The Wrong Family(18)

“Samuel, grab your things. Subomi’s mom is here.”

“Aww no, leaving us?” Malay teased. It was a rule not to have any of the kids at Friendsgiving, the reason being everyone wanted to get drunk. After a quick goodbye to Malay, Samuel dashed away to get his duffel. Winnie had just turned back to say something to her friend when she heard Dakota curse loudly from behind her.

“Fuck, kid! Be careful.”

She turned to see her brother looming over her son, beer dripping down his arm and onto the floor. Sam looked genuinely frightened, all previous excitement drained from his face.

“Dakota...” Winnie was temporarily stunned.

“Don’t fucking talk to my son like that.”

Nigel stood just outside the kitchen, a bottle of wine in each hand. He looked...over it. He was calm, but Winnie could tell he was livid. She had a brief vision of her husband leaping over the couch and smashing the bottles on Dakota’s head. She’d never seen her husband look that angry. She was oddly turned on.

“’Kota,” Winnie said urgently, trying to draw his attention. Red-faced and already drunk, her brother turned toward Nigel.

“He ran into me, man. Didn’t your momma ever tell you not to run in the house?” Dakota directed this question at Samuel. Winnie didn’t have time to process what happened next: she saw Nigel set the wine bottles down on the hutch, and then he had Dakota by the shirt, shoving him against the wall. Nigel was going to take care of things, just like he had that night. “It’s done. No one will ever know,” he’d said.

Her husband had the body of a gymnast—tight and hard—and he used surprise to pin Dakota for a good five seconds before the bigger man shoved Nigel backward with a great whoosh of his arms.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Uri called out, moving forward to step between them. “You’re a guest in this house,” Uri said. He bent his head solemnly to look Dakota in the eyes. Her brother jerked back, his face obstinate.

Winnie knew what was coming, and her insides shriveled up like little raisins. Dakota was looking at her—he wanted confirmation that he was more than a guest, he was her precious twin brother. But it didn’t work like that anymore.

“You should leave,” Winnie told him. His eyes held on to hers for a painful second before he looked away. Winnie knew ’Kota; he’d see this as a betrayal: blood was thicker than water. But Winnie had other blood to consider.

“Samuel, come here,” she said. Samuel didn’t hesitate. He didn’t seem thirteen at this moment; he was a little boy again, and he was hers to protect. “Go, Subomi’s mom is waiting. Everything will be fine.” She kissed his forehead, and for once he didn’t look embarrassed.

“Okay.” He said it so only she could hear. Winnie licked her lips and gave him her best smile. Samuel looked unsure for a moment, and then he skirted off to the front door where Winnie had set his duffel.

There was an electric current in the room. Winnie could see the excitement in her friends’ eyes. She blinked around the room, disbelieving. They were hoping, she realized, that her brother would disobey. This would give them something to talk about for weeks. They were poised all over the living room, on her chaise and couches, her glasses held in their hands. It hurt her stomach to think about them talking about her family, sending their group texts back and forth. She hated them in that moment, every single one of them. She wished she could tell them all to get out of her house.

Then Nigel sniggered from where he stood, shaking his head, and Winnie saw Dakota’s whole body go tense. Any regret etched on his face was suddenly gone, and then her hotheaded brother was straightening his spine and spreading his feet wider apart. Her brother reminded her of a young lion, and her husband reminded her of an old one looking for a fight. She groaned deep inside herself, but not on the outside—on the outside Winnie kept her composure. No one was going to gossip; she was going to shut this down right now.

“Dakota—GO!”

“Yeah?” He looked right at her, and Winnie’s heart cleaved in two. Things would never be the same with them.

“Fuck you, Nigel,” Dakota said, shoving past him and out of the room.

Relief eased the beat of her racing heart, but the worst was not over; she had to get Dakota out of the house in one piece, and, oh, God—was she really going to have to continue with this stupid dinner?

“You okay, Win?” Vicky put a hand on her shoulder.

Dakota came back a minute later, a duffel slung over his shoulder. He had his phone out and was concentrating hard on the screen as he headed for the front door.

“Dakota!” she called after him. He didn’t turn; he lifted one hand over his head to signal goodbye, and he was gone. Winnie heard the traffic outside, a buzz that suddenly got louder and then abruptly stopped when the door slammed closed.

“Maybe you should go after him,” Malay said. “What if he does something stupid? You don’t want to be blamed—”

Winnie didn’t need to ask Malay what she meant; Malay’s cousin Alfie killed himself when they were all in college—ate the barrel of his father’s gun. They had all known Alfie and were sad when he died, but Malay treated his death like a crutch for everything she did now.

“Shut up, just shut up,” she hissed at her. She was spitting mad at all of them, but Malay had opened her damn mouth first. Now she was going to hear it.