Page 20 of The Love You Fight For
“Swear it,” she urges.
My jaw drops.
“When have I ever snitched?”
There’s no denying the offense in my whispered tone. I’m defending my honor to an eight-year-old over a smuggled hamster at the dinner table. But seriously. I. Don’t. Snitch. Cheyenne just raises a brow and waits until I cave.
“I swear it,” I say finally, and she grins.
My sister and Michael work to get the twins situated, so I start to make Cheyenne’s burger, but she stops me just as I’m plopping a hamburger patty onto her plate.
“I can’t eat that,” she shouts, startling me enough that I jump.
“What? Why? What happened?” I examine the hamburger patty, flipping it over in case I missed something. “It looks fine.”
“I’m a vegetarian now.” Cheyenne nudges the plate with the patty away from her.
I look at my sister. Tiff is fighting a grin and gestures to the lone burger patty on a separate plate in the middle of the table.
“That one is for her,” Tiffany says. “It’s black bean.”
“Since when?” I ask, glancing between Cheyenne and my sister. “She had pepperoni pizza at her birthday party a few weeks ago.”
My sister cocks her head to the side and smirks.
“Since you got her that hamster.”
My eyes flare. So this ismyinfluence. Who would have thought such a tiny rodent could encourage such a big lifestyle change in aneight-year-old. Without saying anything else, I trade plates with Chy so she now has an empty one.
“You still like ketchup and mustard?” I ask Cheyenne, and she nods, so I grab the black bean burger and fix it up for her. I dump some chips on her plate, then ruffle her hair before sliding the finished plate in front of her. “Bon appétit, Punk.”
After dinner, Cheyenne retreats back to her bedroom with her smuggled rodent and my sister gets the twins in a bath. I help Michael clean up the kitchen, then sit next to my dad on the couch in the living room. He’s got the television on the nightly news and he’s glaring at the screen. When I settle my eyes on the broadcast, I understand why.
It’s a recap of a press conference from earlier in the day. Our very own Senator Thom Harper announced that he’ll be running for president in the next election, and the whole Harper family is assembled behind a podium while the senator rambles.
My dad’s hands are fisted tightly in his lap as he watches. He’s always disliked the senator. It might seem excessive to some, but it’s more than warranted.
“Thom Harper is no better than a backwater charlatan,” my dad finally says, shaking his head slowly. “But he’s got everyone snowed. I don’t know how people don’t see through his lies.”
“Money,” my sister chimes in.
I glance up and find her leaning on the wall in the hallway that leads to the bathroom. From where she’s standing, she can see right into the bathroom with the tub where the twins are, and I can hear them giggling and splashing. Her eyes dart from the screen to the bathroom and back.
“The Harper family has money, and they use it as a smoke screen,” she continues. “People see flashy things and want what they have. They buy into the lie that if Senator Harper is in charge, the wealth will be shared.”
“It will be a cold day in hell if I ever have to call that man my president,” Dad says. “I’d sooner move to the Amazon and join a family of spider monkeys.”
I chuckle.
“You’re not civilized enough for the spider monkeys,” I say, but he doesn’t acknowledge my joke.
My dad never takes his scathing eyes off the television where Senator Harper is still speaking. I glance at Tiff and find that she’s still glaring, too. But when I look back at the screen, the only face I see is the one that belongs to the senator’s daughter.
Sam is standing between her mother and her older brother, and she’s smiling proudly at her father. She’s looking at him like he hung the fucking moon, and anyone who doesn’t know her would easily fall for the act. She’s been playing the role of devoted daughter her whole life, so of course she plays it perfectly. I’ve known her since we were kids, though, so I know the truth.
Samhatesher dad.
She hates everyone in her family, but she hates her dad with a passion. If someone shot him dead right now, she would probably have to make herself cry while forcing herself not to cackle with glee. Hell, if someone shot him dead, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Sam ordered the hit. I’ve never known anyone to hate a person as passionately as Samantha Harper hates her own father, which makes watching her at this press conference absolutely fascinating.
