Page 92 of Scarred Sins
She’s helping Mom cook lunch. Mom’s giving her all the instructions, and she’s nodding and following along. It was Blair’s idea because apparently she wants to learn how to cook. I try to hide my disappointment and irritation that she didn’t ask me to teach her and went to Mom instead, and so far, I don’t think she’s caught onto my feelings.
Dad sits across from me on the leather couch, his glasses on top of his bridge and newspapers in his hand. The small table next to him has a lamp, his phone, and a glass of whiskey, which he sips on from time to time.
“Stop staring at the poor girl; she’ll notice,’’ he says, without looking up from his newspapers.
I scoff. “I wasn’t staring.’’
“Sure you weren’t,’’ he chuckles, shakes his head, and flips a page.
“Let’s not start this.’’
He finally pauses, then looks up at me with a raised brow. “Start what?”
I roll my eyes. “You have no right to tell me anything about my obsession with Blair when you’re no better.’’
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Mom told me, you know,’’ I smirk. “The way you used to follow her around like a lost puppy.’’
His brows narrow. “Alright, that’s false. If you need a reminder, we were sworn enemies. I didnotfollow her around.’’
“Uh-huh,’’ I muse, folding my arms in front of my chest. “Didn’t you lose your shit when she met up with Lucas for dinner because you had no idea who it was and followed her all the way to the restaurant?”
“Yes,’’ he draws out. “Because at the time, we were supposed to be working together, and I didn’t trust her, so I just went to see what she was doing.’’
A small laugh comes from me. “Right. See, I get my stalking tendencies from you.’’
“Show me some respect, boy,’’ he huffs. “I did not stalk your mother.’’
I decide to drop the subject, seeing that he’s getting rather irritated with me. To be fair, Mom might have exaggerated the story a bit to annoy him, but I’m in no mood to test Noelle Campbell’s patience, because she has none.
My eyes drift back to Blair and Mom, and I can’t help the fluttering in my chest. Mom’s standing next to Blair in front of the stove, properly showing her how to finish the meal. I’m not sure what exactly they’re cooking, but it smells delicious, and I can’t wait to try it. Then again, Blair could serve me dog shit on a plate, and I’d eat it, no questions asked.
Blair is nodding along, following all the instructions perfectly. Aria isn’t too far, either, and she’s just looking bored. There’s something off about her today, and I’ve noticed it over the past few weeks, but she’s more withdrawn. When I’m around, she’s as bubbly, combative, and snarky as always, but the moment I turn around, it all disappears.
She’s hiding something, and I need to figure out what. I don’t want to raise any alarms to our parents in case it’s nothing but a teenage mood switch, but if it turns out to be something worrisome, I’ll involve our parents.
Aria looks tired, the bags under her eyes noticeable even with the amount of makeup she has on. It could be because she’s been practicing volleyball and Blair and I even attended a game, and because she’s finally taken the business seriously.
Mom and Aria spend the afternoon at the base, practicing Aria’s shooting skills. As a sniper, she’s absolutely terrific, and I’m proud of her, but her close-range shooting needed some work, which Mom says has improved tremendously within the past two weeks.
I turn to Dad, who’s sipping on his whiskey, the newspaper now neatly folded and on the small table. His eyes are on Mom, unmoving. He comes off as a stern, cold man, but even a fool could see the amount of love he has for Mom, and I’m grateful she has someone like him by her side.
Even if he is an ass most of the time.
“Go help your mother set the table,’’ he instructs.
“Go help your wife set the table,’’ I snorted.
He gives me a pointed look. “Last time I tried doing it, she said I picked out the wrong plates and cutlery. Apparently, it didn’t match. That was all it took for me to be banned from setting the table again. And it happened last week.’’
“See, I messed it up a few times, too, and she hasn’t banned me yet,’’ I grin. “Looks like we know who’s her favorite, huh?”
I rise to my feet and head to the kitchen, laughing at the string of curses he yells after me. I don’t need to be a genius to understand that saying that simple sentence is enough to piss him off. It’s always been like that, and although I know my father loves me more than life itself, he hates knowing that Mom prefers me over him and that she’s not shy in saying it out loud, either.
While Blair and Mom are preparing some salads, I grab the plates and cutlery.
“Aria, get your lazy ass here and help me.’’
