Page 38 of Ruse
My father’s face falls, unable to piece together what’s unfolding before him. Both his children and his stepson are holding hands, all on the same side for the first time. Brooklyn’s never been dad’s favorite, and he may not have shown his disdain toward my father, preferring to blame my mom for everything that transpired between them, but I know he’s been angry with him in his own way. B’s never been good enough for him. Not good enough at football, or smart enough to take advanced classes. Brooklyn is beauty and brawn minus the brains to take over his company, and dad’s never let him forget it.
Though I’ve never been daddy’s girl either, not like Donovan who’s her father’s pride and joy. I always hated her relationship with her father because it reminded me of what I never had. I know my father’s wary of me, given I remind him so much of my mother and his disdain toward her is clear, but now it’s even more clear than before.
“The three of you will sit down and finish your dinner or get up and go to your rooms. There are going to be plenty more rules set in this house, because I will not let my children run amuck through town like rebellious punks.” His gaze meets Maverick’s as if he’s the one to blame for this newfound rebellion.
“Like Mav said, fuck off dad.” Brooklyn’s the first to walk away and head toward the front door, but Maverick is quick to follow his lead. Though before he takes off after my brother, he turns to me, extending his hand out for me to take.
“Care to join us, Nyx?” he asks, a wicked smirk kissing his lips. I step forward without speaking and place my hand in his letting him lead me off toward where my brother’s run off.
We leave my father and Daphne, sitting and staring with shocked expressions as they watch their children getting along for the first time, and having each other’s backs.
“Well, at least the kids are getting along,” I hear Daphne mutter, before Mav pulls me out the front door.
* * *
“That was fucking epic!”Brooklyn obnoxiously shouts out into the night while pulling a joint out of his front pocket. Beside him Maverick shakes his head, a ghost of a smile he’s unable to hide tickling his perfect plump lips.
For a second I’m sucked into the rush of it all, wanting to enjoy every moment of adrenaline coursing through my veins as the late night, summer breeze blows through my hair. From telling my father off, to walking away hand in hand with Mav, to watching Austin’s jaw hang wide open, and all the blood vessels in his eyes burst with rage. It was exhilarating. A force I had never felt before and now craved to feel more of.
I’ve always aimed to be the perfect daughter. Despite not caring I’ve been insignificant to my parents where it really matters, other than a shiny trinket they could use to brag about and prime to continue their legacy, I’ve always tried to be the girl they expected me to be. Picture perfect, prim, and proper, until three months ago when everything about my perfect life went up in flames because of them. It was then all the hard work I’d put in became demeaning and insignificant.
Which is why I am now here, consequences be damned.
The moment we stepped out of the house, Brooklyn headed straight toward Maverick’s Aston, calling shotgun as Maverick wordlessly unlocked his car, lowered the top down, and let us slide in as he sped off toward the highway. We rode out into the night with no destination in mind, we just needed to get out of there.
It was unlike anything I’d have expected from my brother and stepbrother, who, until today, hadn’t spoken more than two words to each other as far as I knew. Yet here they were behaving like old friends passing each other the lit joint.
“You should have seen his face P, the moment you stood and took Maverick’s hand, he all but had a fucking aneurism. God, I’d pay to see that.” I knew something was off about Brooklyn during dinner, and the already half-smoked joint in his hand makes perfect sense.
The interior of the Aston is almost as mesmerizing as the exterior. Sleek black leather seats, a new car smell mixed with the same intoxicating scent that lingers on Maverick. The engine vibrates under my fingertips sliding along the leather, as he speeds down the coast's vacant highway at over ninety miles an hour. The wind blows through my hair, and I can’t help but relish in how freeing it feels.
Reaching over into the front seat, I yank the joint out of Brooklyn’s hand and bring it to my lips, inhaling the intense aroma of the smoke before blowing it back out. “God this is awful,” I mutter, coughing and passing it back to him.
“It’s not meant for little girls P,” he jokes, but beside him Maverick remains silent. I look up and catch his gaze in the rear-view mirror, but his expression is unreadable. I swear I saw him smile slightly at my attempt to smoke, but just as easily as it came, it vanished leaving no trace behind.
Deciding it’s best to ignore him I turn to stare out into the cool summer night, watching the trees pass us by, the ocean so dark you can see nothing but the moon illuminating the still waters, and sparse stars twinkling in the night sky.
We’re silent for another ten minutes, until Maverick drives up a winding hill, toward a bluff at the edge of the water. I don’t think I’ve ever been out here, but our surroundings look distantly familiar.
“Where are we going?” I ask but he doesn’t answer me.
Brooklyn’s now borderline catatonic, leaning back in the seat with his eyes closed. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s passed out by the time we arrive wherever it is we’re going.
Maverick pulls up to a dirt road at the bottom of a small hiking trail and sets the car in park. Turning off the engine, he opens the door and steps out of the car without saying a word. Brooklyn sits up and follows his lead leaving me alone and confused inside the Aston.
The moment I open the car door and step out onto the side of the cliff, I immediately regret not changing out of this damn dress before dinner. It’s nearing the end of summer and although the nights are still warm, at the edge of the water the air is always cooler, and tonight’s breeze sends a wave of chills over me.
Brooklyn heads over to the right side of the bluff, taking a seat on a large boulder near the edge of the cliffside. Something about him seems completely unusual, like for the first time in the last three months, he’s relaxed and at ease. It may be the weed he’s smoked or the rush from walking out on our family dinner, but I can’t help the smile that creeps over my lips as I catch small glimpses of the old Brooklyn.
“You really need to choose your outfits better,” Maverick says, coming up behind me and subtly wrapping an arm around my waist. My smile fades while my skin comes alive at the contact, every nerve ending firing off and sending waves of desire through me.
“Is there a problem with what I’m wearing?” I murmur, pretending I'm not at all affected by his closeness. It's a terrible lie and the chuckle that reverberates from within him proves how blatantly obvious my body's reaction to him is.
“The fact you found it appropriate to wear for a family dinner,” he mutters in annoyance. The judgmental comment makes me alert and ready to fire back some feministic remark about his misogynistic statement, but as I turn to face him, it’s not disgust or judgment I see, it's unequivocal desire written all over his face.
“Might I remind you that wasn’t my plan for the evening,” I answer back, reiterating I was on my way out with Dee and Olly before my dad stopped me.
“And what made you change your plans?” Maverick steps closer to me, his hand still resting on the edge of my hip. The heat that spreads through me as a whiff of his cologne hits me is exhilarating. I inhale sharply turning to see if Brooklyn is watching us, but I find my dear brother leaning back against the hill with his eyes closed.
