Page 8 of Finding Delaware

“Yeah? You like this shit?” I grin at my tux before glancing around to ensure Dad isn’t nearby to hear me swear in church.

“At least you get to look sexy. Well, other than the busted face.” He looks down at himself with pursed lips. “I’m pretty sure this is the suit I wore at my great-aunt June’s funeral.”

“No, that one was blue,” I chuckle, just as someone steps into my periphery.

“Thought this thing was for family only.” Taylor stands next to me, glaring up at my best friend, who’s a few inches taller than us. Logan’s brows raise, and he looks at me perplexed, running a hand through his chestnut brown hair.

“Loganisfamily.” I jerk my thumb at him. “His dad and mine go way back. We met when we played youth soccer–”

“I don’t need to hear your dating story.” Taylor cuts me off with a sneer, and I stiffen, glancing sideways at Logan. He doesn’t know my secret, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.

Logan moves in closer, eyeing my new stepbrother with something like disdain. “You really want to start a fight at a wedding, Tottman? Inside a church?”

Taylor smirks, turning away, and just when I think he’ll leave us alone, I’m being dragged away with his hand wrapped around my wrist.

“Hey, what the hell, man?” I look over my shoulder at Logan, who mouthswhat the fuck, and I throw up my free arm in anI don’t even knowgesture. I’m pulled over to the nearest table, where Taylor drops my wrist and crosses his arms.

“Let’s get this shit over with,” he mutters. “Introduce me to your family.”

To be honest, I’d rather lick a light socket than do that. Something about presenting my enemy to my closest relatives makes my skin crawl, but seeing as I have no choice—Dad’s good side, remember—I do as he asks.

And it’s fucking weird. Because I’ve grown to know the asshole version of Taylor over the last few years, but as all my aunts and uncles and cousins ask him questions, he’s actually, like...nice? Really nice. And polite.

He answers every question with a small smile, albeit fake, but there’s no trace of venom in his tone. Not when they ask about school or football, his college plans, or if he’s got someone special in his life. My ears perk up at that last question, even though I know his answer. He and Salem Vaughn have been dating since ninth grade.

The only time I see him clam up is when my grandmother on Dad’s side asks him if he’s been baptized, to which he replies with a strainedyes. And when she asks if he’ll be joining us for church on Sundays from now on, he gives her a calm, non-committal answer. I can tell he’s uncomfortable, so I steer him away from the conversation.

The weirdest part of the night, though, is when he introduces me to his mom’s side of the family. There aren’t as many of them as on Dad’s, and though they all seem like great people, the way they look at Taylor confuses me—as if he’s a stain on their carpet or something. Even his own grandparents stare at him like he’s a stranger, making me wonder how strained his relationship with his mother must be. They ask me all the same questions my family asked him, though they seem less enthused, and after that, the introductions are over.

Thankfully.

When I leave to sit with my best friend, though, Taylor parks himself at a table all alone, and fuck my conscience, dammit. Questioning my sanity, I slide into the seat across from him, immediately regretting it when he snarls at me.

“Go sit with your boyfriend, Fuckslee.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I hiss through my teeth, “and shut the fuck up. You look pathetic sitting here by yourself.”

“I don’t need your pity.” His ocean eyes snap up to mine, full of fire, the brightness of his irises driving me insane.

Blueandgreen, blueorgreen.Pick a fucking color.

“It’s not pity. I’m trying to get ungrounded by playing nice with you. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He seems to relax at that. I hadn’t realized he’d gone stiff.

The rest of the evening is spent in a strange, amiable silence as we ignore each other on our phones while everyone laughs and dances around us. The cake gets cut, the speeches are said, everyone sends off Dad and Maisie with a toss of rice, and finally, the most uncomfortable night of my life comes to a close.

At least, until Dad says, “Take Taylor home and give him the tour, son,” before stepping into his Prius to take him and his new wife to the airport for their honeymoon.

That’s when it hits me. I’m going to be cohabiting with Taylor fucking Tottman, alone, in my house, for a week.

And the thought just makes me want to disappear.

The drive back home is as unbearable as the one to the church, but only because Taylor grabs my aux cord without asking and immediately turns on his angry music, making me want to rip my ears off. Upon pulling into the driveway, he gets out without a word, grabs his duffle from the backseat, and stomps up the front steps of the wrap-around porch, waiting for me to unlock the door. Some small creature immediately starts screaming at my feet when I flick on the entryway light, and I stare in shock at a raggedy-looking orange cat.

“No one else could take her,” Taylor mumbles as he bends down to pick her up, and then I remember how he’d pulled up this morning with her in his bag.

Right. Apparently, we have a cat now. Dad will be thrilled.

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