When Rivals Love (Bayshore Rivals 3)

“We’re going to be okay,” I assure him. It sounds like a promise, and even though I have no way of actually keeping the promise, I don’t mind saying it this way. Maybe because I will do whatever I can, whatever it takes, to make it happen. We have endured too much heartache to not get our happily ever after.

He gives me a halfhearted smile and a slight nod. I wish I could do more, take his worry away. Take all of our worries away, but I can’t.

“We’re almost there,” Oliver says from the driver’s seat, and Banks stiffens next to me. I squeeze his hand, hoping to calm him down, but the closer we get to the house, the more on edge he seems. His body goes rigid, tightening like a rubber band that’s being pulled tighter and tighter.

“You sure it’s a good idea to just show up without calling first?”

“We’re their kids, we don’t have to announce our visit,” Sullivan tells me.

“Yeah, but you usually don’t bring me along.”

A few minutes later, we pull up to a large brick suburban home that looks a little bit like a small castle. It’s beautiful, and I can’t help but stare at it. It’s gorgeous with high walls, and perfectly sculpted hedges. If it looks like this on the outside, I can’t imagine what it looks like on the inside.

“Wow, that’s your house?” I ask while continuing to gawk at the building.

“My mom likes to pretend she’s a queen,” Sullivan says, throwing me a wink.

We get out of the car and start walking toward the front door. Suddenly the reality of being here hits me, and I start to get really nervous. Looking over my shoulder, I catch Banks watching me. His gaze softens, and he extends a hand out to me. I gladly take it, letting his touch calm the storm inside of me.

“Don’t worry, we won’t let anything happen to you, and if my dad dares to talk down to you, we’ll be out the door,” Banks soothes me. Our roles reversed now.

Oliver and Sullivan walk ahead of us. Opening the front door with a key, we all walk into the house, which opens to a large grand foyer that matches the outside of the house. A gigantic, fancy chandelier hangs in the center of the entrance, a rounded staircase leading to the upper level, worthy of a queen to walk down.

“Mom… Dad…” Oliver calls loud enough that everybody in the house should here, even considering the size of it. A moment later, the sound of high-heeled shoes against the tile floor echoes through the foyer.

“Oliver?” A shrill voice fills the space a moment before a petite blonde woman appears in the doorway. “Boys…” Her tone is upbeat, excited to see her sons, she smiles widely. That is until she sees me standing behind Oliver and Sullivan.

Her smile falls and is quickly replaced with a frown. That frown deepening further when she looks between Banks and me and sees that we are holding hands.

“Hey, Mom,” Sullivan greets, walking toward her and giving her a kiss on the cheek. She grabs on to his arms, holding him to her and whispers something in his ear. I can’t hear from where I stand, but I can imagine she is asking him what the hell I’m doing here.

Sullivan straightens up, refusing to whisper, he says out loud. “We were hoping to talk to Dad and ask him some questions about the time when he and Harlow’s dad used to be friends with Phoebe.”

I can practically see the blood drain from Chloe Bishop’s face, her eyes go wide, and she takes a step back as if she is trying to get away from the situation.

“How… how do you know… about that?” She stumbles over her words, looking uncomfortable and wary.

“From Harlow’s dad. Well, he didn’t tell us, but Harlow found some pictures and some letters in his desk,” Oliver explains.

“I see,” she says, and as if she remembers to compose herself, she perks up. A fake smile spreads across her face. “Well, come on in boys… and Harlow.” Banks’ grip around my hand tightens at the way she says my name, but I give him a look that silently tells him it’s okay. I can hold my own. I won’t let anyone hurt the men I love or me, for that matter.

She waves us inside, and we follow her through the house like little sheep.

“Your father is in his office working, but I’m sure he can make time for you,” she chimes, her voice high-pitched and strained somehow. She is obviously nervous about taking us to her husband. The tension between all of us grows thicker. I have to force air into my lungs now. It’s getting harder to breathe.

When we get to a large set of double doors, she stops and looks back at us one more time, as if she’s waiting for somebody to say something. Maybe she’s hoping we’ll tell her just kidding or something like that. When no one says anything, she lifts her hand and knocks on the door lightly.