Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I stiffen and Gemma tears off a piece of her bread, not making eye contact with her brother.
“What?” Dempsey demands, humor dissipating immediately.
“We’re, uh, not ready for the whole ‘meet-the-parents’ schtick.” Gemma shrugs her shoulders like it’s no big deal.
Sloane’s eyes narrow as she studies Gemma. “You’re awfully secretive lately. You know you can tell us anything.”
Gemma’s guilty expression gives her away. Before she can continue to dig herself deeper, I throw myself on the grenade for her.
“It’s because of me,” I blurt out and then shove another bite of lasagna into my mouth. “I don’t want to meet them.”
“Oh God,” Gemma grumbles under her breath.
“Why the hell not?” Dempsey demands, fire in his tone.
“I don’t want to.” I shrug, swipe the napkin over my lips, and take another massive bite. “That simple.”
Dempsey’s fork clatters to the plate as he glares daggers at me. “You’ve got a fucking attitude, you know that?”
“Demps,” Sloane says softly, touching his arm. “Chill.”
“It’s not that simple,” Gemma states, rushing in to my aid now. “His parents know our parents. It’s a whole thing. We’re not that serious anyway. No sense in bringing the whole family into our relationship when it may not last the semester.”
I flinch at her words, blinking at her. “Right. Good to know how you really feel, Golden.”
She deflates, hurt pinching her pretty features.
“It is serious, dumbasses,” Dempsey argues. “Don’t play me for stupid. There’s something either of you isn’t saying. Out with it already. Stop bullshitting us.”
Gemma bites down on her bottom lip and shrugs. “It’s not my story to tell.”
Except it is her story to tell.
She is the story.
“I’m seconds from wringing both their necks to get them to talk,” Dempsey utters to Sloane. “Got any interrogation tactics that might be more effective?”
Sloane ignores him, eyes boring into me. I shift under her unnerving stare.
“What’s the ‘whole thing’ between your parents? Elaborate.” Sloane abandons her fork to cross her arms over her chest. “May as well come clean and get it out in the open. Tate says talking—”
My scowl falls away as a grin tugs at my lips. “You see Tate too?”
“He’s my therapist, so yeah,” Sloane says.
“And he’s our soon-to-be brother-in-law,” Gemma and Dempsey both say at the same exact time, creeping me out with their “twin-ness.”
I recover from that to realize the depth of their words. “Wait. Tate’s family to you?”
The three of them nod in unison.
Betrayal burns hot in my chest, licking at my cheeks. The lasagna in my belly roils violently. Was this all some sort of trick? Have they all been playing me?
“You know Tate too?” Gemma asks slowly, eyes darting all over me in concern. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t sense anything other than curiosity in her tone. Maybe they’re not all out to get me and it’s just a huge fucking coincidence. Story of my life. Gemma is a walking, talking example of that.
Scrubbing my palm over my face, I sit back in my chair and look up at the popcorn-textured ceiling. Dad would shit his pants if he saw the ceiling and would have Pops out in no time to scrape it away.
The thought of my parents further sours my gut.
“Tate’s my therapist. I, uh, told him all about Golden—er, Gemma. I didn’t realize you all were connected.” I drop my chin and meet Dempsey’s probing stare. “I really liked him too, dammit.”
“You can still see him,” Sloane says gently. “He’s not one to talk about his other patients. You can trust him.”
We’ll see.
My trust in Tate went from ten to one in a matter of minutes.
“I’m adopted,” I blurt out, returning my stare to the hideous ceiling. “My parents adopted me when I was two, hence the nickname.”
The table is silent. Gemma reaches over to touch my hand. I want to jerk it away, the hurt of my past making me raw, but I draw strength from it instead. She threads our fingers together and squeezes my hand.
“When all the stuff was going down with Dad and Callum,” Gemma interjects softly, “Mom considered giving her baby up for adoption.”
“Of course she did,” Dempsey huffs. “I bet it was me, huh? They were going to keep you?”
Sloane shakes her head. “Jamie knew she was pregnant but didn’t know about the twins until much later on. Let them speak, Dempsey.”
For his credit, he clamps down, jaw muscle ticking, and nods my way.
“She must have got in contact with my dads somehow, though I don’t know all the backstory, and promised them a baby,” I explain, skin prickling with embarrassment. “Dad named her Gemma—this baby girl they were hoping for.”
“Oh,” Sloane murmurs. “She didn’t even tell me she considered adoption when she found out she was pregnant. Jamie was probably terrified—even too terrified to confide in her best friend.” Sloane slumps as though that thought physically wounds her. Maybe she can talk to Tate—the therapist for every-fucking-one—and sort that emotional shit out later.