Page 101 of The Misfit

“I don’t?—”

“Want to know?” Aries’s smile is gentle, but his eyes are hard. “Maybe you should. Maybe you should ask him about Promised Land. About why he really started drinking. About what his family did to make him this way. I’m sure you’ve wondered about his scars.”

The words hit like physical blows, each one carrying weight I don’t understand but feel in my bones.

“Ask him yourself,” Lee’s voice cuts through the space, dangerous and dark. “Since you seem so fucking eager to tell my stories.”

I turn to find him in the hallway, glass empty, eyes stormy-dark with something that looks a lot like fear. I can feel it deep in my chest: the panic, the chaos that’s about to take place. It’s like when you watch an accident happen right before your eyes—you want to look away, but you can’t.

“Darling, is everything all right?” Katherine’s voice floats down the hallway, perfect timing as always. “The photographer’s waiting.”

Lee’s face shutters closed, that familiar mask sliding into place. He might be able to hide his feelings beneath that mask, but he can’t hide it all. His hands shake as he reaches for me, and I notice he’s no longer counting the space between us. Not measuring. Not careful.

“We should go back.” His voice is hollow, controlled in a way that speaks of years of practice. “Mother hates to be kept waiting.”

“Lee—” But what can I say? Ask about Promised Land? Ask why he’s shaking? Ask why he can’t look at me?

“Everything’s fine.” He cuts me off, the words sharp with bourbon courage. “Let’s just… get through the rest of this fucking day.”

Aries melts away, but his smile suggests he’s accomplished whatever he came to do. The air is thick with unspoken truths, with secrets I’m not sure I want to unravel or understand. Why was he even here? It’s not until he answers I realize I asked the question out loud.

“He came because I asked him for lunch. To help distract Charlotte. Great job he’s doing that, right?”

The main room is still chaos—lights and cameras and Katherine orchestrating her perfect family tableau. Charlotte stands with the group, looking like she belongs in a way I never will. The crystal glasses on the drink cart catch light in patterns I can’t predict or control.

“There you are!” the photographer beams. “Now, just a few more. Lee, perhaps between your mother and Charlotte? Salem, we’ll position you?—”

“I think we’re done.” Lee’s voice carries that dangerous edge again. “Enough fucking pictures.”

“Language,” Katherine scolds, but she’s watching me instead of Lee. Measuring my reaction. Waiting for me to break.

The room spins as everyone moves at once—Katherine reaching for Lee, Charlotte stepping closer, the photographer adjusting lights that throw shadows in all the wrong places. Nothing aligns. Nothing makes sense. And Lee …

Lee doesn’t reach for me.

Doesn’t count steps.

Doesn’t remember to check if I’m okay.

He reaches for another drink, his hands steady with this routine in a way they haven’t been with me all day.

And I’ve had enough. I’m done watching him do this to himself. To me. I step forward and gently ease the drink out of his grasp and gulp down the liquid, then set it on the bar. “I was just thinking I could use a drink, too.”

“Salem,” he whispers. His gaze drops to my lips, then rises back up to my eyes. “You just drank after me.” His tone is soft, almost with awe.

I realize that, and I’m trying really hard not to panic. And I don’t. Not with his mother looking on, waiting for me to break.

“Come with me for a second. Let’s talk, and then we can come back, finish whatever your sister needs, and get out of here.”

He nods, his dark eyes staring into me like I’m something new, something even more fascinating.

When I get to a hallway, I stop and look around. “I have no idea where I’m going.”

Lee jolts and then leads, pulling me with him by the hand up a set of stairs. Forty steps. To a door. Third from the end, and inside.

It’s a bedroom, but it smells musty, like no fresh air has swirled through here in a while. “Is this your room?”

He tugs his hand from mine and paces, looking around. It’s clean. No dust. Nothing notable but some heavy dark wood antique furniture. “It used to be.”

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