Page 7 of Finding Delaware

Dammit.

My fist clenches as Dad pushes us shoulder to shoulder in front of the curtained backdrop, posing as one big happy fucking family. Except for Taylor, who’s had a permanent scowl on his beautiful face all morning. He’s hardly said two words to anyone, other than a few mumbled sentences to my dad when we’d gotten here earlier.

Today had almost been a disaster, and of course, it was all thanks to Taylor fucking Tottman.

We were supposed to be at the church by eleven, but ten-fifteen had rolled around, and he still hadn’t shown up at the house. Finally, by ten-forty, he’d peeled into the driveway on his bike holding some scrawny orange cat. I’d just tossed the creature inside the house before shoving him into my Honda Civic.

Driving him hadn’t been my idea, but I was trying to get back on Dad’s good side before the next race, so I’d gritted my teeth and put up with the thirty-minute awkward drive, Silversun Pickups filling the silence. The only words he said to me were how ‘gay’ my music was, but I’d just turned it up and ignored him. He hadn’t said anything else or even looked my way, which was odd.

Now, here I stand in the reception hall, trying my hardest to keep my eyes off him. Despite the swelling in his face that matches my own, he looks fucking fantastic in his black tux and red tie, dark hair looking softer than raven’s wings as it falls over his brow. His skin is paler than usual, but I chalk it up to the satin jacket washing out his tone. It makes the bruisespeppering his face stand out, which had made his mother’s eye twitch when she’d seen him.

“Smile, boys,” Dad says as the camera goes off again. Maisie frowns in disappointment as she looks at her son. He’s still scowling.

Their relationship seems...strained, to say the least. According to Dad, Taylor’s father had custody of him for the last few years, and he and his mom are trying to repair their relationship.

Looking over at him, I do a double take, noting the tension in his shoulders and strain lines next to his mouth.

“What’s up with your face?” I mutter, sweeping my gaze across the heavily decorated church.

He glances at me sideways. “You punched it, jackass.”

“No, I mean the death glare you’ve been sporting all morning.”

He just ignores me, and for some insane reason, I find that even more irritating than his usual snark. It’s as if he’s entirely different around his mom, and I don’t know if I like it.

Dad claps us both on the shoulder. “Alright, enough photos for now. Why don’t you two get something to eat? Huckslee can introduce you to some of the fam,” he adds with a brow waggle, and inwardly, I groan.

Taylor simply nods, mumbling as he walks away, and Dad frowns after him.

“Not much of a talker, is he?”

I open my mouth to tell him something’s wrong because the Taylor I know loves the sound of his own voice, but Maisie interrupts me.

“Oh, he’s probably stressed with the move and all.” She waves a hand, brushing him off with an eye roll. “He’s never done well with change.”

That sounds wrong. I’ve never seen the asshole exude anything other than rock-solid confidence in any situation, but since she’s his mother, she’d know him better than I would.

“Go make him feel welcome, son.” Dad gently pushes me forward with a shove. “Show him off to everyone.”

For the umpteenth time today, I grit my teeth. Three years spent being tormented by this shithead, and now I have to play nice? It’s not fucking fair.

Weaving my way through round tables covered in white cloths, I find Taylor in front of the dessert table, staring down into the cheesecake bites with a grimace, looking uncomfortable as hell. As crazy as it sounds, I kinda want to see that usual cocky smirk on his face again.

“Seriously, what’s up with you?” I ask as I take a spot beside him, surveying the room. A pinkish glow illuminates the hall from lanterns strung along the ceiling, vases of red and yellow roses adorning each table. A tall figure waves at me near the buffet—my best friend Logan—and I wave back.

“Why do you care, Fuckslee?”

Ignoring his taunt, I shrug my aching shoulders. Why do I care? I really shouldn’t. If anything, I should be getting joy out of his misery. Lord knows he’s caused me enough of it to leave a lasting impression. And yet, as I watch him shoot daggers down at the cake with his eyes, I can’t help how my stomach twists with sympathy. I’ve never seen him like this before. It’s unnerving. Is the idea of living with me really that bad for him?

Leaning in close, I try to keep my voice light. “That glare is reserved for me. You’re giving it to everyone else, and I’m jealous.”

Squinting incredulously, he narrows his gaze. “You flirting with me?”

“Uh, negatory,” I scoff, even though I feel my cheeks heat. “Just trying to wipe that constipated look off your face.”

We glare at each other before he surprises me by huffing a laugh, followed by a wince. Grabbing his side, he mutters something that sounds suspiciously likefucking prick, but before I can tell him to say it with his chest, a hand lands on my shoulder.

“You look dope, dude,” Logan laughs as he turns me around, humor dancing in his honey-brown eyes. “Like freaking James Bond or something.”

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