Page 12 of Delicate Escape

But owning a construction company came with perks. Discounts on materials and access to workers were two of them.

My phone dinged, and I looked down, shaking my head. My siblings were ridiculous. It didn’t matter that only two of us were related by blood or that we’d each joined the family anywhere from birth to age sixteen. Our bond and shit-talking game were strong.

The group chat the seven of us shared was constantly being renamed, each person trying to one-up one another or give someone a hard time. Today, it read:Group name changed to Hans Brolo.

Cope

Proof of life check. I haven’t heard from you assholes in over forty-eight hours.

Texts and video calls were all Cope had for keeping tabs on us now that he was back in Seattle, finishing out his requirements after the end of his NHL season. So, I didn’t blame him for the request. And the chat had been quieter lately. There’d been more side check-ins after Rhodes was kidnapped, tortured, and almost killed by a man I’d hired and worked alongside for years.

The now familiar burn of guilt returned, acid spreading through my chest and eating through muscle and marrow. I hadn’t seen Silas’s sickness or twisted cruelty, and my sister had almost lost her life because of it.

Kye

Dude, maybe stay away from the life-or-death jokes for a while.

Fallon

Sensitivity chip, Copeland.

Kye

Shit. If Fal full-named you, you’re fucked. Duck and cover.

Fallon and Kyler always had each other’s backs in a way that made me wonder if they could communicate without even speaking. When Kye came to live with us at sixteen, he hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone. But, somehow, Fallon always seemed to reach him.

A photo appeared in the chat—Rhodes holding up a pitchforkand standing in front of a brown pile of something, her other arm in a cast.

Rhodes

Nobody will dare cross me today.

Kye

Yeah, because you’re standing in a pile of shit.

Rhodes

Whatever works.

Cope

Sorry, Rho. I was an insensitive ass.

Rhodes

I thought we were past the tiptoeing-around-me stage. I like jokes better.

It had been almost a month since her ordeal, and while she didn’t want us worrying, I knew the truth. She still carried the scars of what happened—and more than just the skin-deep ones.

I was thankful she’d found comfort in my best friend, Anson—words I’d never thought would pass through my brain. Still, somehow, my broody friend was a match for my sunshiny sister. And it worked.

Knowing that Cope and Rho would play the back-and-forth guilt game for hours, I went with the one tool of distraction I had. I snapped a picture of the house in front of me and hit send.

Me

Put in an offer. What do you think?

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