Page 10 of Dirty Martini
“Why is he not waiting for us outside?” Elton asks with a pout when I park, hopping out of the truck before I can even kill the engine.
“He’s probably in his room,” I say, my neck already moist and sweaty from the heat. I fuck with my baseball cap and thank myself for choosing to wear a tank top and athletic shorts.
Elton doesn’t bother waiting for me as he walks up the driveway. Letting himself into the unlocked house, he screams at the top of his lungs for Everest to come out. I laugh at his display and can’t help but feel a sense of brotherly warmth at the excitement on his face. That same warmth is quickly dashed when Everest descends the stairs, and my brain is hit with a mountain of mixed emotions as I take him in.
He’s grown up. Still as physically imposing as he was at fourteen—taller than Elton and me—looking like someone you don’t want to piss off. His dark blond hair is cut short at the sides and longer at the top, showcasing his more mature jawline and strong nose. He’s no longer the baby-faced little brother who used to idolize us, and I’m overwhelmed by a weird sense of…nostalgia? That damn affection I used to feel for him threatens to come up when our eyes meet and his cheeks turn that pretty pink they used to. I’m reminded of the boy who used to tag along on our late-night boat drives through the harbor. Of the boy who was so confident with everyone else but shy and sweet with me.
But then the more nightmarish memories resurface. The way my mother screamed at me and my father threw my clothes out of the apartment window. The way the Dean cruelly told me that I was under no circumstances going to graduate. The way I cried in heartbreak when I received the email from Dartmouth saying my admission was rescinded.
Every fucked-up thing that’s happened to me since that night comes rushing back. The shame, the humiliation, the complete and uttergrief. The embarrassment of having Elton’s parentspay for everything. The trauma of being accused of something I didn’t do.
I focus my attention on the back of Elton’s head as my hands clench into fists at my sides. When I feel that utterly evil and overwhelming anger coursing through me, I bite the inside of my cheek and look to the side. Because the monster I’ve locked away—the one that wants revenge and satisfaction—is sometimes so easy to let loose.
“Everest!” Elton shouts, running straight at his brother and nearly knocking him over with the force of his hug. “How’s it going, bro?”
Everest freezes, apparently unsure of what to do. It pisses me off that he returns his brother’s embrace in such a half-assed manner, placing a hand on his back and giving him one solid pat. He pulls away quickly, clearing his throat as he averts his eyes. “Things are good.”
“You remember Rhys, right?” Elton asks, then grabs my wrist and yanks me between them. “Well, duh. Of course you do.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, jerking his head in a nod. “How’s it going?”
“Fine,” I say flatly, unable to put even an ounce of enthusiasm into my voice. Elton throws me a confused look, but I shrug it off. He has no idea the effort it’s taking me to not punch his brother in the face.
“Okay,” Elton drawls, brow still furrowed at me before he shakes it off. He turns back to Everest, unable to keep any semblance of distance from Everest as he throws his arm over his shoulder. “Alright. Let’s get all your stuff packed into the truck and grab some lunch before we head back to the penthouse. Sound good?”
Everest nods with what I think is supposed to be a smile on his lips. “Sure. Sounds great.”
“Awesome,” I mutter under my breath, heading up the stairs where I know his room is without bothering to wait for the two of them.
We start the process of getting all of Everest’s belongings into the truck, but since his room at the penthouse is already furnished, he doesn’t have much for us to move. His room hasn’t changed in the last four years. Lacrosse posters still cover the walls and his stick is even in the corner of the large room. There are pictures of him and his friends in a collage by the dresser, photos I’m guessing were all taken in high school. After a bit, while he and Elton are downstairs moving the last of the boxes, I take a closer look at them, but bitterness grows when I do.
Because Everest’s life is just perfect, isn’t it?
He has pictures of him and his friends at the beach, happy grins on their faces as they look down at their friend they buried in the sand. There’s another of what I can only assume is homecoming, a pretty girl on his arm as he looks dashing in his custom-tailored suit. They’re all little glimpses of the life he’s led—carefree, fun, easy.
I walk away before I can do something stupid like tear up that fucking collage.
I join Everest and Elton downstairs, all of us sweaty as we finish up. Since their parents are away for the week, we lock up the mansion, then decide what we’re going to do next.
“You still like Maddio’s?” Elton asks as he closes the back of the truck.
Everest shrugs, all shifty and shit as he takes a step back. “Yeah, um—sure.”
“Maddio’s?” he asks me.
I shake my head. “No.”
Elton raises an eyebrow at me, cocking his head to the side. “You love Maddio’s.”
“I’m not hungry,” I lie, even though I’m starving, but I refuse to sit in a restaurant across from Everest and pretend everything is peachy-fucking-keen.
Elton gives me one last look, but then shrugs. “Suit yourself. Ev, I’m gonna grab my wallet, and I’ll meet you at your car. We can unpack all your stuff later.”
“Actually, I’m not hungry either,” Everest rushes out through a gulp, fidgeting with his fingers. “I’m really tired. I think I need to crash after this.”
Fuck him.
Fuck him for the way Elton’s face falls at his rejection, and fuck him for giving him false hope.
