Page 18 of Whispers of You
“Luke, get your butt out here. It’s time for dinner,” Lawson called.
There was nothing for a good minute, and then a teen I barely recognized emerged from the basement. Luke was only fifteen, but he looked older. His dark hair curled around his ears, and he had a scowl on his face that resembled Roan more than it did Lawson.
“Hey, Luke.”
He lifted his chin in my direction. “Hey.” Then, just as quickly, he dismissed me as he started toward the open-concept kitchen and living space.
Lawson’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “Sure you don’t want to stay with us? You could get the cold shoulder twenty-four-seven. It’s a dream.”
I chuckled. “I think there was a seasonwewere all pretty surly with Mom and Dad. I’d say that’s normal.”
He grimaced. “I’m being punished for my misspent youth.”
Nash leaned in to whisper in Lawson’s ear. “But it was worth it.”
Lawson shook his head as we all started for the kitchen. “You haven’t gotten your payback yet. Just wait until you’re raising a handful of hell-raisers just like you.”
Nash’s head jerked. “Bite your tongue. I’m not going down that road anytime soon.”
Grae grinned. “I can’t wait until someone takes you down.”
“Me? Never. I’m way too practical.”
It wasn’t that. It was that Nash had only ever cared for one girl. And when he screwed that all to hell, he’d built and kept those walls sky-high.
“Holt!” Mom hurried from the kitchen and pulled me into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
“Thanks for making dinner.”
“Your favorite.”
I tried to hide my wince with another fake smile. “Thanks, Mom.”
She released me, and I started toward my dad, who sat on the couch, his leg propped up on an oversized ottoman. It was out of the cast, but he was clearly still nursing it. “Hey, Dad. How are you feeling?”
His lips pursed, the lines on his face deepening. “You didn’t have to come check on me. I told you I was fine.”
My brows rose.Ornery was right.
“Thought it was time I came for a visit that lasted longer than a few days.”
Dad’s eyes narrowed on me. “Why? That sure as hell never mattered to you before.”
My mom gasped. “Nathan.”
I held up a hand. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” Grae said, glaring at our father.
“She’s right,” Nash chimed in. “Not cool, old man.”
Dad swung his leg off the ottoman and stood, limping toward the dining table. “I’m just speaking the truth. I’m not going to run around preparing some feast for the prodigal son when I know he’ll probably take off tomorrow.”
Grae squeezed my arm. “He doesn’t mean it. He’s hurting and throwing himself a pity party.”
“He does mean it,” I said quietly. I just didn’t know how I’d let things get this bad.
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