Chapter 9 Becca
Her lips were painted bruise purple. Her nose ring glinted. She’d dyed her hair pitch black again and cut it into a pixie. A tiny, elegant copper and black sword dangled from her left ear. The right bore a stud. Despite the sun, she wore all black, right down to her skull and bones skirt and copper-studded sandals.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Well, are you just going to stand there staring or hug me?”
He couldn’t laugh. He wanted to. The urge to bubbled up, but it morphed and mutated to this devastating heaviness in his chest because she was here when she shouldn’t be, pulled back into this web of bullshit. Hopelessness and anger rose in him. He clenched his phone in hand until he felt the case creak.
“What are you doing here?”
Her lips twitched. “Surprise… The gap year comes with a job for the Resort.”
He shook his head. “Princess… please…”
Guilt carved a gaping hole in his chest. She reached up cupping his face and pulling him down until they were eye to eye.
“You listening, you big softie?”
“Becca…”
“Not your fault.” Her eyes softened. “I wanted to be here for your legacy year.”
He swallowed past the lump in his throat and pulled her into a tight hug.
“After Mason, I knew you’d probably need some support.”
Meaning she’d known the Society would pull this shit again.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I think you nearly crushing me means I should be.”
He chuckled and pulled back. She nudged him aside and pulled her suitcase in behind her. Dorian took the bag and closed the door behind her.
“Now, I know you’re in your hedonist era, but I’m leaving my bag here because Mom will go though it, and I don’t have time for that shit.”
“You can have the other room upstairs. It’s a master.”
She grinned. “Best big brother ever. Think you’d be up to helping me pack a gag bag to mortify her?”
“At every given opportunity.”
Dorian hung back. Becca wandered into the living room and tutted.
“You all are such assholes to the staff. What the hell? I know it was worse. Did she quit midway?” She picked up one of Animkii’s ridiculous pipes and inspected the wrinkles on the balls with curiosity. “This has Ani’ written all over it.”
“You guessed right.”
She smirked. “He was always my favorite. So what’s the ETA on a new cleaner?”
“Don’t know. She came early, now she’s taking forever to come back.”
“Blame the managers not the staff, and I bet you didn’t even put in a request for later service like you should have.”
He hadn’t, but who cared about that? They had to know that there was no way he would be welcome to the roar of a vacuum after a night like that after all these years. His usual cleaning lady had to know that. He guessed she was on vacation.
Becca eyed the couch and pointed. “Are any of these safe?”
He thought back to brief flashes of memory from the night before, let alone that morning. There was a wet-looking stain on the edge of the couch that was turning white around the edges. Had his head been there?
Fuck.
“I wouldn’t chance it… or the table.”
She rolled her eyes. “You need more hobbies than sex.”
He followed her out to the terrace, where a set of loungers sat overlooking the ocean view. As expected, she bypassed the loungers and took a seat on the grass. Dorian dropped beside her, leaning back on his palms. The wash of the ocean against the beach below filled the air with the salty sweetness he’d known for years.
“You know, despite everything wrong with this place… it’s fucking beautiful.”
Dorian hummed. “Hawai’i is beautiful, too.”
“You and I both know that no matter how well I planned, there was a high probability I’d be back here… Even if we managed that independently wealthy thing.”
He smirked. “I’m not far off. Want me to invest some things for you?”
“Yes, but maybe after I get my inheritance? Dad looking closer to death these days?”
“Can’t tell. I think he started Botox.”
“The vanity never ends… promise me you’ll age gracefully.”
“I promise to age.”
She laughed and leaned back on her palms. “You still hate it?”
He worked his jaw. He wanted to say ‘no,’ but the screaming ‘yes’ that bellowed up from his soul blotted out all hope he had for that, so he didn’t answer.
Becca would just feel guilty. She’d act like she was the older sibling even if he said nothing, but at least he wouldn’t have to hear the truth in his own voice.
“I know this isn’t what you planned,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “But I’m really proud of you still finding a bit of freedom in it.”
“Not enough. Fuckers gave me another dating slide deck.”
She scoffed. “Ridiculous.”
“… you?”
“Not marketable. I think it’s the fact that I’m not doing anything flashy”
He nodded. “Good.”
He hoped she kept it that way. Hockey wasn’t the plan, but it‘s what he deserved, he guessed. He chased Vincent and grandfather’s approval all those years. What had he expected?
He thought back to being sixteen sitting in his first administrative meeting being told he wouldn’t be going to college and any time that wasn’t spent home schooled was going to be on the ice until he was good enough to be drafted.
He’d never even like hockey. He’d just played because…
Whatever. The money, the fame, the glory, his friends were nice consolation prizes for the body-wrecking stress, and he’d get in a thousand more fights and replace every tooth in his mouth if it meant Becca had a chance to be free of their bullshit.
“So what happens next?”
A knock sounded on the front door. Becca rolled onto her feet.
“Next, you get your house cleaned, and I find somewhere clean to pass out for a few hours.”
He walked back to the front door and found a different masked maid on the other side. She was older than the last, lighter, too, with mousy brown hair. Her eyes held no politeness.
Becca nudged him. “I’ll stay for a bit. You look like you didn’t sleep at all. Go to Ani’s. Smoke, drink, whatever. You know how you get when your house is a mess.” She scoffed. “Though you insist on hosting parties in it, anyway.”
“It’s called malicious compliance.”
They’d got him that first year about not being fucking personable. He’d dedicated as much time as he could spare around practice to throw ridiculous, raunchy parties that ended up all over social media because fuck them.
“Shoo,” Becca said, pushing him out the door. “Hi, come on in. I apologize on my brother’s behalf for the mess.”
The woman came in without a broom or a mop. She didn’t even look all that prepared to clean. Maybe she was a manager here to survey the damage.
She grumbled in low, biting Spanish, ducking her head, “Such bullshit. I’m not supposed to deal with this.”