“To drop off Kailyn,” Dax says flatly.

“Can’t she come home with us? Can’t you come to our place?” Her eyes are watery, bottom lip trembling.

“Kailyn’s already done enough tonight. We need to deal with this as a family, Emme.”

The words feel like bricks dropping on my chest.

“But I didn’t do anything wrong! I didn’t take the vodka! Please, Dax. Someone must’ve put it in there when I was in the dance! You have to believe me. Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”

Tears stream down her face, and I put a consoling arm around her. When we’re stopped at a light, I try to catch Dax’s gaze in the rearview mirror, but he’s stone-faced, hands on the wheel, eyes fixed straight ahead.

“Can you think of anyone who might have your locker combination?” I ask quietly.

Emme sniffs, picks up her bag from the floor and rifles through it. “I keep my lock code in my agenda, maybe someone got it from there? Maybe I left it in one of my classes?” She looks so hopeful, but it disappears as soon as she finds her agenda in her backpack. Her frown deepens as she continues to rummage. “I’m missing a book. My journal isn’t in here.”

“A journal is the least of your worries, Emme. You got caught at a dance with stolen alcohol and you’re thirteen. Do you have any idea how bad this looks?” Dax’s anger flares.

“But I didn’t do it!” Emme yells.

“Everyone needs to settle down.” I’m worried about this escalating when I’m not present to mediate.

Dax pulls into my driveway a minute later. He gets out and rounds the hood, his door still wide open.

“Can I come with you?” Emme whispers.

“No, honey, you and Dax need to figure this out.”

“I didn’t do it. Do you believe me?”

“Of course, sweetie.” From what I’ve witnessed of Emme, she’s not a bad kid, and her tears seem genuine.

“Then why doesn’t Dax?”

“He’s confused right now.” The passenger door opens and Dax slides the back seat forward, holding out a hand to help me out.

“You staying in the back or moving up front?” He’s cold and detached as he regards his sister.

“Staying in the back,” she replies, a bite in her tone to match his.

“Suit yourself.” He slides the front seat into place and closes the door soundly.

“Dax.” I skim the back of his hand but he shakes me off.

“This is my fault. I was too busy thinking about myself, not Emme, and look where it’s gotten me.”

“She could be telling the truth.”

“Or she could be lying to get attention. Regardless, she has mine now. I need to get her home.”

He’s shutting down on me, closing me out because he feels responsible for this, and I can understand why. “Will you message me when you get there, please, to let me know you made it safely?”

“Yeah. I’ll do that.”

I don’t ask if I should call him tomorrow, uncertain whether the answer will be one I like.

I glance toward the car, but the windows are tinted and I can’t see Emme in the back seat. He doesn’t bother to hug me, and the absence of that affection causes an ache in my chest as Dax rounds the hood. He waits while I unlock my door before he gets in his car and leaves.

Ten minutes later my phone pings with a text.

Dax: Home

I struggle with how to reply and finally settle on thanks. After an hour in which I get nothing further from Dax and no messages from Emme, I give up and finally head to bed. As I watch the numbers change on the clock, I worry about what this will mean for us.

What scares me the most is the possibility that I’ve lost not just Dax, but Emme, too, and the pain is divided equally.

I’ve fallen in love with them both.

chapter twenty

I HATE YOU

Dax

Emme is silent all the way home. I fire off a message to Kailyn as I pull in the driveway and shove my phone in my pocket. I’m so angry, at myself, at Emme for doing this, at my goddamn parents for dying and leaving me here to figure this shit out on my own.

I let Emme out of the car. She’s still crying, little hiccupping sobs that make her shoulders shake. She hugs her bag to her chest, hair falling forward to cover her face as she follows me to the front door. I motion to the living room couch. “Have a seat.”

Emme tosses her backpack on the floor, bottom lip trembling. “I don’t want to have a seat. I want Kailyn, and you took her home!”

“Well, you’ve got me instead, so sit down and start explaining what the hell you were thinking.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything because I didn’t do anything wrong!” she shouts.

“Really? Because the evidence is to the contrary.” I’m fighting to stay in control, and losing the battle.

“I didn’t steal the vodka!” Emme says, for what feels like the millionth time.

“Stop lying to me,” I yell, anger finally winning out.

“I’m not lying!”

“How the hell did a bottle of fucking Grey Goose manage to get in your goddamn bag, then?”

“I don’t know! Check your damn liquor cabinet.” She dashes away more tears.

“You sure you want me to do that?”

“Yes!”

Emme crosses her arms over her chest as I wrench the door open, bottles clinking against each other. Front and center is the Grey Goose, still sealed because liquor has never really been my thing, except for the occasional glass of scotch at a special event.

“See! It’s right there! I told you I didn’t steal your stupid vodka!”

“Where did that bottle come from, then? Did one of you take it from your friend’s house? And there’s no point in lying, either, Emme, because I’ll be calling to make sure all of their alcohol is in their liquor cabinets, too.”

“I don’t know where the fuck it came from!” she screams.

“Watch your goddamn language.” I realize I’m being a hypocrite and that losing my cool is making this situation worse.

“You swear all the goddamn time!”

“You know what? You’re grounded until further notice. Leave your phone on the coffee table. And there will be no laptop and no TV until you’re honest about what happened tonight.”

“Well, I guess I’ll be grounded forever because I already told you the truth and you don’t believe me.” She slams her phone down on the coffee table.

“Stop covering for your friends, Emme. They’re not going to help you out of this one.”

“Fuck you! You’re not my dad and you never will be, so stop pretending you are.” She clenches her fists, eye wild and angry. “I wish I’d been in the car with them when they died. It would be better than living with you!”

Her words feel like punches to the heart. “Emme! Don’t say that.”

She pauses with her hand on the banister, tears streaming down her face. “Why not? You want me to be honest, right? Well, I hate everything about being here. I hate living with you! I hate you!”

My chest constricts with her admission, and I stumble back a step as if the words are a physical slap. Her eyes flare and she spins around, her sobs stilted as she rushes up the stairs. The door to her room slams.

I close my eyes and choke on my emotions. I want to force Emme to take her words back. I want to make sense of what happened tonight. But the reality is, if I’d been paying more attention to something other than my own needs, I might have seen it.

I cross over to the couch and sit down, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes, as if it will stop the emotion from leaking out. I don’t know what to do, or how to fix this.

I slip my phone out of my pocket. I have a message from Kailyn. Her response matches mine. One single word. A simple thanks.

God, I’ve screwed this up, too. My entire life is one giant clusterfuck. I want to ask Kailyn how to make this better, but maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I’ve been relying too much on her when I should be trying to manage on my own.

I stare at the screen until it goes blank again. Then I sit on the couch, eyes fixed on nothing, wishing my life were different.

I’ve ruined everything. Every single thing I’ve done tonight has made this worse. Linda will undoubtedly use it against me, and maybe she has a right to.

I knock on Emme’s door before I go to bed, but she doesn’t answer. I peek inside and find her curled up under her comforter with her back to the door. “Em? I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

She remains silent, even though I have a feeling she’s still awake. I cross the room and put a hand on her shoulder.

She jerks away. “Leave me alone.”

“Em.”

“Just go away.” Her body trembles as she fights another sob.

I don’t want to leave, but I don’t know what else to do for her without making this terrible situation even worse. I close the door and sit down in the hall, listening to her cry, wishing I knew how to be better at this.

The next morning I discover just how early in life the wrath of women begins. I figure after a night to cool off and some sleep, we’ll be able to talk it out.

Emme’s laptop is in the hallway when I wake up, which I take as a good sign. I assume it to mean she’s willing to accept the consequences of her actions without a fight. I also stupidly believe it means a conversation without yelling is next.