The family- or, rather, what’s left of them- sits at the table in a strained falsification of amenable conversation. Jeremy and Rachel began the dinner with everyone but, after hearing some of the less polite demands Bryce was making, Jeremy excused himself and firmly took Rachel away.
“You’re coming home, Sophie,” Bryce informs her, giving up any pretense for his presence.
Heavens above, did he have to look so good sitting there, across the table from her? His salt and pepper hair hasn’t been trimmed recently, the ends curling a bit around his collar. Her fingers itch to reach over the smooth them or- more likely- simply brush them over their tips. Looking up at him from beneath her lashes, his grey eyes beseech her like he’s actually missed her.
It rankles.
Sophie stabs the pot roast with more force than the delicate beef required, the plate ringing with high pitched defiance. “Given that the last time I saw you, you were naked, in my bed with another woman,” Sophie charges, her voice straining to hold onto composure. “I’d say you’re lucky I’m not throwing Cheryl’s crystal vase in your general direction.”
On cue, Cheryl stands and removes the vase of fresh flowers from the center of the table. Savannah’s and JJ’s eyes meet over the table, a tension of their own making the air stuffy. Breaking the gaze, they return to stare at their food with unhappy expressions.
“I understand that you are a person of interest in Marie’s murder . . .” Bryce begins again, ignoring everyone else at the table.
Sophie head snaps up from her plate to glare at Bryce. “You know I didn’t do that.”
Bryce shrugs, “Doesn’t mean that the police can’t detain you.” Lifting his eyes to glare at Sophie from under his lashes, he growls. “It would certainly get you back home.”
“No idle threats, Bryce,” James warns. “The FBI are conducting the investigation, not the police . . .”
Bryce jerks to his feet, “Do not underestimate who I know, brother. If I want Sophie locked up and the key thrown into the sewer, I could arrange it.”
“Why are you so bent on me coming home?” Sophie screams back, gaining her feet. “I know you’ve been seeing Missy and Amanda and Patricia Owsley . . . yes! I know,” she screams, her pitch high and incredulous as Bryce’s shocked expressions. “Marie loved to call and tell me who was rolling between your sheets every night. You . . . don’t . . . want . . . me! And, frankly, I don’t want you. So go home!”
Bryce paces away from the table and tries to drink the tea from his footed goblet, but anger makes his hold unsteady. Frustrated, he throws the crystal against the wall. Wall and glass greet with a satisfying smash and Bryce turns to face his wife. “A man has needs. You can’t expect me to stay alone . . .”
“Not for more than five minutes, evidently,” Sophie agrees in a seething tone, slowly sinking back into her seat, her eyes on her dinner. Carefully lifting a tiny bite, she concentrates on her show of disinterest. It’s only a show. Silently, she’s dying to know why Bryce wants her so badly. Whatever the reason- it’s not love and it’s not good.
She’s missed him. Jacks rushes the shower and, in the process, cuts his chin while shaving three days’ worth of stubble.
She’s been looking for him. He pulls on some clothes- not his clothes, they’re all filthy now. He rummages through his baby brother’s stash and digs out a rumpled button-up shirt that he leaves open and a pair of shorts. They stick to his still damp body, making the act of dressing awkward. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t slow.
YOU ARE READING
Playing Jacks
Mystery / Thriller**Winner: Licking River Writers Contest** After five years away, Jacks returns to reclaim his life- only to find a lush accountant with curves that fill out her clothes living in the apartment over his folks' pool house. Oh, the attraction is there...
