Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

Ameila

"Why are you whispering?" Parker whispers into the phone too, like the need to speak quietly is a virus I've passed on.

"It's a long story," I whisper back, not wanting to admit that I'm staying with Van and his sisters might be listening outside his bedroom door again. "But you're sure I can work from home and don't need to come in?"

Home is a general term. I'm not lying, exactly, even if I'm not at the house where my current bedroom is. What is home, anyway?

Would a home by any other name smell as sweet?

I'm not sure Shakespeare's question makes sense in this context, but I do know that no other comforter would smell as good as the one I'm wrapped up in.

In any case, I've spent the morning wrapped in Van's comforter and his scent. Afraid to come out of his room, honestly. He left for the Summit early, and without him, my safety buffer is gone.

I woke up when he slipped into the room when it was still dark. Guess the lock wouldn't have stopped his sisters anyway if it was easy enough for Van to pick.

I pretended to be asleep while he tiptoed in, using his phone as a flashlight. When he went into the closet, I watched him through slitted eyes, slipping them closed again when he came back out, duffle bag in hand.

He hovered by the bed for a moment while I tried to breathe slow, steady, sleeping breaths even as my heart pounded.

What was he doing? What was he thinking?

He probably stayed less than a minute but it felt much longer. Just before leaving, he gently tugged the comforter up to my chin, and I swear, I felt his lips brush my hair.

It left me wired, my brain tumbling over anxious thought after anxious thought, I fell back asleep, only waking when I started hearing his sisters move about the house. The idea of running into them—here in Van's house of all places—means I'm trapped in here. Unless I want to face them, and right now, I don't want to face anyone.

Possibly not even myself.

"It might be better if you don't come in," Parker says with a sigh. "All things considered."

"Have you seen my dad after … everything?"

"Only from a distance, and he's kind of a holy terror. I just hope he'll channel his feelings into helping the guys win tonight."

Or, at least, that he won't channel his feelings into punishing Van.

"I'll send an updated list of things to work on." Parker's voice returns to normal, like she started her day off with a breakfast of sprinkles and sunshine.

She doesn't bother asking me if I'm coming to the game tonight, and I'm both disappointed and relieved.

I feel like a coward, hiding in Van's room. From his sisters. From work. From my dad. From him .

"I'm sure you're really glad you hired me now, huh?" I ask.

"I am glad." Her answer is immediate and fierce. "I only wish I'd been aware of the circumstances so I could be mindful for your sake. I mean, I was trying to play matchmaker with a guy you're already married to." There's a pause. "For now."

I hear the slightest question in her voice. She's offering me an open door. One I could walk through, trusting Parker with how I'm feeling now, and what's going on with me and Van.

"Just know that I'm here," she says after the moment of silence stretches on. "For anything you need. Are you … okay after everything?"

"Not really," I admit. "But I will be."

And if I keep telling myself that, even with no idea how it's possible, maybe it will become true.

I spend the day locked in Van's room like I'm a curmudgeonly hermit. And it's starting to feel like a tiny prison cell. One with the most comfortable bed ever.

While I did do enough actual work to justify being paid for this job, I also spent time googling and reading stories of people who fell in love fast.

Turns out there are a lot of people out there who have ridiculously quick love stories. Couples who got married within a few weeks or a few days of meeting. People who claim they fell in love at first sight. Arranged marriages, Vegas weddings on a whim, elopements.

While I didn't shy away from stories that didn't end happily, I found way more firsthand accounts than I thought possible of couples who are still together after years despite a quick courtship.

Love stories with a super fast timeline definitely aren't the norm, but reading so many accounts convinced me that it's possible.

The real question—is it possible for me? For us ?

Voices carry down the hall and I hear the sounds of keys jangling, feet stomping, and then the front door slamming. I peek through the blinds, watching their rental car back out of the driveaway.

I don't know if Van's sisters are running out for fast food or if they're leaving this early for the game. But my stomach is about to eat itself, so, I make a break for the kitchen.

Just outside Van's bedroom door, I find a tray of food covered in foil along with a note from Grey.

Thought you could use a little fuel. Don't worry; my sisters didn't poison it. I checked. -G

And sure enough, when I lift the corner of the foil, both the sandwich and the cookie have a bite out of them.

I gobble them down anyway.

Technically, we're family. At least for the time being. Family members swap germs, right?

Then, I snoop. Respectfully.

Van's house is tidy. I think if his sisters weren't here, immaculate would be a better word. But I find signs of them everywhere—makeup scattered on the guest bathroom counter, a pair of flip-flops in the middle of a room like someone just walked out of them and disappeared.

There isn't really decoration—no paintings on the wall or picture frames, or curtains. It seems like maybe he just moved in? Or like he's running for the Minimalist of the Year award. The furniture though is comfortable and the colors he's chosen are masculine. It fits him, though I feel like what's missing is a touch of the irreverent—the sort of smirky, snarky attitude Van has in spades.

When I return my dish to the gorgeous, updated kitchen, I find a bright green beta fish on the counter. I remember Van talking about having a fish while we were in Florida. I'll admit—I thought Van made him up.

"But you're real, aren't you?" I ask, leaning my elbows on the counter. I swear, the little guy struts for me, swimming with a little flounce that makes his tail billow. "Just like your daddy, huh?"

They do say pets often resemble their owners. It definitely seems true in this case. I probably shouldn't feed him, since I have no idea whether Van or his sisters or both already did. But he's practically begging, and I can't help giving him a tiny pinch of food.

"Our little secret," I tell him as he gulps down the little red flakes. "Can you keep another one? I think I made a big mistake."

And I don't mean the wedding.

The mistake, the one I woke up thinking about and haven't been able to stop thinking about since, was not being fully honest with Van last night.

Not being brave the way he was when he flat-out told me what he wanted.

Because I think I want the same thing, and it terrifies me.

The part of me that's always done things by the book is scandalized by this. My dad would lose his mind. I think telling him I want to stay married to Van is the only thing that would shock him more than saying I married Van in the first place.

But I think it's time I learn how to love my dad without doing everything according to what he thinks is right for me. Without living for his approval or at the very least, trying to keep the peace.

Something I've done since Mom died.

I wish she were here. Though she died when I was barely old enough to ask for dating advice, somehow I know she'd have the exact right thing to say. Or maybe she wouldn't say anything, but would just listen and offer me support either way.

What I do know is that she'd tell me I shouldn't make decisions based on what makes my dad happy.

She'd tell me to be brave.

Which is the exact opposite of what I do when I see the rental car turn back into the driveway. I bolt for Van's room and dive into his bed, grabbing my laptop and pretending to work.

I hear them come in, then head into their rooms. Music comes on, something poppy and upbeat, and I strain, listening to the lilt and fall of their conversations, their laughter. I should go out there. I should make peace or make friends or … maybe make a fool out of myself?

But I stay in my room, forcing myself to type words that will need to be heavily edited later. The American Marketing Association says writers should aim for an eighth grade level in online articles. Right now, my writing is more like a first grade level.

I jump when someone starts banging at the door.

"Open up or we'll break the door down," a voice calls.

"We can just unlock it," another voice says in a whisper I can still hear.

"That's an invasion of privacy," the first voice whispers.

"But we're literally trying to invade her privacy. In a nice way."

More knocking. "Amelia?"

"You can come in," I call. "I didn't lock it."

I'm not prepared for how the sisters look as they walk into the room. They stop at the end of the bed while I stare.

The three of them are decked out in Appies gear or colors head to toe. Which is a lot, but it would be fine.

The turquoise, white, and gray paint covering every inch of their faces, however, is startling. Callie is almost all turquoise, with what I guess is Van's number on her forehead in white. Lex has half her face painted turquoise and half white, and Grey has painstakingly done white, gray, and turquoise camo from her forehead all the way down to her chin.

They look like a mini troupe of Appies clowns.

"What are you doing?" Callie asks with a frown.

"I could ask you the same thing," I say.

"We're about to go to Robbie's game," Lex says.

"Okay." I nod, my fingers twisting in the blanket. "I mean, I guessed that much. Um, have fun?"

There's a beat of silence, then Grey says, "Unacceptable."

"What?"

"Unacceptable," she repeats. "We're not letting you do this."

"Do what?"

"Sit here and wallow in my brother's bed," Lex says, but it's Callie who walks over and tugs on the comforter. I tug right back.

"What are you doing?"

Grey leans over the end of the bed, grabbing another part of the comforter and giving it a good yank. I'm now playing a full-on game of tug-of-war with Van's sisters. I'm not sure what the stakes are, exactly, but I know I don't want to lose.

"Hey—let go!" I tighten my grip.

"It's not yours," Callie cheerfully points out.

"Actually," Grey says, "depending on state law, technically, it might be fifty percent hers."

Callie groans. "Watching Judge Judy does not make you an expert on legal matters."

"I learned it from celebrity gossip sites," Grey says loftily. "Look, Amelia. Just let go of the comforter. We're not going to hurt you." She pauses. "You are wearing pants, right?"

"Yes. But what are you doing?"

"Helping," Grey says simply.

Doesn't feel like helping to me. I curl my fists tighter around the comforter.

"We didn't have to do this the hard way," says Alex, grabbing another side of the comforter.

I have no chance when it's three versus one. Honestly, probably any of the three could take me. Van's sisters are scary . I'm holding on by sheer force of will right now but I start to get fabric burns on my hands as the comforter slides more and more quickly through my fingers.

And then—it's gone.

Grey stumbles back into Van's dresser with the force of it, and the television rocks precariously before Lex steadies it.

"Now," Callie says, crossing her arms. "Was that so hard?"

Grey, however, is staring at me with wide eyes. I scoot back against the headboard, knees to my chest in a protective ball.

"What?" I ask.

"You're …" She sputters.

The other two are now studying me too, but Lex figures out whatever it is first and gasps. I glance down, wanting to be sure I'm still clothed and that I haven't grown a second head or something. Being gasped at by a person whose face is fully painted is kind of an ironic moment.

"Those are Van's pants," Callie says.

I look down again, my cheeks warming. "Oh. Yes."

I'm practically swimming in the sweatpants, which I pulled out of a drawer to sleep in last night. Desperate moment? Possibly. I mean, I did have my own pajamas. I can't really explain why I felt the need to go through Van's drawers to find a pair of pants to sleep in.

I just … wanted to wear something of his.

And I'm aware this probably makes me both hypocritical and sad but this is where I'm at in life: wearing the sweatpants of a husband who I haven't been completely honest with while his sisters gape at me in full face paint.

Not exactly part of my life goals.

"I can take them off," I say.

"No!" both Lex and Grey practically shout.

"Okay," I say slowly.

Grey's expression softens, but it's Lex who sniffles. I glance between them, still trying to understand, my body poised in fight, flight, or hide under the bed mode.

"I don't think Van has ever let a woman wear his clothes," Grey says softly. And now her eyes are brimming with tears too.

"I mean, it's not like he let me. I helped myself. Kind of a Goldilocks situation where I just made myself at home. These definitely don't even fit and?—"

"No," Grey says, biting back a smile with teary eyes. "He gave you his bed. Full access to his room. I bet he'd love to see you in his sweatpants."

"And take you out of them," Lex says with a smirk that's all too close to Van's.

Callie elbows her. "Gross."

I glance down at the fabric pooling around my body. My toes are practically the only part of my feet visible. "He really hasn't let any woman wear his clothes?" I ask. "I mean, I thought he dated a lot."

Callie snorts. "Oh, he has. Just not anyone who ever got far enough to wear his pants. All super casual."

I wrinkle my nose. Maybe I didn't want to know about his dating habits. I feel a strange lump in my throat, and I'm not sure if it's because they're emotional or because I'm thinking about Van and other women.

"But don't worry—it's not like Robbie treated women poorly," says Callie.

"We'd have killed him." Grey's tone is far too chipper to be talking murder.

"There just happen to be a number of women out there who also don't mind dating with zero commitment and expectations," Lex explains. "No strings. And definitely no sweatpants."

Not really helping.

I hold up a hand. "Could we, um, not talk any more about Van's dating history?"

"Right," Callie says, and she seems to regain a bit of composure. It's still hard to take her or any of them seriously whenever I look at their painted faces. "Well, let's get you up then. Come on—hop to it."

"I'm sorry?" If anything, I curl into myself tighter. Especially when the three of them start advancing toward me. Slowly. But definitely making movement, coming at me from three sides.

"We don't have much time," Grey says with a shrug.

Lex adds, "Not if we want to be there for puck drop."

It takes me only another few seconds to catch on. "Oh. I'm not going to the game."

"Sure you are," Callie says.

I flinch as Callie reaches out, but then she takes my hand. Gently. Her eyes meet mine with the same dark espresso intensity I've seen in Van's gaze.

"You're coming with us."

"You know you want to," Lex says. She puts a hand on my shoulder.

Grey climbs right up on the bed, sitting cross-legged facing me and curling her fingers around my foot. "We're going to get you showered—okay, that part you can do alone—and dressed for the game. Like us."

My brain is a veritable spin cycle of thoughts. But I keep hearing an echo of Van's words from the night before, telling me what he wanted.

Me, at his game. Wearing his name, cheering for him.

"I don't have any Appies stuff to wear."

"I thought you worked for them," Lex says with a frown.

"I just started this week."

"No problem," Grey says, and with that, she strips off the jersey she's got on, leaving her in only a sports bra underneath. "Take this. It's Robbie's jersey. I'm sure he's got an Appies t-shirt or something in his closet I can wear."

I turn the jersey over with my one free hand, running my fingers over the name on the back. Van de Kamp. I bite my lip.

Grey rocks forward, her knees nudging mine. "Come on."

"You barely know me," I say, voice wobbly.

Lex pats the top of my head once. "We've got time to get to know you. But we don't have much time to get to the game. Let's go."

"Trust us," Grey says, and when I meet her eyes, something in me shifts.

I want to go to the game. I need to go to the game. I need Van to see me there in his jersey with his sisters.

He put it all out there for me in his bedroom last night.

Now, I want to put it all out there for him. Publicly.

And maybe if my dad sees me and sees how much I really care about Van—no. I stop myself. First, I need to worry about Van. Then I can worry about how to get my dad on board.

A sense of sudden urgency overwhelms me.

"How much time do we have?" I ask.

Lex glances at her watch. There's a smudge of turquoise paint on her wrist. She makes a face. "Just … hurry."

Squeezing Callie's hand and looking at each of them in turn, I nod. "Let's go."