Page 16 of The Heart of Smoke

“Jude,” Violet scolds. “Not in front of the baby.”

Spencer flashes me another triumphant grin. Asshole. Since Mom died, Violet, not Jamie, has stepped into the motherly role in that time. Because I respect this woman for putting up with me at my lowest, I nod at her, letting her know I’ll behave.

I leave the three of them for some much-needed space, heading for the kitchen where the scent of apples and cinnamon lures me in. The pie Violet baked today is still steaming as it sits on a rack to cool. I locate the ice cream from the freezer and then set to cutting myself a big piece of pie. After topping it with a generous scoop of ice cream, I leave to seek out more privacy, this time with a slice of heaven.

Rather than facing my family, I slip out the back door and sit on the porch that’s leaning to one side. A huge, overgrown bush hides me from my family across the road, but there’s a small space I trimmed out of it that gives me a perfect view to watch them without being detected. I settle into a rocking chair and lift my mask enough to allow me to shovel food in. Within seconds, the pie is gone. I pull my mask back down and then peer over at Callum’s house, where the garage door is opening.

Callum’s car comes into view and then it parks inside the empty garage. I expect to see my brother but am slightly confused when Willa climbs out of the driver’s seat. Then Tate exits on the other side, carrying two iced coffees. From this far away, I can’t hear them or clearly see their faces, but their body language is easy. Happy even.

For some reason, this irritates me.

Dad, Spencer, Willa—they’re all letting Tate in like he’s welcome. Like he’s not some stranger with dark secrets of his own. What happens when he betrays them all? That’s what outsiders do. It’s been proven time and time again with our family. Who deals with the messes when that happens?

I do.

I always do.

Dad does his schmoozing to make things right and I clean up digital footprints, sweeping all that I can under the Park Secret Rug.

This time, I won’t be caught unaware. They can all succumb to his soft, seemingly non-threatening disposition. I, however, refuse to. I’ll be lying in wait, digging and digging and digging. Eventually, I will uncover his dirtiest, darkest secrets and reveal them to Dad. He’ll send this dude packing once and for all.

The Parks will be safe.

That’s all I care about. Pie and the safety of my family. When those are your only two missions in life, it’s easy to hyper-fixate and perfect them.

The chilly wind blows, distracting me from my thoughts. The hummingbird feeder I gave Mom one Mother’s Day when I was a small child dances in the wind. It was the only thing that miraculously survived the fire. Whenever I want to feel close to her, I come sit and remember the day when we saw our first hummingbird. Mom’s smile was bright and I was beyond delighted.

If only the hummingbirds would come back.

Maybe they’re scared of me and my frightening masks.

Maybe they remember their mother—the one who fed them too—perished in a fire while I did not.

A ball of emotion clogs my throat, burning like acid. I tear my gaze from the stupid hummingbird feeder and rise to my feet with my plate in hand. I should just box the damn thing up and throw it in the attic where it belongs.

I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, Mom, but I promise I’ll save them.

I’ll die trying, just like I should have died saving you.

Tate

This job is actually kind of great. Since everyone is related or connected in some way, I get to learn valuable pieces about each person, which is incredibly helpful to offer insight into what the others may be thinking or feeling.

Spencer is wild. My mind is still reeling from his theatrical confession. It sure made speaking with Aubrey after a bit awkward. While her story was less dramatic, it confirmed she’s indeed sleeping with both Spencer and Hugo. Together at times. Most often, apart. Still, I’m trying to wrap my head around that one. She’s also pregnant, unsure of who the actual father is. Because Willa is pregnant and so excited, she thinks telling her secret will in some way ruin Willa’s happiness. I encouraged her to tell Hugo and Spencer, but she hasn’t worked up the nerve to do it yet.

Most everyone so far just wants to vent their frustrations, unload their secrets, and simply have someone unbiased to listen to them. It’s definitely a far cry from the meeting I had with Jude earlier.

My next appointment, Dempsey, is fifteen minutes late. I’m not surprised as Nathan warned me it could be the case. Dempsey is a bit reckless and a bad boy. He’s always getting into trouble. Now that I have Nathan’s take, I’m curious to see what all Dempsey has to reveal.

“Hi, Tate,” Gemma says, waving from the doorway. “If Demps doesn’t show, I can take his place.”

Gemma is a stunner. It’s obvious why Nathan is so protective of her. From what he said, she doesn’t need therapy, but she could use a friend. Despite her bright smile, perfect makeup and hair, and flawless outfit, her eyes glimmer with something akin to loneliness. Maybe I can get her alone to talk “as a friend” and see what’s bothering her. I make a mental note to make that happen.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Dempsey grumbles, playfully shoving past her into the office. “Go dazzle your fans with your skin care routine or whatever it is they salivate over.”

Gemma rolls her eyes, the long, thick lashes fluttering. “They don’t salivate. They come to me for advice on products to purchase so they don’t waste money on crap. It’s a very important job, which earns me money, by the way. At least one of us is a contributing member to society.”

With those huffed words, she slams the door closed. I lift a brow at Dempsey. He shrugs and saunters over to the desk. Unlike Spencer, who dresses a bit like me—preppy and put together—Dempsey is the stereotypical bad boy. His dark hair is messy and hangs in his eyes, he has plenty of visible tattoos, though I don’t think he’s even eighteen yet, and his favorite color is clearly black as he’s fitted in that color from head to toe.

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