Page 42 of The Guilty One
He places her on the ground, and she tugs at the bottom of her shirt, shaking her head ruefully. “Oh, please. You know you’re all welcome here anytime.”
She moves to hug Aaron next, then Bradley, and finally Dakota.
“It’s so good to have a house full. Holidays were always much too quiet before this one came along.” She bumps her hip in my direction, and the guys all laugh. “I have the guest rooms all made up, so you’ll be comfortable, but just let me know if you need anything at all.”
Matteo sets his bag down. “Oh, here.” He reaches inside the duffel to grab a bottle of wine and a book. He hands them to my mom, and with the way she takes it, you’d think it was a fucking bar of gold.
“Oh, sweetheart, you didn’t have to?—”
“Merry Christmas. It’s from all of us. I mean, it’s not much, but we wanted to get you something to say thanks for letting us stay.”
She’s all teary-eyed as she hugs them again, and I roll my eyes, stalking to my room without another word. I don’t need to be down there for that little love fest. Jesus Christ. Get a fucking room, why don’t you? I drop my bag on my bed and kick my shoes off.
Mom’s using some new fabric softener that’s too strong and makes my eyes water, so I take the comforter off the bed and toss it in a pile on the floor.
A few more minutes pass before I hear the assholes climbing the stairs and then slipping into their bedrooms. Bradley and Aaron will room together, and Dakota and Matteo, like usual. I’m half tempted to make them all leave after that little performance they put on downstairs. What the fuck was that about? Since when do they give Mom presents before Christmas even starts? It’s bad enough they give her anything at all, the little kiss-asses.
I jerk my door open, slamming it into the wall, then stomp across the hall and shove Dakota’s door open. They’re both standing next to the beds my parents bought for them to sleep in when they stay over—which is all the fucking time, thanks to me, and they’d better not forget it.
“Easy, bro. Knock much?” Dakota asks, already unpacking his bag like he owns the place.
“I don’t have to knock in my own fucking house, asshole,” I shout. “You’d know that if any of you had houses of your own.”
“Hey,” Matteo warns, keeping his voice low, clearly shocked.
“I was kidding.” Dakota’s expression has gone serious, and both of them are looking at me now. “What’s your problem?”
“My problem? Oh, I don’t know.” I wave my hand in the direction of the door. “What the shit was that?”
He stops unpacking, turning to face me. “What was what?”
“That shit you all pulled downstairs. Why the fuck are you buying my mom gifts and giving them to her when you get here like little 1950s housewives?”
Their brows draw down, and Dakota looks toward the door. “Why is it a problem? We were just trying to be nice.”
“They’re my parents, not yours. You don’t buy them gifts except for on holidays, and in case you’re too stupid to read a calendar, Christmas is not today.”
His hands go up. “I’m not trying to take your parents, Tatum. Fucking chill, man. We were just trying to be polite. It was a cheap bottle of wine and a book Matteo said she’d like. It’s not a big deal, dude.”
“It is a big deal if I say it’s a big deal, so don’t. Don’t be polite. Just be who you are, or you won’t be getting invited back. I don’t care what she says. I’m the one who invites you. I’m the one who says you can stay. The second I change my mind, you’re out.”
“Were you really bothered by the fact that she said we could come here anytime?” Matteo asks, stepping forward. “Why do you care? It’s not a competition, bro.”
“You’re damn right it’s not, and you know why?” I jerk forward, my face in his. “Because I already won. And you’d better not forget it.”
“What’s going on?” Bradley’s whiny little voice cuts through the room, and I spin around to face him.
“None of you asked permission to get my mom an extra gift, that’s what’s going on.”
Bradley’s eyes travel to Dakota, then to Matteo. “I didn’t know we needed to ask permission. It’s…I mean, it’s Christmas.” I want to smack the stupid little grin off his face.
“It’s Christmas in my house. With my parents. Are you trying to make me look bad? You want them to think you’re better than me and adopt you instead?”
It’s Matteo who steps up. “Dude, first of all, we’re all twenty-two. No one is trying to get adopted anymore. Not to mention that we’re your friends. Your brothers. We aren’t trying to steal your parents.” He says it as if it’s a stupid idea, which just pisses me off more. “No one was happier for you when you were adopted than we were. We all wanted better for you. Just because you were adopted and we weren’t, doesn’t mean we’re trying to steal your family, so just take a breath and chill, okay? You’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I? Am I really? I got out, and you didn’t. I got a family, and you didn’t. Growing up, we all wanted this, and I got it. Don’t think I don’t know you all hate me for that,” I tell him, my lips tight and unmoving. They think I’m an idiot, that I don’t know they’d kill to be me. To have all that I have.
“Is that really what you think?” Aaron asks, his brows pinched together in that way that always makes him look constipated.