I suppose Tai is lucky in that sense. He rarely has to deal with his father most of the time. But eventhiswas significant enough to bring George back home.
Not for small matters such as his children’s birthdays or any other time they needed a parent. Only the absolute desire and panic for damage control and handling of the crisis. It sent him scrambling onto the soonest available first-class flight home. Because hey… Even in a crisis, comfort is a necessity.
From what I’ve heard, Rylan has been getting it from every angle too. Like my father, Max is acting as though this is the biggest disaster in his career’s history.
How dare we cause such drama during the precious mayoral election campaign season? However, in typical aristocratic fashion, this is suddenly an opportunity to act the hero.
Publicly, our fathers are parading around, crying about the tragedy. But behind closed doors, we’re being punished for letting things get out of control.
I envy Peyton in a way. She has her own struggles too, but at least hers are something she can try to fix. I can’t mend mine.
To her enormous credit, she’s made great progress. We started our weekly dinner catchups two months ago after I caught her throwing up in my bathroom during one of my father’s beloved soirées.
Initially, I had scolded her for coming over while being unwell since I didn’t want to catch anything. But after she finally cracked and admitted it was deliberate, I realized she was fighting a silent battle. Our weekly dinner is our time to vent, to help give her a safe space to talk about her demons while trying to repair her relationship with food.
I blame that dim-witted airhead, Olivia. She’s so self-centered and obsessed with perfection that she directs her own insecurities onto everyone else within a five-mile radius.
I’ve never understood why Peyton joined the cheerleaders. I know Aunt Cordelia pushed her to do it, and Peyton being Peyton did it out of desperate validation as a freshman. But that was four years ago. Aunt Cordelia is now too absorbed and wrapped up in philanthropy schemes and social appearances to notice her daughter.
If anything, it just gives her more ammunition to bully Peyton into her idea of perfection. I’m positive she wishes that Olivia was her offspring instead. The two of them are cut from the same bitch-woven cloth. I suppose that’s why Aunt Cordelia runs in Olivia’s mother’s circle. Therefore, Peyton feels obligated to stay friends with Olivia, which in turn somehow justifies putting up with all the mean shit that girl does.
“Do you want me to drive you back home tonight?” I ask, offering Peyton a barrier of support from her mother.
She shakes her head. “I’ll get the driver to come pick me up,” she replies, pulling out her cell phone and texting him. “Mom is at some charity gala, anyway.”
I nod. “Right. Make sure you don’t forget your therapy session tomorrow.”
Peyton rolls her eyes. “Okay,Dad. Iamcapable of following a schedule, you know.”
Smirking at her response, I take a swig from my flask. The bitter taste of scotch coats my tongue, and I try not to linger on the fact that it’s the exact same liquor from last Friday. When I don’t respond to her witty reply, Peyton relaxes back into her chair, pinning me with her gaze.
“Haveyouconsidered therapy?”
“Me?” I ask incredulously. “Why wouldIneed therapy?”
Now I understand the laid-back demeanor. She’s trying to lure me into a sense of comfortability before some big grand lecture.
Peyton tilts her head. “Come on, H. What happened is fucked up. It’s okay if you’re not okay.”
Glaring at her, I immediately turn defensive. “I’m fine, Peyton. Why wouldn’t I be? We’ll find the bastards who did this and it will get sorted.”
“Someone tried to kill you…”
“No,” I interject firmly. “Someone tried to burn down Cedar Heights. It was just misfortunate timing that I was stuck inside at the time.”
Peyton raises an eyebrow. “Do you really believe that?”
“Of course I do,” I snap back, clearly deflecting.
Do I believe it? Not for a fucking second.
Whoever started that fire knew Spencer and I were in the building. They deliberately led us to the auditorium, ensuring we had no way out. But as hard as I try to convince myself that she was probably the intended target and I was collateral damage, I can’t shake off the feeling that I’m wrong.
Whatever the reason for the fires, it doesn’t make sense to kill two innocent bystanders. They could have stayed hidden and waited for us to leave. But they intentionally sent us on a wild goose chase, started the fire, and trapped us in.
The only thing I know for certain is once I find out who is responsible, they’ll be digging their own six-foot deep hole.
“Okay,” Peyton murmurs sarcastically. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. By the way, I can smell the scotch from here.”