Page 30 of The Oath We Give

I pat his back, pulling away, and nod toward Thatcher in silent greeting, his hands tucked deep inside of his slacks to avoid physical contact. Alistair is the last to turn around from the cliff, a leather jacket stretched across his shoulders.

I’m pretty sure it’s the same one from high school.

“Are the girls okay?”

“Currently taking over my house,” Thatcher grumbles.

“No one is thrilled to be living with you, cactus. Don’t look so troubled about it.”

“First night back and Rook’s already killed someone.” Alistair’s jaw twitches, running a frustrated hand across his mouth. “This place is a black fucking hole, not a home.”

“I didn’t kill anyone. I drugged someone and helped them off a bridge. Two very different things in the eyes of the law.”

Thatcher rolls his eyes. “You’ve been in law school for all of two seconds. Chill out.”

“Two seconds longer than you,” Rook mutters, filling his hand with Skittles before shoving them into his mouth. “You might even need those seconds one day after you stab the wrong person.”

We’ll all be eighty years old doing this, arguing like children. Or maybe it’ll just me and Alistair pulling apart geriatric versions of Rook and Thatcher.

Thatcher, who is incapable of not having the last word, just stands there smugly as the wind blows open his suit jacket.

“Unlike you, baby boy, my family actually loved me, and I don’t have to work in the judicial system to access my inheritance.”

Alistair makes a choking sound, a mixture of laugh and shock, but tries to cover it with a cough. I shake my head as I look down at the ground, taking my bottom lip between my teeth and sucking in a breath.

Rook flies off the handle, muttering obscenities, while we stand there watching. But the mention of inheritance reminds me of one of the many reasons we are here.

I’ve never been great with communication, easing into talking points, or starting with small talk. Growing up, I just said what I needed to and moved on. No one really needed more than that.

Except the other night at Vervain.

My memory reminds me of Coraline, her hands clinging to my shirt.

For the first time, someone was desperate for me to talk. Needed it. I’d never known what that felt like, someone needing my voice. But with every word I’d muttered, she’d melted. Lost that wild look in her eyes and started breathing.

“I need to get married.”

The word “fuck” draws short on Rook’s lips. I lift my head, seeing three pairs of eyes on me. Expected, of course. I tug my hood up on my head as a light rain begins to fall from the darkening sky.

“Is this because of your dad?” Alistair asks. “He’s not making you fucking marry someone, is he?”

“No. But the board won’t give me the title of CEO until there is someone legally attached to me.” That persistent headache returns, right behind my eyes. “Dad wants to sell.”

“So let him sell.”

“No.”

I grind my teeth together, pinning Alistair with a haughty glare. He doesn’t understand, and I’d never expect him to. He’d let his family’s last name rot if he was in total control, and I don’t blame him for that.

My family? They aren’t like his.

It was one reason I felt out of place when I met them. Each of my friends had a horrible, brutal childhood brought on by their parents. While mine wasn’t great because of the misdiagnoses, it was never because my mom and dad didn’t love me.

They wouldn’t get it.

How even though they screwed up, believing a doctor over me, they did everything they could to try and save me.

“My father has spent his entire life loving me. This is his last name, my last name. I won’t let him die knowing his company was sold.”

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