Feuds and Reckless Fury Read online

  I thread my fingers through hers and guide us down the hall toward the exit, our sisters trailing behind us. As soon as we walk outside and get assaulted by the muggy Florida August afternoon, my hackles rise. Sitting on the hood of my car is a familiar bleach-blond asshole.

  Nae squeezes my hand. “Canyon, don’t.”

  “Get in the car, babe,” I grind out. “I need a word with this prick.”

  “Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” she warns, pinning me with a firm stare. “I’m serious.”

  “Never,” I say with a crooked, forced grin before pecking her lips. “It’ll just be a second.”

  I hand Nae the keys so she can start up the AC. The girls pile in, and Alis hops off the hood before she starts the engine.

  “Stalking me, Wonderland?” I cross my arms over my chest and peer down at him.

  Fearless as fuck, he steps closer, a sneer twisting his features. “Stay out of my lane, bro.”

  “Call me bro again.” I flash him a vicious grin that promises a fist through his irritating face. “Do it. I fucking dare you.”

  “Your bully tactics won’t work with me,” Alis scoffs, his dark, empty eyes sharpening. “You’re pissed at your dad, so you’re trying to get to me. It’s a wasted effort. You’ll never be anything but second best. Just ask your dad. He has a new favorite son.”

  I grind my teeth together, trying desperately to keep my promise to Nae not to hurt him. To keep my fists from swinging, I crack my neck and suck in a deep breath.

  “You’re not his son,” I manage in an even tone.

  “By Christmas, I’ll be calling him Daddy too—”

  His words are cut off when I shove him. He’s ready for my retaliation because he swings his violin case at me, nailing me in the ribs. It’s not hard enough to break anything, but I’ll be sporting a bruise, that’s for damn sure. Rather than continue our fight, he turns and hightails it away from me.

  “That’s right, bro, run the fuck away!”

  His middle finger waves at me in return before he climbs into his shiny white Range Rover. Spoiled little shit. I huff and fling open the door to my Challenger. The air has yet to cool, but Naomi’s icy glare has me feeling like shit.

  “That was entertaining,” Paige sasses from the back seat. “I laughed my ass off when he hit you with his violin.” She cackles again as though just thinking about it brings her great joy.

  “He started it,” I grumble, ignoring Nae’s glare.

  I reach over to take her hand, but she swats it away, choosing to cross her arms over her chest and look out the window.

  “Oooh, trouble with the lovebirds,” Paige hisses. “Is this because you quit the football team?”

  “You can take the bus tomorrow,” I snap over my shoulder.

  “Wait,” Nae croaks out. “You quit the football team? When were you going to tell me?”

  “Oh boy,” Carrie mumbles under her breath.

  I back out of the parking spot and peel out, ignoring everyone in the car. I’m quickly losing my shit, and I don’t want Nae even more pissed at me if I take it out on her bratty sister. With a mash of the button, I blare some G-Eazy even though Nae hates his music. The bass thumps through the vehicle, calming my nerves.

  When I pull into Nae and Paige’s driveway, Paige climbs out, but Nae turns the music off before leveling me with a penetrating stare.

  “What?” I grit out.

  “You know what.”

  “It’s just football. I only did it for him. You know that.” Him being Dad.

  “Maybe you should talk to him,” she throws back. “Because ever since you went on strike against your dad, you haven’t been yourself.”

  Carrie remains silent in the back seat, clearly not wanting to get caught in the middle of our argument, even though it sort of pertains to her too.

  “Maybe I don’t like who I used to be.” I narrow my eyes, giving Nae the asshole smile I know she hates. “Maybe I like this guy better.”

  Her brows furl, and she studies me for a long beat. I fidget under her intense gaze, darting my eyes to the clock on the dash.

  “Thought you had work?” I mumble. “You’ll be late.”

  “Right,” she huffs. “Call me later when you’re not being a prick.”

  As soon as she climbs out, Carrie hops into the front. She wisely keeps her mouth shut. We ride in silence until we pull into our driveway. Even though we’ve lived in this house since we were babies, it doesn’t feel like home anymore. I blame Dad for that. He left us here all alone to go play house with Quinn and Alister.

  Carrie pretends all is okay for my sake, but I don’t miss the dark circles under her eyes. It’s not me she’s worried about. It’s Mom. Yes, Mom has a job decorating cakes, and it’s something she probably enjoys, but that doesn’t mean she’s not miserable the rest of the time. It had to be crushing to find out your husband had been cheating on you and wanted to flush an eighteen-year marriage down the toilet. And to add insult to injury, discover you’d been cheated on with another man—a man you’d safely assumed was your husband’s friend and nothing more.

  No one knew Dad was bisexual.

  The whole thing is so fucked up.

  Carrie bails the moment I turn off the car, disappearing into our massive home. I slowly walk inside, my nerves alive and wired as I wonder what sort of mood Mom will be in. The house is darkened aside from the entryway light where she left her purse. Never a good sign. I sniff the air to see if she has dinner going. Nothing. Fuck.

  I drop my bag off by the stairs and walk back to my parents’ bedroom that now only belongs to Mom. She’s curled up in bed, asleep. The television is on mute, and the remote is in her hand. Gently, I pull it out of her grip and set it on the end table.

  She’s so small.

  At one time, she stood tall. Beautiful and vibrant. Now, she’s nothing more than a shell. She decorates cakes at a fucking grocery store and then comes home to sleep the rest of the evening away. This is her life now. All happiness has drained away.

  My anger at my father is practically nuclear level as I drag the blanket over Mom’s sleeping form. I’m thrumming with the urge to wreck something when my stomach grumbles. I let out a sigh and head upstairs to see what Carrie wants to eat.

  I hear her making plans with someone—probably Paige—to meet up at the pizza place Nae works at, so I bypass her room to go to mine. I’m not in the right frame of mind to see Nae again so soon after our argument, so I certainly don’t invite myself to go with them. Instead, I survey my messy-ass room, smirking just knowing Dad would gripe about it if he saw the state it was in.

  He always rode my ass about my mess despite being just like me. His office was always a nightmare, and Mom closed the door whenever company would come over. Dad was such a fucking hypocrite.

  Since he left, I’ve met no resistance with Mom about it. In a way, I sort of miss the way Dad’s face would screw up at the sight of my unsightly room.

  It’s then I have an idea.

  With an evil grin on my face, I text my father for the first time since the fallout.

  Me: Can I come over for dinner tonight? I have something to tell you.

  He’ll hate that I’ve quit football, and I’ll take great pride at seeing the disappointment on his face.

  Dad: You’re always welcome, Son. Dinner will be ready in an hour. Carrie coming too?

  Me: It’ll just be me. She has a thing with Paige.

  Dad: See you soon. Love you, bud.

  I have the urge to send him the middle finger emoji but refrain. Barely. I send him a stupid smiley emoji instead, even though it’s the opposite of what I’m feeling. Maybe I’ll catch him off guard, kind of like he did me when he got on one knee and gave a man a ring before the ink was even dry on his divorce decree.

  Yeah, I’m really, really going to enjoy this.

  Alister

  After a quick shower, I throw on a pair of gray sweats and pad out of the bathroom, my bleached hair dri
pping with water. No matter how cold I turned the shower’s temperature, I couldn’t seem to cool the fire inside me.

  That asshole is fucking with me.

  First, he enrolled in all my classes aside from orchestra and then had the balls to show me up at track practice. I want to knock his head off his shoulders, though I’d have to bring him to his knees to successfully make that happen since he’s a damn giant. Rather than ponder ways to beat the fuck out of Canyon Voss, enemy number one, I lose myself in my homework. It’s all easy, so I blow through it at record speed. I’ve just finished typing up a short paper for AP English when I hear the doorbell.

  Ginger and Nutmeg, our Pomeranians, yap to greet the visitor. Knowing Dad is in the kitchen with Ryan, I let them answer it while I hunt down a T-shirt. I grab an old one since I’ll work in my studio tonight, and it’s pointless to ruin any of my good shit. Once I’ve pulled on a black shirt I should have tossed out two years ago when I began to fill out with more muscle definition, I pick my phone up off the bed. It buzzes in my hand with a text from the same unknown number.

  Again.

  Unknown Number: Soon.

  I stare at the text, irritation simmering in my gut. The first text from this number pissed me off because it felt personal, but I chalked it up to the wrong number. It had to be, just like this text. After shoving my phone into my pocket, I tidy up my space and make sure to smooth out the wrinkles on my quilt. I survey my room and decide it’s in order enough for me to go downstairs.

  One thing I cling to mentally from before Dad made me his was you never leave messes. Ever. Messes equal terror. Dark memories enter my brain, but I quickly shut the door on them as I shut the door to my room. I’m not in the mood to take a trip down memory lane, rehashing all the horrible shit I endured before the age of ten.

  Fuck. That.

  Tonight we’re having tacos, and that’s something to look forward to.

  Ginger scampers around the corner at the sound of my door closing. She yaps the whole way toward me and then bounces on her hind legs, begging to be carried. Since her sister isn’t around, I’m assuming Nutmeg conned Dad or Ryan into carrying her around like a baby.

  “Come here, brat,” I grumble, scooping up the spoiled furball.

  I nuzzle my face against her soft fur, stroking her as I make it toward the smell of seasoned meat and male voices. I’m just entering the kitchen when I see him.

  Canyon Voss.

  In my fucking house.

  I freeze, shocked to see him here. Ryan complains to Dad all the time when he thinks I’m not listening that Canyon hates him now. I’ve even heard the poor guy cry over it. He’s begged many times for his son to visit, but Canyon always ignores his requests.

  Ever since that night.

  I remember my eyes dragging over Canyon’s wet, muscular chest as he casually leaned back in his seat on the boat, dark hair messy and hanging in his eyes. A genuine smile curved his full lips up as he watched Dad and Ryan give each other shit. I was fixated on the happy trail on his lower abs and the way it disappeared under the loose band of his swim trunks. When Ryan proposed to Dad, I was still drooling over what someone like Canyon Voss would feel like pinning me beneath him. All of my fantasies came grinding to a halt at that moment as I realized what was happening. Before anyone could say anything, Canyon swung at his dad.

  We haven’t had to deal with Canyon and his dad together since.

  Why now?

  Canyon, with my traitorous other dog in his muscular arms, smirks my way. Evil intent glimmers in blue eyes that resemble Lake Whippoorwill on a sunny summer day. Ryan stands behind him, a hopeful grin on a face that’s just an older version of Canyon’s.

  I want to demand to know what he’s doing here, but I won’t fuck things up for Dad. Not this close to graduation. I can’t risk it.

  “Hey,” I grunt out. “Surprised seeing you here.”

  Canyon smirks. “No surprise, really, seeing as we’ll be brothers soon.”

  Fucking asshole.

  That shit had him seeing red earlier today. Now? Now he’s bullshitting through his teeth.

  Why?

  What is this asshole up to?

  “Right.” I dart my gaze to my dad. His glasses are perched on his nose, and his hair is styled to perfection. He wears a grin that looks much like Ryan’s. I want to shake them both and make them realize Canyon’s just playing them. “Need help?”

  I set my dog down to wash up in the sink. Dad points me to the cutting board where he’d been cutting up lettuce, tomatoes, and onions. I take on the task gladly, just to give myself a second to regroup. Conversation between Ryan and Dad is a little stiff. I can tell they’re both nervous about having Canyon here but still hopeful. This bastard better not do anything to rock the boat.

  Ryan chatters on about work—his favorite thing to talk about—while Dad throws in his two cents every now and again. They make their way into the dining room to set the table. Canyon remains quiet after they leave. He finally sets Nutmeg down and walks over to the sink to wash his hands. We’re just two feet apart, and I can nearly feel the heat of his body and smell his soapy scent. I want to shove him away from me, but I don’t.

  “Excuse me,” he rumbles, pressing into me from behind to reach for a paper towel.

  I know he’s just doing it to piss me off, but having his solid body against my back and his deep voice vibrating through me, I nearly take off my thumb with the knife. With lightning-quick reflexes, his hand captures my wrist as the blade scrapes across my flesh.

  “Careful, bro.” The malice in his tone makes me shiver. “Wouldn’t want you to lose violin too.”

  I tense at his warning. Before I can retaliate, he slides a hand around my throat, his hips painfully pinning me against the counter. His breath is hot against my ear as he leans in close.

  “I think we’re going to enjoy being brothers,” he taunts, his voice low and cruel. “We’ll spend every waking moment together. It’s going to be a blast, man.”

  “Did you really come here just to fuck with me?” I accuse, venom dripping from my words. “Because, if so, it’s stupid. I won’t roll over and play dead for you. I bite back, Voss.”

  “You have no idea what I’ll do to you,” Canyon warns. “No idea.”

  “The way your dick’s poking into me, Voss, I have at least one idea, and it’s a big one.”

  He’s not hard, but it serves to have him jerking away from me as though I’ve burned him. Good riddance, asshole. I shoot him a victorious grin, wiping it off my face when Ryan reenters the kitchen.

  “Looks like everything’s all ready,” Ryan announces. “Alis, why don’t you bring the veggies to the table once you’re done?”

  I grab the serving dish the moment it’s piled high with vegetables and storm past Canyon, careful not to look at his stupid-hot face. At least his smug demeanor is gone. He’s once again thrumming with the barely contained rage he carried throughout the school day whenever we had an encounter.

  As we take our seats at the table, I watch Dad and Ryan to see if they’ll tiptoe around Canyon’s precious feelings. Surprisingly, they don’t and openly share a kiss before launching into wedding plans.

  It’s all they talk about.

  Flowers and suits and cake.

  Dad’s never been married before, and he’s sparing no expense on his first wedding. Even though Ryan was married once before, it was a small wedding at his grandparents’ church. They’re both eager to have an over-the-top affair with nearly three hundred guests. I’m dreading the entire thing, especially since Dad has asked me to be his best man. Standing in front of three hundred people and staying still while Dad marries the father of my nemesis doesn’t make my list of things I’m looking forward to.

  Thank fuck Leon is going.

  At least I’ll have someone to talk to. Plus, it’ll be fun giving Leon shit about being in a suit. I’ve never seen a guy as big as him in a suit. It’s going to be fucking hilarious.

&n
bsp; I keep quiet, building my tacos while not making eye contact with Canyon. He’s tense across from me and isn’t saying anything either. It’s not until I take my first bite that he speaks.

  “I quit football,” he blurts out in a surprisingly triumphant tone.

  I choke on my food, and Dad whacks me on the back until I can get it to go down. Ryan is frozen in shock, his own taco poised near his mouth but never making it in.

  “W-What now?” Ryan stammers.

  Canyon’s grin is devilish. “I said I quit.”

  A dark expression passes over Ryan’s features, but before he can explode, Dad clutches his forearm and squeezes it. Ryan relaxes marginally.

  “I thought you loved football,” Ryan grunts out slowly. “This comes as a surprise.”

  “You’re not the only one with surprises,” Canyon snaps back, the vein in his neck pulsating with his anger. “Besides, you loved football. Not me. I loved you.”

  Loved.

  Ryan’s breath is sucked out of his lungs, and he sets his taco back down on his plate. “Is this why you’re here? To punish me some more?”

  “Ryan,” Dad starts, but Ryan cuts him off with a sharp glare.

  “No, Quinn. I’ve tiptoed around him for months. It’s time we had it out. Right, Son?”

  Canyon’s blue eyes are sharp as blades as he crosses his muscular arms over his chest and sneers at his father. “I quit football, and you think I’m punishing you? Once again, Dad, your head is up your own ass.”

  “Enough,” Ryan snaps. “You will not come into this house and disrespect—”

  “He joined the track team with me,” I blurt out, needing desperately to diffuse the situation. “He’s faster than me.”

  Canyon’s glare darts my way, and he narrows his eyes. I know he’s trying to figure out my angle. The angle is, I don’t like seeing Dad upset. It was much better when there was hope in the room.

  “Oh,” Ryan says, deflating at my words. “I didn’t realize he was trying out another sport.” He scrubs a palm over his face. “I’m sorry, Canny, but—”