So Rare (Boys of South Chapel #3)

44. Greedy

NOW

Tension crackles through the kitchen as I brace myself for the destruction of the illusion my father has been living in.

This is my role. Spence and I discussed it ad nauseam. I loathe the idea of having to pull the rug out from under my dad’s feet, but it has to be done. It’s time to destroy the misconception of happiness he holds dear.

Hell, I should have done it three and a half years ago. I should have told him everything I knew about Magnolia the night he introduced me to her.

I should have fought harder. Been braver.

I owe it to him, to Hunter, and most importantly, to myself, to do that now.

Magnolia tried to hug Hunter when we first arrived, but Levi and Sione physically blocked her and prevented any sort of access. She was jilted, but not deterred. She and my father are seated at the kitchen table now, both smiling and looking at me expectantly.

“Dad. Hunter didn’t know she was going to the spa.” The words are thick, my voice almost unrecognizable, but I get them out. “Magnolia drugged her and took her from her bed.”

“What?”

The sincere shock in his reaction guts me.

Bracing my arms on the table across from where he’s seated, I nod. “We have proof. Hunter’s memories and firsthand experience can be corroborated by the trace amounts of Rohypnol still in her system yesterday.”

“Bloodwork? What bloodwork?” Magnolia’s nostrils flare, and her eyes widen with panic.

“The bloodwork recently processed through Crusade Labs. Hang on…” Spence pulls out his phone and scrolls for what I can only assume is a longer-than-necessary amount of time. “Ah. There it is. Hunter St. Clair. Detection of metabolites of flunitrazepam: positive.”

“This can’t be right…” My dad looks from me to Hunter, his face screwed up in confusion. Rather than ask us to elaborate, though, he turns to his wife, who’s seated by his side. “Magnolia?” he questions. As if she holds the answers instead of being solely responsible for all this chaos.

A few seconds too late to be considered genuine, she emits a shocked gasp. “ Hunter . Have you been dabbling in drugs ?”

To her credit, Hunter stares at her mom, deadpan, for a solid five seconds before she lets out an exasperated sigh. “No, Mother. I’ve never willingly taken drugs. Stop lying . Stop trying to manipulate me. I didn’t consent to going with you to that spa—if you can even call it that. You drugged me, and all day, you continued by making me take little sips of whatever you had in that water bottle.”

Magnolia’s eyes widen in terror. “Something’s wrong with her,” she accuses, her voice pitchy and loud. “What did you give her?” she demands, looking first to Spence, then Levi, then Sione, and finally me.

Whatever she sees in my gaze has her recoiling as if she’s been hit.

I stand to my full height, prepared to go off on Magnolia St. Clair-Ferguson once and for all. Though before I can, Hunter steps up to my side and strokes my arm, soothing me into submission.

Eyes narrowed, Magnolia homes in on the place where her daughter is touching me.

“Stop, Mother. You’re not going to turn the tables on Greedy. Or Levi. Or anyone else here. It’s time for you to come clean.”

Magnolia’s skin reddens, although her forehead and facial muscles barely budge, then the waterworks begin.

Sobbing—genuinely sobbing with her full chest—she gasps for breath and flops into my father’s arms.

“I don’t know where any of this is coming from,” she manages to say through chest-racking cries. “I wanted to treat my daughter to a special weekend. Just the two of us. Before… before…” Magnolia buries her head in my father’s chest.

His face is etched with torment as he tries to soothe her. With one hand on her back and the other cupping her head, he murmurs placating words that only she can hear.

“Dad.”

His gaze lifts to meet mine, dissonance warring in his expression.

“You’re really buying this?”

His eyes widen in surprise at my clear lack of concern for his wife’s theatrics.

That’s exactly what they are—theatrics. How I wish we would have taken pictures or even a video when we found Hunter in New York. Our only priorities were her health and well-being at the time, though. I never imagined we’d need to prove the insanity of the narcissist who continually makes my worst nightmares a reality.

“Garrett, this isn’t like you,” my father calmly says. “You’re being unkind. Your stepmother is clearly distressed.”

Fuck kindness.

“She’s clearly delusional .” I pound my fist into the tabletop, desperate to get through to him. “She kidnapped her own daughter. Drugged her . Drew her blood—”

“I know she drew her blood.”

The confession cuts me off and takes my breath away, and the kitchen falls eerily silent.

He knew? He fucking knew?

My gut twists so painfully I have to fight the urge to double over.

“It was my idea.” My father continues to run a hand over Magnolia’s hair as she hides her face in the crook of her arm.

“When Magnolia mentioned they were at a med spa, I assumed they had the staff available to complete a simple blood draw. We got the results this morning. It’s why we thought you wanted to meet.”

Hunter’s breath is audible in my ears. So is an incessant ringing, like the toll of a bell chiming to warn me of what’s about to happen.

In my periphery, Sione appears behind Hunter. Touching her. Murmuring in her ear.

Thank fuck. Because not only am I confused as hell, I’m also fucking useless and lost as to how to process this information or move forward. My throat clogs with so much anxiety I can’t get my mouth to form words.

Thankfully, Spence steps in and takes over.

“This blood draw. What sorts of information did it reveal?”

The question seems odd, especially the way Spence worded it.

Thankfully my father is too caught up in Magnolia’s despair to ask for clarification. “It was a liver function test and a blood type confirmation. Both are standard for potential living transplant donors.”

Then, before any of us can ask any follow-up questions, my father rises to his feet. He helps Magnolia up, too, but keeps a tight grip on her upper body. Thankfully, he keeps the kitchen table between us and them.

“Hunter,” he says, his focus set solely on our girl. “You’re a match. You can save your mother’s life. I know it’s scary and inconvenient, but knowing that you’re able—”

“She’s not,” Spence declares.

“Pardon?” my father asks, blinking in confusion.

“Hunter is not able to be a partial transplant donor, despite the promising bloodwork.” Kabir steps forward, taking up residence between Hunter and me. With his head bowed low, he whispers, “Trust, Firecracker. Trust me to handle this.” Then he turns his back to my dad and Magnolia, squeezes my bicep, and just as quietly says, “React. But do not overreact.”

I nod, desperate to ask what the hell is happening, but knowing I can’t do that right now. Then I search Hunter’s face, seeking answers. Hell, even the slightest hint, that she has any clue. With a quick shake of her head, she confirms that she’s just as in the dark as I am. Inhaling deeply, the breath shaky, she reaches for my hand. I shuffle closer, using Spence’s body as a shield, and grasp her fingers in my own hand.

“It’s not possible for Hunter to undergo any sort of invasive medical procedure. It won’t be for the next several months.” Spence’s words are blasé, his posture relaxed. He scrolls on his phone without looking at any of us. The instant he looks up, multiple devices in the room chime and vibrate with notifications.

“I just AirDropped the bloodwork to everyone in this room. It shows the drugs we mentioned—certified by Crusade Labs. If you’ll pull it up on your phones…”

Spence pauses, giving everyone, including my father, time to open their devices and download the results he just sent.

“You’ll see a full panel workup for Hunter St. Clair. If I can encourage you to look past the roofie results and down at line sixteen, I believe everything will make more sense.”

Frantically, I search the small screen in my hand.

Thirteen…

Fourteen…

Fifteen…

Sixteen.

Line 16, hcG: 4,102 mlU/ml.

I curse. Close my eyes. Hold my breath. Then squeeze Hunter’s hand tighter in mine.

I brace myself, but it’s no use.

The blow is still swift and disorienting when Spence announces, “Hunter will not be donating any part of herself to anyone, because she’s pregnant.”