Forgotten Rules (Rules 4)

“You know damn well you read it wrong.” I swallow hard. “I just meant that you could… grab some of Kendrick’s clothes to be more comfortable or something. He has a bunch in his room.” I trip over my words.

As soon as Kendrick’s name is uttered, the smirk is slapped off Will’s lips. He tumbles backward, eyes boring into mine like I just smacked him across the face with a wake-up call.

And I’m right there with him.

Kendrick.

My brother.

This is Will.

His best friend.

“I’m not spending the night. I… I think I should go, actually. I have this thing tomorrow.” He rubs at the back of his neck, picking his T-shirt off my bed and dressing himself.

“Oh, okay, I-I’ll see you later.”

Will forces a smile before booking it down the stairs. The front door slams in the distance, and I plop down onto my bed.

I’m not going to lie, I’m mad that he left.

But mostly, I’m eager to find out what would’ve happened…

If he hadn’t.

Kassidy

Two months earlier

Texting Morgan as Blake drives, I roll down my window to catch a breeze of fresh air. Today is Friday and one of the hottest, most humid days we’ve had in ages. Blake and I haven’t said a word to each other since I climbed inside his car. Not that I’m surprised. It’s been like this for weeks now. Weirdest part is, we’re not mad at each other.

We just don’t have much to say.

“How was your day?” I ask, peeling my thighs off Blake’s sticky leather seats. That’s how hot it is outside.

“Okay,” Blake says, neglecting to return the question. Is the spark between us gone? Was it ever there to begin with? I’m not entirely sure. I’ve never had a boyfriend before. All I know is everything feels predictable now.

That’s as far as our conversation goes. A few miles of silence later, he hits the brakes, dropping me off two blocks away from my house in case Kendrick’s home.

“Thanks for the ride.” I climb out of the car.

“Sure” is all he says before speeding away. No I love you or I’ll call you later. He’s not what one would call an expressive boyfriend. Rarely talks about his feelings.

I make my way to my house, flinching under the scorching sun. I only need one look at the cars lined up in the lot to know something’s wrong. My dad’s home. But his Mercedes is still running, its trunk wide open and brimming with stuff. He just came back from a weeklong business trip. He’s probably unpacking—yeah, that must be it.

Approaching the door, I pluck my keys out of my pocket but quickly realize I’m not going to need them when my brother swings the door open and scampers out of the house. He’s mad. No, he’s furious.

But why?

“Don’t,” he spits.

“What’s going on?” I ask, the fear settling in my stomach.

“Kass, trust me. Do yourself a favor and don’t go in there,” he advises, shuddering with rage, and walks around me to get to his car. I watch as he reverses out of the driveway recklessly.

Deciding not to heed his warning, I push the door open to find him standing in the kitchen.

My dad.