Page 217 of Plaything

“We leave her alone for two seconds, and you attack like wolves,” Aiden gently scolded.

My attention was caught abruptly as two arms wrapped around my shoulders from behind in a bear hug. I huffed out a breath in surprise at the woman’s death grip but smiled despite my bruises being tender.

“Well, don’t you look fancy,” Wyatt’s mom chimed as she released me, and I turned around to face her and Pops. She flicked a haywire lock of my hair behind my back. “Just as pretty as a peach,” she gushed in her southern swang.

Pops roughly pat my shoulder twice, “Good job, kid.” He held up the graduation pamphlet and pointed at it. “Your name’s all over this thing, smarty pants—good readin’,” he chuckled.

“Thank you for coming... and bringing the bells,” I said bashfully, jokingly gesturing at the pair in his hand.

“Ha! Ain’t those the most obnoxious thing you ever heard?” He wiggled them once, causing a few people to glance our way. “You shoulda seen how red you got. The graduation bells are our favorite family tradition. You kids always turn as red as a fire hydrant,” he nodded, proud of himself.

Aiden leaned back, peeking at Pops from behind me. “Yeah, especially when you shout ‘Get that man a beer, everybody cheers...’ while shotgunning a beer in the front row,” he cringed. He turned to me and mumbled, “I graduated indoors.”

I about snorted, covering my mouth as I imagined the eye roll Aiden must have done.

“You loved it, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Aodhán,” Pops smirked.

Aiden’s eyes got comically wide as a faint blush spread across his nose. He was more than surprised; he was caught off guard and frazzled. His eyes shifted between the group of people as if hoping none of us heard what Pops had called him.

“Aodhán?” Jamie snickered.

“Shut the fuck up,” Aiden whispered at her through his teeth quickly.

“Oh, was I not supposed to mention that?” Pops grinned mischievously. “Sorry, bud,” he gave him a firm shoulder pat before giggling as he walked away toward Wyatt. Mama was shaking her head at her husband’s antics as she followed, saying a quick congratulations to me again as they left.

I widened my eyes. “Your name isn’t Aiden?” I finally caught on.

“It is,” Aodhán snapped, clearly hating his birth name. He shook his head at our amused expressions. “Not a word,” he warned, holding up a single finger.

I smirked, making a mental note that if I ever needed to get under Aiden’s skin—a nearly impossible task because of his mind-reading abilities—I knew just what to say.

A gentle tap on my shoulder grabbed my attention as Anthony and his parents greeted me.

“Hi, Sweetheart,” Tony’s mom hugged me. I made you this; I know it’s your favorite,” she handed me a loaf of sourdough bread in a plastic bag. She was famous for her recipe. I hadn’t had it in years since I lived at the Whitlock mansion.

“Thank you so much, Mary-Anne,” I gushed, holding the bag to my chest like it was gold—it might as well have been. “I can’t believe you drove all this way,” I smiled at the three gratefully. “It means a lot that you’re here, thank you.”

Mary-Ann gave me a sad smile in return. “When Tony said he was coming down to see you, we invited ourselves. You’ve always been like a second child to us; we wanted to make sure you’re okay on this somber day,” she ran her thumb across my hand warmly. Oh right, Charles... “But I’m glad to see you’re doing just fine,” she gestured to the group of friends behind me.

“Congrats, Odette,” Tony’s dad, Enrique, smiled. “We won’t keep you for long. If you ever need anything, we won’t be far,” he offered before they gave me another hug and left.

Tony stayed behind and gave me an awkward hug. “I’ve got something for you. It’s not a great graduation gift,” he humorlessly chuckled. “It’s actually from all of us who worked at the estate,” he pulled a blue folder from his coat.

I furrowed my brows at it and looked back up at him. “What is it?” I asked, hesitantly taking it from him.

He scratched the back of his neck. “Witnesses. Statements from us and some of the things we saw while working for Charles,” he stammered quietly. “I don’t know if you want it or will ever feel the need to use it, but if you ever want to tell the truth—”

“Sell it, Tony.”

His eyes narrowed, and his brows fell in confusion. “Huh?”

“Sell it,” I repeated. I gestured to the reporters who were being blocked by security the university had hired for the event. “Any one of them would pay an... assload for any kind of report about Charles Whitlock or myself right now,” I explained.

“It’s not mine to sell, Dotty. I couldn’t,” he gently shook his head.

“I’m giving you my permission. With the money Charles left you and what you’d get for this, move somewhere tropical. Your parents could build one of those giant outdoor kitchens that they’ve always wanted. Please, for me. Sell the story to the highest bidder.”

It was quiet between us as Tony pondered over my request. “You don’t even want to look?” He asked, beginning to open the folder.

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