Page 66 of The Sculptor

He might be brash and blasé, but we all know he loves and respects Halle more than anyone. She’s been like a mother to him this past year.

“I’ll remember that,” I tell him, “when—”

The front door rips open, and my brother’s harsh gaze finds mine.

“Merry Christmas,” I say sarcastically. “I would have brought a—”

“Get inside.”

Remington chokes on a laugh, redirecting Vance’s gaze to the other problem person in his life. Him. “What did I tell you?” he grits out, snatching the cigarette from between Remington’s lips and tossing it to the ground. “This isn’t some skeezy motel. We have ordinances in this neighborhood.”

“No way!” Remington makes a show of scanning the surroundings. “I felt sure it was definitely a pay-by-the-hour place with how you dragged Hal upstairs.”

Without warning, Vance kicks the back leg of the plastic chair, sending Remington scrambling to catch his balance in the midst of his laughter. “Be careful, Vance-hole,” he teases, once he rights himself, his voice taking on an edge. “I’m not your fucking brother. I fight back.”

Before I can correct his misperception of me, Remington casually lights up another cigarette and waves us off. “Go hug it out before weallneed therapy.”

Good gracious. This kid.

Shaking my head, I take a few steps to the door and pause.

“Don’t be scared, Dr. Douche,” Remington mocks, noticing my hesitation. “Think of Vance like a big teddy bear—a short-fused, violent bear.”

He throws his head back, laughing at his own joke, and I snatch the pack of smokes off his thigh, slamming the door closed and locking it.

“You really shouldn’t let him smoke,” I say, handing the cigarettes to Vance as Remington proceeds to bang on the door, using colorful expletives.

“Is that Remington?” Halle comes out of the kitchen with a confused look on her face. “Is he locked out?”

Vance hands her the pack of cigarettes. “He’s in time-out. You can let him in when he can promise to be a good boy.” He says it like he’s training a puppy and not raising a teenager.

Halle snorts, already pushing past us to rescue her best friend. “It’s Christmas. Give him some leniency.”

Vance rolls his eyes and tips his chin in the direction of his office. “Astor is on his way with Tatum. Tell him to wait out here until we finish talking.”

Halle nods, her face turning serious. “No.You’llwait to talk until we eat lunch. You two are not about to shit on this day with your drama.”

I wink at Vance and mouth the wordpussy.

Never in a million years would he let someone tell him what he’s going to do. But here he is, tipping his chin in a tight agreement.

“Good,” Halle praises, opening the door and letting in Remington. “Now, all of you will help me in the kitchen until Astor arrives.” She sighs. “Then you can yell at each other.”

Helping Halle in the kitchen went a little something like this:

I stirred while Vance yelled randomly, when the tense silence became too much for him to handle.

“I can’t believe you fucking married her!”

“Do you know what this means?”

“I hope you’re happy.”

Fortunately, Astor and Halle kept the peace until lunch was over, and we could retreat to Vance’s office, where Vance currently passes me a tumbler of bourbon. “To loosen those lips of yours,” he growls.

“Such a thoughtful host,” I tease, before downing the whole glass and passing it back with a hiss. Vance’s mood has only managed to get worse since Astor arrived with the baby. He doesn’t want Astor involved, considering he’s already dealing with so much with Keagan leaving.

“You need another?” Astor asks me gently, which only earns another growl from Vance, who tries to persuade Astor to leave once again.

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