“You’re an evil, cruel bastard, Easton Royal,” she hisses.

“That’s all you got? This from one of the bitchiest girls at Astor Park Prep? Come on. Don’t let me down,” I gesture with both hands to bring it, but it’s not her that delivers the blow.

“Sorry about this, but I think you’ll thank me in the morning.” Bran leans back and then lets his fist fly. It’s the last thing I see.

* * *

I wake up to blinding light and a marching band traipsing around in my head. An agonized groan slides out, which only causes the marching band to play louder. The pounding drumbeat throbs in my temples and pulsates in my gut, until the waves of nausea it produces has me lurching out of bed and racing to my private bath.

I puke until there’s nothing left to puke, and I kneel there dry-heaving for a few minutes. Eventually I find the strength to stand up. I brush my teeth and chug two glasses of water. I shower. I shave. By the time I step back into the bedroom and put on a pair of sweatpants, I feel halfway normal.

Hangovers blow. Mine aren’t usually this bad, though. I can’t remember the last time I woke up feeling so shitty after a night of boozing. Granted, I did drink quite a lot last night. Enough to act like a total ass, piss off Felicity, and take a fist in the face courtesy of Bran Mathis.

“How much did you have to drink last night?” My frowning father appears in the open doorway of my bedroom. “You’re never getting back in that cockpit if you don’t straighten up.”

“Who says I had anything to drink?” I challenge.

“It’s eight in the morning and you just spent the past ten minutes retching loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. So I repeat—how much did you have to drink?”

He’s using that commanding boardroom voice that scares the pants off of his business associates. But I’m not one of his associates—I’m his kid, which means I know firsthand that Callum Royal is a total pussy outside the office. He’s let me and my brothers run wild for years, even before Mom died.

“Maybe I’m sick with the stomach flu—did you ever think of that, Dad?” I shoot him a defiant look. “I love how you immediately think the worst of me.” Muttering under my breath, I stalk over to my walk-in closet and yank open the double doors.

Across the room, Dad’s face takes on a stricken expression. “I’m sorry, son. Are you ill?”

“Nah.” I glance over with a grin. “Hungover.”

“Easton.” He runs a frazzled hand through his hair. It’s the same dark brown as mine and my older brothers’. The twins’ hair is a few shades lighter. “Of all my kids, you’re the one who’s going to give me gray hair, you know that, right?”

“Obvs. Gid’s too much of a prude. So’s Reed.” I cock my head thoughtfully. “Actually, the twins might be worse than I am. You know they’re dating the same girl—”

“I can’t hear you!” Dad grumbles, covering his ears as he quickly backs out of my bedroom.

I snort to myself, because, damn, my dad’s gotten kinda cool ever since Ella moved in with us. Before that, he never made time to check in on us or lecture us about our crazy behavior.

Speaking of Ella, she strides into my room less than a minute after Dad departs it. Her blonde hair is up in a high ponytail and she’s wearing yoga pants and a State football jersey with Reed’s number on the front.

Oh crap. I forgot we’re flying out to Reed’s away game today. His team’s playing Louisiana State.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Ella’s ponytail swings rapidly as she advances on me.

“That question’s too vague, baby sis. There’s tons of shit wrong with me.”

“You acted like a jackass last night,” she accuses.

“So you mean I acted the way I always do?”

Dismay fills her blue eyes. “No, that’s not how you act, at least not toward me.”

I scan my brain trying to remember what I’d done or said to Ella yesterday. When I got to Felicity’s, Ella and Val had been dancing. I’d gotten into it with that jackass Zeke, and Ella had interfered. And I…oh right. I made some juvenile comment about how she has Reed whipped, and mocked her about whether she begged my brother when they were in bed together.

I swallow a sigh. Damn. I really am an asshole.

“Why do you do this stuff?” she asks.

Aw hell, her bottom lip is trembling. Swear to God, if she starts to cry—

But Ella recovers quickly. Her mouth flattens and her chin sticks out. The girl has steel in her blood. Nothing keeps her down. Ever. It’s no wonder my brother fell for her the moment she walked through our front door.

“You have addiction issues, Easton.”

“No, really?”

Her eyes flash. “It’s not something to joke about.”

No, it isn’t. The last person in our family who had addiction issues fucking killed herself. But I’m not like my mom. I love life too much to off myself.

“So I like to drink,” I say with a shrug. “Big deal. It’s not like I’m popping pills anymore.” I search my closet for my own State jersey. “When does the jet leave?” I ask over my shoulder.

“In an hour.” From the corner of my eye, I see her crossing her arms. “But you’re not going to be on it.”

I spin around. “Fuck that. Reed has a game.”

“I don’t want you there,” she returns with a scowl.

I can’t help but laugh. “Gee, little sis, well, if you don’t want me there, I guess I’ll just stay home.” I pull the jersey off its hanger. “Not.”

“I mean it,” she says in a haughty voice that gets my back up. “You were such a jerk last night, not just to me, but to Val and Bran and—I can’t even believe I’m saying this—Felicity. You don’t deserve to come to New Orleans with us and watch Reed play and then eat yummy beignets and enjoy dinner on Bourbon Street. That’s like inviting the raccoon who just threw your trash all over the lawn to come inside and do the same thing in your kitchen.”

“Luckily, you don’t have a say in whether or not I come,” I say snidely. Did she just compare me to a fucking raccoon?

“You sure about that?” Smirking, she takes her phone out of her pocket and types something.

Less than ten seconds later, my own phone buzzes on the nightstand. With suspicious eyes fixed on Ella, I back up toward the bed and grab the phone. I read the incoming text message. It’s from Reed.

Stay home today. Don’t want you here

A jolt of outrage sizzles up my spine. Are they fucking kidding me?

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” I mutter angrily. And I love how she’s mad at me because I said she’s got my brother whipped. She just proved my case!

“Until you get your shit together?” Ella says. “Yes.”

She spins on her heel and flounces out of the room, a golden tornado of self-righteousness.

* * *

Ella and Reed weren’t joking around. I’m legit barred from flying to Louisiana with Dad and my traitorous stepsister, forced to watch them saunter out the door without a backward look. Damn childish, if you ask me.

But whatever. That just means I get to spend the day lounging around the house and being lazy by the pool. I can handle one afternoon by myself. Lazy’s fun, I lie to myself.

I sprawl out on a lounger, a bottle of water and one of beer on the little table next to me. I alternate taking sips from each bottle, so I can stay both hydrated and buzzed. And luckily, there’s nobody around to lecture me about day drinking.

Between naps, my mind drifts to Hartley. I try calling her, but she doesn’t answer. I know she’s not working today, so that means she’s ignoring me.

What’s her problem? I don’t get why she won’t talk to me about anything. I told her stuff about my mom, didn’t I? She can’t trust me to reveal a single detail in return? And that necklace was a gift. Who returns gifts? Why is everything about her so difficult? She should’ve just stayed in boarding school. Then she wouldn’t fucking be here driving me fucking nuts.