She drops her gaze to my vomit in the grass, then her eyes travel their way back up with that shrewd appraisal she’s so good at. There’s something incredibly bright about Parker. She’s emotionally intelligent, if not terribly outgoing, which is why it makes sense that she steps closer and holds her hand out.
“I would ask you if you’re okay, but you’re clearly not.”
I offer her a wobbly smile and stare at her hand. She tips her head and adds, “Come on, let’s go. I’ve got the perfect place for us right now.”
Not knowing what else to do with myself, I take her hand and follow.
“Here, have some of this.” She shoves a bottle of amber liquor toward me.
“Parker, I can’t have any of that.”
“Why not?” She furrows her brows, baffled that I wouldn’t want bourbon on an empty stomach at nine thirty in the morning while hiding out in her oma and opa’s dingy crawl space.
“Oh shit, are you pregnant?” Parker blurts, her eyes wide.
“No, I’m not pregnant, it’s just—”
She cuts me off by pressing the bottle against my chest. “Then, unfortunately for you, this is a rite of passage. It’s part of being a Brandt. When shit goes bad, we drink in the crawl space.”
When shit goes bad?
Shit is really, really bad.
“If it’s any consolation, in one of my less fine moments I lost my temper and told my political science professor that he has the personality of a pebble this morning.”
“Oof. How did that go over?”
“Well, I doubt it helped my case. And I’m going to be stuck taking a class with him in the fall again, soooo… I’m going to drink, whether you do or not.”
Parker looks as distraught as I feel.
“You know what?” I eye the bottle, then rip the top off. “Yeah.”
I lift it to my lips and take a long swig. Fire shoots down my throat, burns my stomach, and then it spreads a slow warmth through me in a way that I need right now.
“I’m not a Brandt, though.”
Parker scoffs like I’ve just announced I believe in unicorns. “Not yet. But I see things. I know things.”
“No, I’m serious.” I take another swig. The liquid sloshing against the glass only makes me feel more pathetic. “There’s footage of him inviting Evelyn into his cottage last night.”
Parker barks out a laugh, reaching for the bourbon and taking a swig of her own. She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth with a light hiss. “Fuck, it really is early. Just remember that I’m only doing this because I like you, Julia.” She points at me. “But not as much as my brother likes you. And that’s saying something. Because for the most part, Emmett doesn’t allow himself to like anyone.”
I send her a look that says you’re making shit up just to comfort me.
“I’m serious. When our parents died, it was like his world fell apart around him. In that moment, he turned in a circle and decided that only the people he could see would make the cut. Then the walls went up.”
She huffs out a breath, shaking her head. “Hell, those aren’t just walls. They’re steel-trap doors. It’s like… it’s like he locked himself in a tornado shelter when the weather was bad. And even when the storm passed, he never let himself out.”
She grins and takes another swig before pointing at me. “Until you, baby.”
“Me?” I repeat stupidly, taking the bottle back, because I don’t know how to talk about this to a woman I barely know.
“Yeah, you. It’s like you left a trail of candy to get him outside or whatever the fuck happens in that fairy tale.”
I giggle, already feeling the effects of the bourbon on my empty stomach. “Hansel and Gretel? I think they just leave a trail of breadcrumbs to find their way home.”
Parker shrugs and waves me off. “You catch my drift. Plus, there’s no way breadcrumbs were going to be enough to lure him out of that shell. Candy. Milkshakes…”
I hold up the bottle, and we both smile. “Bourbon?”
“Yes. Bourbon.”
My head tips back against the plastic-sheet-covered insulation.
“It’s there on camera, though. Audio and everything.”
I can see Parker thinking. “Sure, but do you trust these people on the show more than you trust Emmett? Because I know I sure don’t.”
I sigh. “No, I don’t. It just threw me for a loop.”
“That’s allowed,” Parker says. “Hell, that’s more than understandable. I just think we owe it to Emmett to dig a little deeper, you know? Knowing what he’s told me about Dick Wad, I wouldn’t put it past the guy to pull something.”
I groan and press the heel of my hand against my forehead. “I just feel like I don’t know anything right now.”
She reaches out, squeezing my knee. “Listen to me. I’m not trying to be a weird, protective sister. If he did something wrong, I will be there with bells on for his crucifixion. I’m just saying that with some distance, without the shock of being shown that video unexpectedly, does anything about it seem suspicious? Do you truly think he would do that?”
“No,” I reply. My first reaction was shock and a haunting sense of betrayal. But the more I think about it with this fresh perspective—and with a few swigs of bourbon—the less it makes sense.
“The footage is low quality,” I say, tipping my head in consideration, wondering if I’m currently turning into the type of woman who will bend over backward to excuse her boyfriend’s actions.
He’s not really my boyfriend. We haven’t even talked about what we are. In the grand scheme of things, does he owe me anything?
“Okay, elaborate on that,” Parker says matter-of-factly, taking a swig and passing the bottle back to me.
I follow suit. I know I’m heading down a dangerous path with casual mouthfuls of morning liquor, but it’s helping me feel better, so I roll with it.
“I don’t know. It was dark. It’s security camera footage at the front of his house. It’s clearly Evelyn. She approaches, goes up to the door, and he answers.”
“You say it’s clearly Evelyn?”
“Yes.” I nod. “You can see her face in the footage as she approaches the house.”
“Okay, and what about Emmett’s face?”
“It’s…” I rack my brain trying to remember. Everything that’s happened this morning feels like a fucking blur. “It’s dark. I don’t think I could see him clearly, but it’s his house. He answered the door.”
Parker nods. “Voice?”
Fuck. I don’t know. In the moment, I wasn’t dissecting it. “I was in shock. I wasn’t paying close enough attention to details to analyze that now.”
She pushes the bottle back toward me. “So, just to play devil’s advocate, it could be anyone?”
“I guess it could be anyone,” I say, terrified to latch on to a shred of hope that it might not have been Emmett.
My phone lights up on the floor between us. Emmett’s name flashes above a text that reads What are you talking about?
I feel sick all over again.
What if I jumped to the wrong conclusion?
I have to be wrong.
I reach for my phone, but Parker moves it to the other side of her.
“Don’t text him back. He’ll survive. A little suffering where women are concerned is just karma at this point.”
I snort an unladylike laugh even as I eye my phone. “The thing I keep coming back to,” I say, words spilling from my lips in a rush, “is the way he talked to her. I can’t be sure about his face. Or his voice. But I just—He would never say that to her. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t pretend to dislike her, act so exasperated by the entire process of the show, and then, what? Do this out of left field?”