Ride and Die (Ridgemore #1)

12 Dinnertime Isn’t Fishing Time

12

Dinnertime Isn’t Fishing Time

C elia Rafferty slammed the bowl of caramelized brussels sprouts onto the table between her and Brady hard enough to rattle the serving spoon against the glass vessel. Not for the first time since I sat down with the Raffertys for dinner, I wondered if I would have been better off dealing with my parents and their duplicity instead.

“What?” Celia asked, though nobody had uttered a word. Even Porter seemed cowed by her anger, sitting at the opposite end of the table from her, far quieter than usual.

“Jeez, Mom,” Brady said, “I didn’t do or say a fucking thing. Chill out.”

Layla sighed from the chair beside me, anticipating their mom’s reaction. I would have too, except that she’d sat me between her and Celia, and I didn’t want to do a thing to draw Celia’s attention.

Celia pointed at Brady, scowling. “You watch your mouth. This is a family dinner. I don’t want to hear any of your crass language tonight.”

“Fine,” he relented. “But do you have to be so intense right now?”

Celia leaned forward in her chair, drawing closer to her son. “Yes, I do. You know why? Because my son was suspended from school today for a violent act on another student.”

Brady glanced at the brussels sprouts and then back to his mom.

Again, she jabbed the air between them. “Don’t even start with me today. You’re a growing young man and you need your vegetables. You will eat them.”

Brady huffed under his breath and frowned, but picked up the serving spoon, dishing out the smallest serving possible onto his plate.

“You’re not a damn bird, Brady.”

Dutifully, he scooped out another mini serving. Celia sighed in resignation while plastering a martyred look across her ordinarily pleasant face. Though all the Raffertys were good-looking, the twins didn’t resemble either of their parents, who had sharper features, darker hair, and lighter eyes. Celia was petite, shorter even than Layla, with a slight frame, while Porter was tall and thin to the point of being almost gangly. Both wore glasses while their children had perfect eyesight.

“You know,” Brady started, already pushing the sprouts around his plate, “it’s not like I just went up to the jerk and punched him for no reason. You haven’t even asked me what he said.”

Celia bristled. “No, I didn’t, because you already told me you hit a boy because of something he said. Because of words . How many times have I told you that fighting is only for defense? You are not to harm others under any circumstances. That’s the only reason I agreed to that ridiculous amount of training you all do.”

This time, Celia cast her gaze across me too. That was one of the downsides of being so familiar with my friends’ parents: they didn’t hold back on my account.

She continued, “I would have never agreed to all the equipment you made us buy.”

“Seriously?” Brady asked, his gray eyes flashing. “You do realize this is the same asshole who got me killed, right?”

“From what you’ve told us, it was an altercation that led to an accident. It was no one’s fault.” She paused. “Is that not true?”

Brady pressed his lips together and clenched his fork with a white-knuckled grip. “Yeah, that’s right. But if he’d just back the hell off from Layla already, I wouldn’t have to keep putting him in his place.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Celia glanced at Porter, who shook his head, affirming he didn’t know either.

Brady huffed. “I told you already. Rich keeps bugging Layla. I was teaching him a lesson about the meaning of the word no .”

As one, Celia and Porter whipped their heads around to stare at their daughter. Celia brought her hand to her chest. “Oh my God, honey, you didn’t tell us this. Did he…?”

“No, Mom,” Layla said, flicking a glare at Brady. “Brade’s not talking rape or anything remotely like that. Rich is just annoying, is all. He keeps asking me out. I keep saying no .” She shrugged, though I knew for a fact Rich’s interest in her wasn’t as simple as that. No, he hadn’t forced himself on her, but he also wasn’t respectful of her boundaries. I wouldn’t trust him to do the right thing if Layla were too drunk to stand up for herself around him.

Celia’s eyes glistened for a few moments before she blinked away the moisture. “You two don’t tell me anything anymore. I’ll bet Joss talks to her parents.”

I smiled noncommittally and served myself some glazed baby carrots. “This looks delicious. Thanks for having me over.”

“You’re welcome anytime, sweetie, you know that.” Celia’s smile seemed genuine before it dropped from her face like a ton of bricks as she glowered at both of her children.

“Look, you two need to keep the line of communication open between us. We can’t properly protect you if you don’t tell us what’s going on.”

“We don’t need your protection,” Layla said.

“Yeah,” Brady added. “Besides, I’m watching out for Layla.”

After sliding a piece of grilled lemon chicken breast onto her plate, Layla said, “I’m plenty capable of looking out for myself. If Rich forgets his place, I’ve got no problem kneeing him in the balls.”

Celia shook her head. “Layla, you too with the language. But yes, if any man doesn’t respect you and your body, you scream for help and knee him in the groin. That’s good.”

Layla rolled her eyes. She might be the girlier of the two of us, but she was no screamer. She was more likely to slam a cinder block over a guy’s head than cry for help.

Celia visibly released the tension in her shoulders, smiling tentatively at her son. “You see what happens when you fight with that boy? You can’t antagonize him. We can’t…” She bit her lip before releasing it. “You’ve gotta take care of yourself. You have to stay safe.”

“I am safe, Ma. I promise. And I didn’t do anything to antagonize Rich. He called me the ‘Miracle Kid.’ I punched him. End of story.”

Her brows arched in disbelief, exchanging a glance with her husband. “So I’m supposed to believe you punched a boy in the face so hard that you left him unconscious and got suspended from school for three days, all because he called you by one of your nicknames?”

Brady released his fork with a loud chink against his plate. “‘Miracle Kid’ is not one of my nicknames. I hate it. I don’t ever want to hear it again.”

“Why, Brady? Tell me why?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” He snatched a bread roll and took a bite so large that he couldn’t speak around it.

Celia stared at him while he made a show of chewing. At least he did so with his mouth closed, which wasn’t always a guarantee with the brute.

Finally, she sat back and took a long sip of her wine, eyeing her children and me over the rim of her glass. “Have you had any more of those nightmares?”

“Come on, Mom,” Brady whined. “Leave it be already. They’re just dreams. I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

“If you won’t willingly tell me, then I’m going to ask. You’re my son. I have to know what’s going on with you, especially after…”

“After what, huh? Why won’t you just say it and be done with it already?”

“Fine. After you died . You died, Brady. You can’t possibly expect that not to affect your parents who love you.”

“She’s right about that, son,” Porter said, earning a sharp look from his wife across the table at the possible implication that she wasn’t right about the other points too.

“I didn’t mean it that way, honey,” he said.

She scowled at him, then met Brady’s gaze again, this time clasping his hand. “We love you. You’re our baby, and don’t go rolling your eyes at me. It doesn’t matter how big you get, you’ll always be my baby.”

“Mom,” Layla protested.

“You too, Layla.” Celia paused. “We’re just worried about you, that’s all. Second day of school and you’re already punching kids and getting suspended. That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

Layla and I exchanged a quick look. That actually didn’t sound too unlike Brady. Yes, his temper was quicker to flare lately and slower to cool, but he’d always been the most explosive among us, the easiest to provoke.

“Tell me about these dreams, honey,” Celia implored. “Have you had any more of them?”

He withdrew his hand from hers and crossed his arms. “You mean since this morning? I haven’t even slept again since you took notes about my last dreams.”

“Okay, fair enough. But I want to know everything that’s going on with you, okay? If you have any more of those kinds of dreams, I want you to tell me right away so I can help you with them.”

Brady shot Layla a look across the table that could kill. At least she had the grace to offer him an apologetic twist of her mouth.

“Fine, yeah,” he finally said. “So, can we eat now? ’Cause I don’t feel like talking about this stuff. So if you’re gonna keep at it, I might just skip dinner.”

Celia stared back at him in a standoff. Daily family dinners at the Rafferty house were inviolable, and Brady damn well knew that.

After several tense moments, his mom relented. “No, we don’t need to talk about this anymore … for now. Let’s just eat. The food’s getting cold. Honey,” she said, looking at Porter while she accepted the serving dish of chicken from me, “why don’t you tell the kids what we were working on today?”

When Porter began speaking about cellular regeneration, I zoned out, relieved that at last the tension was leaving the dinner conversation.

Our parents were scientists. They’d met at their previous company, where they’d worked in the same research department. Whenever they were together, they often geeked out, throwing around tons of science-y terms. While my friends and I were bright enough to understand what they were talking about, at least in general terms, there was little that got us to glaze over faster. They were such nerds.

The rest of dinner passed in amiable, if superficial, conversation. By the time I licked the last remnants of chocolate mousse from my spoon, I was beyond ready to disappear into the privacy of Layla’s room for a long while. But as I put my dirty dishes in the sink, as was common practice in the Rafferty home, and turned to follow Layla from the kitchen, Celia called my name.

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Help me load the dishwasher, will you?”

I glanced at Layla.

“Mom, we’ve got homework to do,” she said.

We did, but that wasn’t her priority any more than it was mine.

“Then you go get started on it and Joss’ll be right along.”

Layla glanced from me to her mom and back.

Celia shooed her daughter with both hands, tsk ing. “Go. You’re being ridiculous. Joss will be right behind you.”

Layla’s eyes broadcast a definite sorry before she left me in the kitchen alone with Celia.

“You want me to load, or rinse and pass?” I asked.

She waved a hand in the air between us. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll do it. You just keep me company.”

“Oh-kay.”

Celia pulled on long kitchen gloves while she waited for the water at the sink to heat. As soon as she started wiping food remains off dishes, she said, “So how’ve you been?”

“Uh, fine?” I leaned against the counter beside her.

“Everything going well with school?”

“Yeah, so far.” We’d skipped half our first school day and Brady had gotten suspended at the start of the second.

“And how are Monica and Reece doing? I haven’t had the chance to visit with them lately.”

That was definitely bullshit. Yeah, they might not have hung out in person, but I knew our parents had an active group chat that chirped at all hours. She was certain to know more about them than I did, especially since it turned out they were freaking liars.

But if Celia wanted to play some kind of game, that’s what I’d do. “They seem okay. Maybe a little worried about Brady still, that kind of thing. But I think they’re finally getting used to working out of the house instead of going in to the office.”

“Oh, good.” She started rinsing and loading silverware. “It took Porter a while to get used to being home all the time too. But I love it. No more rushing around in the mornings, no more not being here for when my kids need me. It’s the best.”

“Uh-huh,” I murmured noncommittally, wondering what she actually wanted with me. Celia and I had always been friendly. Before Brady’s accident, she hadn’t been quite this much of a nut, and she was usually pleasant enough to be around.

When we were younger, she always had the best snacks. On the weekends in the summertime, she sometimes made ice cream that would give Ben and Jerry a run for their money. She would add real candy bar crumbles along with gooey caramel ribbons. Of all the parents, she seemed to be the only one interested in homemaking. If my mom could get away with takeout seven days a week, she’d do it. I’d even recently overheard her talking to my dad about maybe hiring a chef to come in and prepare meals for the family a few times a week.

“Speaking of my kids needing me…” Celia said in the least subtle segue ever. “I’m really worried about Brady—about both of them, actually. After Brady’s accident, he shut me out, and I think Layla’s trying to stick up for him, keeping whatever he says private. You know how they are. They go at it like cats and dogs, but when it comes down to it, they love each other.”

She scrubbed at a skillet with unnecessary vigor, swirling a pad of steel wool around like it was the solution to all of life’s problems. “But what they seem to forget is that I’m on their side. I need to be able to help them, you know?” She glanced at me quickly, then returned her attention to the pan she was trying to scrub into an early demise.

“What happened to Brady, well, it was really hard on me and Porter. And I know Brady’s going through so much with it, and it’s just really important to me to be able to help him. He’s my baby.” She chuckled softly. “Even if he is already like twice my size. I can’t stand to see him hurting and not be able to do something to soothe him. But he sees me as just his mom and forgets I’m actually well known in the professional ambits for my studies on the mind and its behavior. I don’t want to be tooting my own horn here, but I’m considered foremost in the field of brain activity, including the aspects of memories and dreams.”

Another glance at me before picking up the next pan and going at it just as hard, her forearm muscles clenching from her frenzied movements. “I can see that Brady’s hurting. He might not admit to it, but I see it. I’m his mother . I can always tell when either of my babies is going through something, even if I don’t always know what it is. It’s not like him to lash out at that boy just for calling him some nickname, and it’s definitely not like him to have nightmares.”

While continuing to make her way through the dishes, Celia asked in an over-the-top nonchalant tone that set off my internal alarm, “Do you know when he started having the bad dreams? Was it only after the accident?”

When she glanced at me, I plastered a fake smile on my face. “I think so, but I’m not really sure, sorry. Brady hasn’t really wanted to talk about the dreams much. He actually gets really pissed about it if we ask, so we pretty much just let him be.”

“Ah-ha, ah-ha. So he only started mentioning them to you guys after the accident?”

“It seems like it, yeah.” I needed to extricate myself from what was clearly an interrogation, no matter how she dressed it up.

“You’re a good friend to him. I’ve always been so glad all of you guys are so close. I know it means the world to both Brady and Layla.” Celia flicked another glance at me that worked too hard to appear relaxed. “So did he not mention anything about the dreams or that odd lab he’s been seeing in them before what happened that night of the party, then?”

“Really, Celia, I don’t know. Maybe you should just tell him yourself that you can help him.”

She scoffed. “You see how that goes over. He immediately shuts me down. But that only lets me see just how much he actually needs my help.” She grimaced, circling around a spot on a spatula that already gleamed from what I could see. “He’s as stubborn as his dad, that’s what. They both love to think they have everything figured out, but I know things—”

Trying to soften what I was going to say, I rested my fingers on her scrubbing arm, stilling it. “Look, Celia, you know I care about Brady and Layla. I obviously want Brady to recover fully from his ordeal, and I’ll do anything I can to help him get to the other side of it. But I can’t help you with the information you’re trying to get.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to get information from you,” she let loose with a nervous trill. “I was just chatting with you, is all. I think about my kids and their wellbeing all the time, that’s it.”

Sure it is, Celia.

I smiled, hoping it came off as genuine, though this little conversation was making me jumpier than a damn frog. “I know. I understand. It’s been tough for everyone, what happened to Brady. I’m sure it’s been awful for you and Porter.”

She turned to rest against the sink, dislodging my arm with a sad smile of her own, pulling off her gloves. “No parent should ever have to go through that. As long as I live, I don’t think I’ll ever recover from the fright of thinking I’d lost him.”

This time my expression was filled with true empathy. Since Brady’s resurrection, she might have turned into the kind of overbearing mother who made her kids want to run in the opposite direction, but I’d witnessed her heartbreak at the hospital before the surgeon came out to deliver the good news. She hadn’t been putting on a show then.

“We’ll all get through this,” I offered. “We just have to be patient and give it time, with Brady especially.”

She nodded, eyes unfocused, seeming far away for a few beats before she looked back at me. “You’re a good egg, you know that?” Then she drew me into a hug that I returned awkwardly.

Holding me at arm’s length, she added, “And if you hear anything more about my Brady’s dreams and what he’s dreaming about, you let me know, okay? I’ll do whatever is in my power to help him.”

“You got it,” I said, slipping out of her hold. The moment I hit the hallway out of her sight, I practically ran for Layla’s room. I rushed in, shutting the door behind me and leaning against it.

“Oh, fuck,” Layla muttered. She set her phone down and sat up on her bed. “What’d she do?”

She stood and I inched close enough to whisper directly into her ear. Until we were able to check for bugs in our bedrooms, I was assuming the worst. “In a nutshell? She was fishing about Brady’s dreams, trying to get me to rat on him, tell her everything, and now she wants me to report to her about anything I hear about his dreams, about the lab especially.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. You guys were right, she’s lost her damn noodle.”

Layla sank onto the bed, looking up at me through long, shaggy bangs, and whispered, “What the fuck are we gonna do, Joss? I can’t even with all of them right now…”

I sat beside her. “We’re gonna sneak out again tonight with Griffin’s RF detector, that’s what. It’s time we start getting information of our own.”