Page 45 of Never Dance with the Devils
“Do me, do me,” Kyle taunts, shaking his handful of grapes before tossing one into his waiting mouth.
“Why? You were so desperate for attention that you’d do nearly anything to get it, having to be saved over and over again,” I summarize for him. “You acted like the bad boy for a reason thatwasn’t even true.You are the definition of the rebel without a fucking cause.” I glare around the room at each of them, the fury I’ve suppressed for years finally boiling over the serene surface I’ve always maintained. “Do any of you give one single, solitary, shitty thought to what I’m thinking or feeling about this clusterfuck of a family? Or do you just assume that I’m perfectly fine with everything? Because of course, I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
My voice has gone a little too high, a bit too loud, and I’m bordering on hysterical.
“Fuck, tell us how you really feel,” Kyle mutters, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. How is he still enjoyingthis? He’s been better, not picking and poking to stir up shit at every turn, but it seems he’s back to old tricks.
But I’m tired of the same old thing. So fucking tired of constantly carrying everyone and everything without so much as a thank you or even the slightest situational awareness of ‘wow, you really saved my ass there’.
“Kayla,” Cameron starts, but then swallows whatever he was going to say and sighs. Instead, he says, “You’ve stood by all of us through some awful times, and we’re all good now. Partially thanks to you.” My brothers all nod, agreeing with him.
“Thank you for that bare minimum, and way too late, acknowledgement,” I say, my voice colder than ice.
“Is this some sort of delayed rebellious streak?” Chance asks. “Like now that we’re fine, it’s your turn to act out, go wild, and make overtly bad decisions?”
If Kyle had said that, I wouldn’t have been shocked because he’s irreverent like that. If it’d been Cameron, I would’ve understood since he’s in the thick of pubescent changes with Grace. Carter or Cole? I probably would’ve been hurt, but gotten over it. But Chance said it, in that condescending tone he used to get when he thought he was better than someone simply because he’s the Boy Scout type who never makes mistakes. His verdict is woven through his questions, and it’s obvious he’s already decided I’m an immature, impudent child who doesn’t know what she’s doing and needs to be led back to righteous, appropriate choices, by shame if necessary.
My mouth pinches for a split second before I surge to my feet, standing over my brothers. “You know, what? Fuck all of you. Especially you.” I point at Chance. “How dare you dilute whatever it is I’m doing down to some tawdry, wild oat sowing, sexcapade. I told you I’mhappy. I said I want this, and you come back with that?” I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head in disappointment, though I shouldn’t be surprised at him. “Get out. Everyone. Out,” I order, done with this whole intervention that wasn’t needed in the first place.
If Kyle hadn’t shown up.
If he hadn’t seen me.
If he hadn’t told everyone.
If, if, if… things would’ve been fine. I had it handled and was making progress with Riggs and Maddox. I was making progress withmyself.
But nope, there’s no going back. No sand-filled hourglass to flip over and turn back time. So I stomp to the front door, yank it open, and stand aside.
They look from one to another, not sure what to do. I don’t have outbursts. I don’t overreact. And no matter what, I am always in control. Always.
But my breathing is too fast, I can feel the flush on my face, and I’m on the verge of spilling out even more vitriol at every single one of them. For all the times I spent helping them, listening to them, loving them.
And at the slightest inconvenience, the smallest unusual twist in my life, their support is completely nonexistent. The betrayal is deeply gut-wrenching. Well, fuck them.
Finally, or at least it feels that way, they get up, shuffling to the door uncertainly.
“Kayla—” Cameron says, the perpetual captain trying to right this ship.
I shake my head, refusing his effort, and the other brothers follow his lead, silently marching past me with grim looks of disapproval and disappointment. And a fair amount of ‘what the fuck just happened?’
My friends, though? The ones who only came into my life through my brothers, the women who have become the sisters I always wanted? They may not understand, but they’re amazing. Riley pauses to give me a quick hug, and when she pulls away, she gives me a tight smile of apology. With a grim look, Samantha promises to talk to Chance and says she’s proud of me. Luna gives me a cheese-scented hug and whispers in my ear that she is so happy for me and that I told the boys off like a boss. Dani has barely said a word tonight, but as she passes by me, she dips her chin, silently vowing to make Kyle’s life hell for me, which I appreciate.
I close the door behind them, turning around and pressing my back to the cold wood. Surveying the damage to my apartment, I sigh. It might not be visible to the naked eye, given the couches are fine, the chairs aren’t moved, and there’s only a few abandoned wine glasses on the table, but my whole apartment—no, my whole life—feels like it’s in shambles.
And I’m alone again. The loneliness feels heavier this time, more pervasive and insidious as it works its way through my body.
But never one to wallow, I get to work. First things first, I dump the scraps of the charcuterie board into the trash and pour the wine down the drain. That done, I pull out the vacuum.
Cleaning wasn’t something I had to do growing up. We had a house manager, a chef, and a maid who came regularly. Dirty clothes magically moved from my hamper to reappear in my closet, freshly washed, pressed, and hung. My bed would mysteriously be made every day when I came home from school and would routinely have the scent offresh laundry when I slid into bed at night. I never wondered where the food in the fridge came from or considered that someone was cooking dinner for us. It was all normal to me, not something to notice or consider.
When I moved into my own home, things were different. I don’t like people here. I have a cleaning service for the deep cleans, but the weekly upkeep is my meditation. My salvation. My… control.
I run the vacuum across the living room rug, creating the perfectly parallel lines that usually bring me some sort of satisfaction, but tonight, they don’t, and instead, something inside me breaks. I’m not sure what it is… my heart, maybe? I’ve been accused of being heartless so many times that I’ve started to believe it, so I’m not sure I actually have one of those, but there is a dull ache in my chest.
Oddly, the only person I can think of who might help is… Maddox. I want to push this hurt down, pretend things are fine, and laugh at his light-hearted banter. Riggs would ask too many questions, want to know how I’m feeling, and see through my façade, and I don’t want that right now. I’m too raw, too vulnerable, too exposed.
But can I see one of them without the other? Is that okay? I don’t even know. We haven’t set those types of guidelines in place and the uncertainty of that is overwhelming.
