Dax grips the arms of the chair as if he’s about to push out of it. “Are you kidding me?”

I slip my fingers between his, hoping to help keep him in check. I’ve never seen Dax go off, but I have a feeling that if he’s pushed much further, he will. “Dax had a single glass of wine with dinner. He’s perfectly capable of driving. As for the bottle of vodka, he’ll clearly talk to Emme about the origins. I think needling Dax is unnecessary, and it would be more helpful to discuss the consequences of Emme’s actions. We have officers present, and I’m curious as to their role here.”

“We’re here to mediate, ma’am.”

“Mediate?”

“Ms. Thrasher indicated there might be some hostility over her presence.”

And of course Dax walked right into that trap.

His fingers clench around mine and I squeeze back, a silent message to keep his temper on lockdown.

“Well, based on the accusations here, I think there might be some legitimacy to that hostility.” I motion to the people in the room. “Can we discuss the consequences for possession of alcohol?”

“She’s facing a three-day suspension minimum.”

“And there’s an appeal process?” I ask.

“Yes, of course, but—”

I cut the principal off midsentence. “As the conservator, I speak for Emme, so I’d like to request that you forward that information to me and Daxton. In the meantime we’ll take Emme home and see if we can’t get to the bottom of this on our own.”

“Is Daxton fit to drive? Are you?” Linda spits out.

“As I said, Daxton had one glass of wine with dinner.” I am concerned about how agitated he is, though.

“Maybe a Breathalyzer test would be advisable, considering the circumstances.” Linda looks to the officers with wide, imploring eyes. “I only want to keep Emme safe.”

Daxton barks out a humorless laugh. “Of course you do.” He looks to the officers. “Since Emme’s safety is always my top priority, I’ll gladly take a Breathalyzer test.”

I’m relieved he doesn’t put up a fight, and we follow the officers, with Emme in tow, to the police car. Dax passes the test. While they’re at it, they test Emme as well, twice. It appears she hasn’t consumed any alcohol, but it still doesn’t explain where the vodka came from. Dax is fuming as we cross the parking lot, the situation having pushed him to the edge.

“Are you calm enough to drive?” I ask when we reach the car.

“I’m fine,” he says through gritted teeth.

I open the door and slide the seat forward—Dax drove the Audi tonight, the non-family-friendly vehicle. Emme gives me an imploring, tearful look as she gets in.

“I’ll sit in the back with Emme.”

Dax wears an impassive expression as I awkwardly fold myself into the back seat, then closes the door.

“I really didn’t steal the vodka. I don’t even like the way it smells, Kailyn,” Emme murmurs through her tears.

“We’ll get it figured out.” I squeeze her hand in reassurance, wanting to provide whatever comfort I can.

Dax climbs into the front seat, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror as he buckles himself in and starts the car. I note the nearly imperceptible shake in his hands as he grips the wheel.

We start out heading toward Dax’s place, but when he makes a right a few blocks earlier than he should, Emme perks up anxiously. “Where are we going?”

“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.