Flawed (Ethan Frost 4)

“Thank God you picked up!” Sure enough, it’s my sister, sounding more stressed and frantic than I’ve heard her since the whole debacle went down with Ethan’s brother, Brandon, last year. “I need you to do me a favor. I need you to go check on Tori. Have you seen the Internet? Of course you’ve seen it,” she continues, answering her own question. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of her all day, but she’s not answering my texts or calls. I even tried to message her on Facebook and I got nothing.”

“That’s because she’s taking a nap. The whole fiasco of today really wore her out.”

“Of course it did. The whole thing is a nightmare. I swear

, if I could get my hands on Alexander Parsons right now I would—hey, wait. How do you know she’s taking a nap? Are you with her?”

I’m not sure if I’m insulted or amused by how surprised my little sister sounds. “Yeah. She showed up here a few hours ago, looking for someplace to get away from the reporters. She didn’t know I was living here.” I do my best to keep my voice neutral, but there’s a part of me that wonders if there’s a reason my sister didn’t tell her best friend I was staying in her house. Like, maybe she’s ashamed of trying to build some kind of relationship with me because of our shit past.

I would never blame her for it if that was the reason. After everything she’s been through, she deserves to let me into her life as much or as little as she pleases. I’m just grateful she’s forgiven me for my part in what happened.

But just because I’m grateful, just because I understand her reticence, doesn’t mean it doesn’t also hurt a little. She was my baby sister for a lot of years, and for a lot of years it was my job to look out for her, to protect her. Often it wasn’t easy, as she somehow felt the same way about me, and the fact that I blew it so spectacularly is something that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

“She didn’t?” Chloe sounds surprised. “I’m sure she was at dinner a few weeks ago when we discussed you moving in. She must have been playing with Violet or something. Anyway, how is she? It’s not like her to dodge me like this. The rest of the world, yes. But me, no.”

“I told you, she’s worn out. I’ve been sleeping for the last few hours, but the last I heard she was planning on taking a nap. Do you want me to go wake her up?”

“No, let her rest. Why should I make her wake up and face this mess any sooner than she absolutely has to?”

That’s pretty much my thinking, too. Still, I feel honor-bound to tell her, “Tori’ll be okay. She was shaken when she got here, obviously, but there’s a core of steel under there. She’ll get through this.”

“That’s what everyone thinks,” Chloe argues. “But the truth is, she’s actually pretty fragile. She acts all tough, but that’s just to hide her vulnerability.”

I think back on when she got here, on the defiant chin tilt and the narrowed eyes and the fact that her hands trembled when she didn’t think I was looking. And have to concede, “Maybe you’re right.”

With a groan, I throw back the covers and climb out of bed. “I’ll go check on her.”

“Tell her to call me, will you? Please.”

“Sure. If you don’t hear from her in the next couple of hours, call back. I’ll put her on my phone.”

“Thanks, Miles.” Chloe sounds relieved.

“So now that that’s out of the way,” I say as I walk into the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. “How’s my beautiful niece?”

“Beautiful!” she answers. “Amazing, wonderful, fantastic. Did you get the pictures I sent yesterday of her playing on the beach?”

“I did. She’s gorgeous.”

“She really is, isn’t she? Must get that from her dad.”

“She must, considering you’re such an ugly duckling.” Laying the phone down I splash water on my face.

“Miiiiiiles…” I can all but see her rolling her eyes at me.

“It’s true,” I continue as I dry my face, then head into the closet for a shirt. “You were always such a homely child. I tried not to let on, of course. Didn’t want you to feel bad about yourself and all that—”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Okay, okay.” I stop metaphorically pulling her pigtails as I shrug into an old Aerosmith T-shirt. “How are you doing? How’s school?”

“Hard.”

I snort. “It’s Stanford Law. Of course it’s hard.”

“I know,” she says, her voice pitched to just a little bit of a whine. “But it’s really hard.”

“Yeah, but do you like it?”