Page 5 of Regrets

P’s eyes light up as she stands up a little straighter. “Thank you.”

“You guys go wash up, okay?”

We all nod, taking P to the hall bathroom where we all wash our hands. I take off my ridiculous blazer and tie, unbuttoning my crisp, white shirt at the top.

“I hope Mom made pot roast for dinner. It’s my favorite.” Colt takes his blazer off, his eyes lighting up as he turns to P. “You like roast?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not that picky.”

He smiles. “How old are you?”

“Nine. You?”

Colt looks so happy. “I’m nine too.” He gestures toward me. “Linc’s eleven.”

She smiles at me, and it’s clear it’s their world and I’m just watching everything from a distance.

We go to the dinner table as Mom adds another plate for Penelope between mine and Colt’s. My dad joins us, but his phone is to his ear as usual and he doesn’t even notice our guest. My older sister, Lola, comes downstairs and takes a seat next to me.

She’s thirteen now and usually can’t be bothered to eat dinner with us. “Who’s that?”

“This is P, our friend.” I straighten at the table.

“P?” Lola asks as she looks over at Penelope.

“Penelope,” she explains, and my mother smiles.

“That’s a very pretty name.”

Colt nods. “I like it too, but I’m calling her ‘Pea.’ Like sweet pea because she’s sweet.”

My mom clutches her heart like it’s the sweetest thing she’s ever heard, and I narrow my eyes in her direction. I called her ‘P’ first.

At that moment, my youngest brother, Asher, comes rushing to the dinner table, jumping into his chair. Asher is seven and a ball of energy, at least that’s how my mom describes him.

“I like it.”

Penelope smiles shyly as we all start to dig into my mom’s delicious, homemade meal, but I can’t take my eyes off our new friend.

Is she bad like me? Or good like Colt?

3

PENELOPE

Iraise my arms over my head, turning to look out the large window of my bedroom. The lake looks pretty this morning.

I climb out of the bed, stretching again and not bothering to look in the mirror as I walk out into the hallway to the kitchen.

Linc is there, eating from a bowl of cereal while standing in front of the sink. He’s in only the same black sweats he wore last night, his muscles flexed tight the way he’s standing.

I know exactly where the tension is coming from, and I doubt he’s too happy with me this morning.

His dark, brown hair is tousled on his head in thick unruly waves as he turns, and his cold, hazel eyes meet mine. His beard is trimmed, but it doesn’t hide his square jaw and high cheekbones.Such a beautiful fucking prick.

He doesn’t say a word. That’s Linc for you. The strong, silent type unless he’s spitting fire and making girls cry for the hell of it.

“Mornin’, Linc.” I walk to the cabinet, standing on my tiptoes to grab a glass bowl and look over my shoulder at him. “You and your hand have a nice time last night?”

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