“Hey, Mum, don’t you have a juicy piece of gossip to share with us that doesn’t have to do with my life? My life is, after all, boring. So boring, in fact, that save for the time you needed money two months ago, you haven’t rung me once since I got out of rehab. Now, come on. I’m sure you can do really well. Tell us something good. Have you been messing around with a new lowlife from Ladbrokes? Found Dad with a new bird in bed? The possibilities are endless. Oh, I know! Maybe Carly is pregnant again. That’d be fun, right?”
The whole table quieted down, all eyes on Alex. He stood up coolly, collected his plate, and dumped it into the kitchen sink on his way upstairs. I stood up and excused myself, ready to follow him up, when my phone buzzed in my purse. I took it out. If it was about Craig, I didn’t want to miss it. I didn’t want Alex to think I wasn’t there for him, but Craig’s situation was urgent.
“I’ll take this outside.” I waved the hand that held the phone and jogged to the front door. When I pressed the phone to my ear, my lungs released a strangled breath of worry.
“He’s here, and he’s okay.” Nat sniffed, sounding all teary.
I rubbed my face, walking back and forth in the narrow trail leading to the Winslows’ front door. “Who found him?”
“Hudson. He just brought him back. Your brother’s been drinking again, but, thankfully, he wasn’t harmful or violent in any way. His probation officer is on his way, but I’m sure we’ll be able to smooth things over. Hudson called the nice lawyer who helped us the other time, so I think—”
“Put Craig on the phone,” I cut her off. Maybe it was being bullied by Alex’s family, but I was in the mood for confrontation. For years, I’d felt sorry and apologetic for Craig. For his lost opportunities and shattered dreams. Well, I no longer did. I felt sorry for his doting wife, for his beautiful, healthy kid, and for his sister. Me.
“Indie…”
“Put. Him. On. The. Phone,” I enunciated every word, like Alex did when he wanted people to feel like idiots. Which he did. Often.
A few seconds later, the labored breaths of someone who had a lot of adrenaline—and alcohol—in his veins sounded from the other line, and I took a shaky breath to slow down my pulse.
“Craig Bellamy, you’re an asshole,” I said. When he didn’t answer, I continued. “You’ve been given so many opportunities throughout my short yet stressful trip across the world, and you blew every single one of them. It’s fine. You don’t owe me anything. You really don’t. But that wife of yours? You owe her the world. She didn’t sign up for this when she married you. Your son? He deserves so much more. He is worthy of a loving dad who is there for him, who takes care of him, who teaches him stuff, and takes him places and reads him books. He deserves what you had. And you’re not giving it to him. I’m so mad at you.” I realized two things as the last words fell out of my mouth. The first one was that I was full-blown crying, and that was new. I didn’t usually cry. I was more of a holding-it-in-until-I-burst type of girl. The second thing I noticed was that I wasn’t alone. There was a man, wearing a black coat and a ball cap, standing on the corner of the street, lurking. He was talking on his phone and holding something in his hand. I glared, making sure he knew that I knew I was being watched.
“Since when are you in charge, Indie? Hanging out with your famous friends has gone to your head. Don’t think I haven’t seen how he’s parading you around like some kind of consolation prize from his real fiancée. You’re delusional if you think that…”
I didn’t bother to listen to the rest of Craig’s rant. I dumped my phone into my purse and took a few steps forward, leaning against the broken gate of the Winslow household, watching as three more men dressed in the same attire snuck into the neighborhood. They were multiplying by the minute, more and more of them flocking near the park and the church across the street.
The paparazzi.
My stomach coiled into knots and the need to storm down the street and give them a piece of my mind slammed into me so hard, I nearly toppled over. And I would. I so freaking would. Because Alex didn’t need this right now. At the same time, I knew that confronting them was a PR nightmare waiting to explode. If I confronted them, they’d just record the whole thing and upload it to every media outlet out there. And that would result in more of a mess in the already chaotic world of Alex Winslow. I curled my fists beside my body, took a deep breath, turned around, and walked through the door. Alex’s family was still in the kitchen. His parents were fighting loudly while Carly barked at the kids. I climbed upstairs, into the narrow hallway with the stained carpet and yellow wallpaper, drawn to Alex’s room like a magnet. The door was ajar. I leaned against its frame, watching him sitting on the edge of his childhood bed.