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“Get back inside, Charlotte,” Mr. Kennedy ordered without so much as sparing her a single glance.
“No!” she replied. Her voice cracked, but she didn’t back down.
“Leave it, Mom,” Rhodes told her. Exhaustion broke through his anger, like he knew nothing she said would undo the conversation he’d had with his father.
“You get your ass out of my drive before I come down there and get rid of you myself,” Mr. Kennedy snapped when he didn’t move. For a long moment, they just stared at one another.
No one else spoke. The whole yard felt frozen around them. Mrs. Kennedy stood rigid between her husband and us. Jude was visibly shaking beside me while I tried like hell not to launch myself off the porch.
“You can go fuck yourself,” Rhodes told him finally. He yanked open the car door and got inside without saying another word. He didn’t stay, and I couldn’t blame him, even if it was Thanksgiving.
His tires squealed on the asphalt as he tore out of the driveway, driving way too fast for the small neighborhood. I wanted to chase after him—to find a way to help him.
“What did you do?” Mrs. Kennedy demanded again as she faced her husband.
“We’re not talking about this right now,” he replied. Jude and I moved out of the way fast as he stormed inside with Mrs. Kennedy right on his heels. I’d never seen her so mad in my life.
“You do not get to say not now!” she yelled. “What did you do to my son?”
He kept walking right past my parents in the hallway as if he hadn’t heard her—or maybe he just didn’t care. I was betting on the second one.
“David Kennedy, you turn around right now and look at me when I’m talking to you!”
My parents exchanged one of those silent looks they always did before they slipped out the front door, careful not to get pulled into the argument building behind them. I couldn’t blame them. I wouldn’t want to be dragged into it either.
Dad gave me a tight nod as he passed, but Mom paused beside me long enough to touch my arm.
“We’re heading home, honey,” she said softly. “We’ll be there when you’re ready.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to answer. I had no desire to go home, but I was also torn. I wanted to be wherever Rhodes was, but I was also afraid to leave Jude alone—not after everything.
And so I just stood there, staring into the house. I couldn’t see Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy anymore, but I could hear them. Mrs. Kennedy refused to let it go, fighting back with the same fire Rhodes had. My stomach twisted uncomfortably.
“Theo,” Jude whispered, and I glanced at him. He was pale, his eyes never left the hallway. “I think you should go home.”
“Jude—”
“I mean it,” he cut me off. He flinched as their shouting grew in volume. “I have to stay with Mom.”
The words landed differently after what I’d seen his father do to Rhodes. I’d be worried about her too. It was impossible not to see Mr. Kennedy in a new light, something ugly and horrible. Jude felt it too. I could see it written all over his face.
“Okay,” I said, though I didn’t want to leave him. Instead, I stepped toward him and dragged him in for a hug before he could argue. His entire body stiffened briefly before he grabbed the back of my sweatshirt and held on harder than I’d expected. I muttered, “Call me if you need anything.”
“I will,” Jude promised, but we both knew he probably wouldn’t. When I pulled away, I stared at him for a moment, but his attention had already returned to the screaming deep in his house. I didn’t envy him.
I gave his shoulder a quick squeeze before crossing the street. I hurried straight for my car, not even considering going back to my parents’ house. There was nothing I could do for Jude and his mom, but Rhodes was different. He’d just lost something in the ugliest way possible, and I knew him well enough to know what he’d do with that kind of hurt. He’d disappear. He’d convince himself that being alone through all of this was easier, and there was no way in hell I was letting him do that tonight.
CHAPTER 69
Rhodes
WOLF: Please text me back.
WOLF: I’m worried about you, Rhodes.
WOLF: Please tell me you’re okay.
Icouldn’t stop shaking. Rage. Fear. Some other unnamed emotion I couldn’t process. All of it clashed violently inside me as I drove, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the steering wheel tight. I had no idea where I was going. Home was the obvious answer. My rental was ten minutes away. I could’ve gone there, locked the door, poured something strong enough to shut my brain off, and pretended the entire night hadn’t happened.
