Page 26 of Wanting Wentworth

Con: You better or I will.

Pulling up my mother’s number, I mutter swear words under my breath while she lets it ring. Like Delilah, her phone is practically welded to her hand so I know she knows I’m calling. Finally, after several rings, she decides to answer, probably so she can tell me what a disappointment I am. I don’t even give her the chance to start.

“Back off, Mother,” I tell her quietly, doing my best to be as respectful as I can because my grandfather would expect me to. “I have the situation handled.”

“Handled?” Astrid says, wrapping the word around a condescending laugh. “By who? That tattooed deadbeat you insist on—”

“Conner Gilroy graduated first in his class at Harvard Law and passed the bar when he was seventeen, Mother,” I tell her, the effort to keep my tone level making my jaw ache. “He’s also licensed to practice law in fifteen states, so he might be tattooed but he’s hardly a deadbeat. I promise you, he’ll lawyer circles around whatever Park Avenue, eight hundred dollar an hour asshole you have on retainer.” He’s also loyal—I can count on him to do the right thing for me. He doesn’t care what my last name is and he gives fuck all about the money it represents, or my mother’s bottom line. Whatever happens, I can count on Conner to have my back. I don’t have many people in my life I can say that about.

“I’m your mother, Wentworth,” she reminds me, her tone edged with condescension.

“Only when it suits you, Astrid,” Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly. “Tell whoever it is to back off. I have it handled,” I say, repeating myself carefully, the or else clearly implied.

“We have to get ahead of this,” she says like I never said a word. “The press is already circling that vagrant you nearly killed—I can only imagine what will happen if he actually wakes up.”

It hits me harder than it should—the realization that my mother actually believes Lexi’s version of events. That it was me, drunk and high, behind the wheel of that car. Delilah didn’t even have to ask. She just knew. Trusted and believed without question that what’s being said about me in the press is nothing but lies.

“His name is Brian Maxwell,” I tell her, suddenly through playing nice. “He’s not a vagrant, he’s a fucking human being—unlike you.” When I say it, she gasps like I slapped her in the face. “I’m going to say it one more time—tell your worthless, piece of shit lawyers to back the fuck off and let Conner handle the situation or I’m going to cancel your credit cards and call every hotel manager we have across the globe and have you blacklisted. By the time I’m done, you won’t be allowed to so much as sleep on a cot in a housekeeping closet—is that clear enough for you, Mother?”

The silence stretches between us for a few long seconds before she finally concedes. “You’re my son, Wentworth. I was only trying to help.”

“Like I said,” I tell her, black bitterness coating the back of my throat. “Only when it suits you.”

I hang up and turn off my phone before I can disappoint my grandfather any more than I already have.

FIFTEEN

Kaitlyn

After finishing my chores for the day, I hide out in Two-tone’s stall, finishing up the lecture I started this morning, trying to take notes while my mind drifts and wanders over everything that happened this morning with Damien’s brother.

James.

His name is James.

Even though I know it, I have a hard time calling him by name, even in my head, because it doesn’t fit him. Maybe because the only other James I know goes by Jimmy and is a crusty old cowboy who works for the Tanner outfit on the other side of the Morris ranch.

There’s nothing old or crusty about Damien’s brother.

He’s also nothing like anyone from California that I’ve ever met—not that I’ve met a whole lot. Mostly, when they come, it’s to the bigger towns and cities. Bozeman and Butte. Helena and Billings. We’re in a valley, slung low in between two small, nameless mountain ranges, seventy-five miles from the Canadian border and less than fifty from the Blackfeet reservation. No one would call Barrett Valley a tourist destination. I’d venture to guess that the majority of the world doesn’t even know we’re here—and that’s exactly how the people who live here like it. They don’t take to strangers. I imagine news of Damien’s brother’s residency would cause quite the stir with the town if they knew he was here.

I know he’s caused quite the stir with me.

Frowning at the laptop perched on my knees, I realize that while I’ve been thinking about beautiful, tattooed giants, ten minutes of the lecture I downloaded has passed me by and I haven’t taken a single note.

“Shit.”

Giving up, I close the laptop and set it aside while in front of me, Two-tone gives a soft nicker, the sound of it chiding me for my salty language.

“Be quiet,” I mutter at him while I fish around in my backpack for one of my notebooks. I have several—too many if Abbey is any judge.

What do you need so many notebooks for? You don’t go to school anymore so what gives?

She doesn’t know about the college classes. As much as I hate it, I’m not sure I can trust her with a secret that big. Not that she’d rat me out on purpose. No, I know she wouldn’t do that... but Abbey is careless. She’s never had to worry about a thing in her entire life. As the apple of our father’s eye, she’s always moved through life with a casual thoughtlessness that I hate and envy at the same time. If she blew my cover, it wouldn’t be because she meant to. It would be because she wouldn’t fully understand why it’s such a secret in the first place.

The only people who know about my going to college are my mom and Damien—and now, his brother.

My brother doesn’t count because even though I told him, he’s dead, so it’s not like he can tell anyone.

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