did, and no one ever got arrested.
“Yeah,” Steven agrees. “And Stella is freaking out that they’re coming to slap the cuffs on her next, and she’ll have to turn the kid over to foster care for a while, or something. Her mom’s out of town. She left Gavin with a sitter this afternoon so she could go out, but the sitter’s only sixteen and has to get home to her own family. She can’t stay at Stella’s place just in case Stella gets arrested.”
I curse again. This is a nightmare.
Chris is far from my favorite cousin—he’s kind of an asshole, to be honest, and not the guy I’d choose to date if I were a single mom with a two-year-old—but that’s neither here nor there. These are vulnerable people with so much to lose, and I for one don’t think Stella should lose her child or Chris his clean criminal record over trespassing on some rich guy’s yacht.
Some rich guy…
God. Weaver went from my brave, thoughtful, sexy boyfriend, to “some rich guy” in the blink of an eye.
Maybe I’m not as cool with our class differences as I’ve convinced myself I am in the past few days.
“There has to be some explanation,” I say, tugging at my earlobe as I try to think this through. “Something we’re not understanding right now. Weaver wouldn’t do this just because people were trespassing. And he wouldn’t punish innocent guests and let Mark walk away. That’s not the kind of person he is. He honestly isn’t a big fan of his nephew.”
Steven arches a dubious brow. “Okay, whatever you say.”