The Anti-Hero (The Goode Brothers, #1)(68)

“What are you doing here?” I whisper.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” His voice is raspy and tired sounding. It’s full of remorse.

As he pulls away from our hug, he holds my face in his hands and his brows fold inward at the sight of my tears.

“What happened? Did he hurt you?”

First, I shake my head. Then, with a sob, I nod.

He did hurt me. And not just the slap across the face. The betrayal hurt. The name-calling. The attacking tone.

Everything hurt.

For years, it all hurt so much and I swallowed that hurt like medicine. Taking every ounce of that pain in stride like I was supposed to because taking the pain in silence was the only way to be good.

Any form of defense was an offense.

Adam’s soft touch brushes my hair out of my face and I wipe at my face with the back of my hand, but he grabs my wrist to stop me.

“Don’t wipe them away. Just cry. I’ve got you.”

With another sob, the tears continue to pour out. I barely register what’s happening as he unlocks the door and pulls me inside. We don’t stop at the kitchen or the living room. He takes me directly to the bathroom.

There he holds me against his chest. And I can sense how paralyzed he is with indecision. He has no clue what to do, but he also has no idea that this is all I need.

When my tears have stopped and my face feels raw and swollen, he gently pulls me away from his chest. Instead of speaking, he moves toward the large claw-foot tub and turns on the faucet, pouring lavender-scented bubbles under the stream of water and checking the temperature.

Then he delicately pulls me toward the tub and sits on the edge as he carefully pulls my dress over my head. And since my panties are still in his pocket, I’m fully naked before him.

His hands are on my hips, and his eyes are on my face. The quiet moment stretches wordlessly before he leads me to the water, holding my hand as I climb in, sinking quickly under the bubbles like it’s my safe haven.

He disappears for a moment, coming back with a washcloth. Instead of handing it to me, he dips it under the suds and uses it to gently wipe the tearstains from my cheeks.

Then he squeezes the water over my head, dousing my hair with it.

And I just lie there, letting him dote on me, feeling entirely at peace because I can’t remember the last time anyone ever took care of me. And I might still be angry at him, but it’s impossible to tear myself away from his attention.

When his hand sinks under the surface, gently cleaning every inch of me, I let my eyes close. He runs the washcloth over my chest and down my belly, over my hips and across the length of each leg. Even giving his attention to each of my toes on both feet.

As his hand travels up the inside of my leg, my eyes open.

But just as I expect him to touch me, he pulls his hand away.

He wrings out the washcloth and drapes it over the side of the

tub. Then he drops into a sitting position and rests his back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

After a moment, he finally speaks.

“You were right. I fucking hate that you were right.”

“About what?” I whisper.

“I’ve followed the rules my entire life. I’ve always said what I’m supposed to say. I behaved the way I was supposed to behave. And now…I don’t know what the fuck to say half the time. I don’t even know who I am.”

“Adam, that’s not—” I whisper.

“I didn’t stick my neck out for my brother. When my father berated him, belittled him, humiliated him, I said nothing. Isaac was seventeen when he came out.” His voice trembles as he speaks. “He was just a kid, and I was a man.

Why didn’t I defend him? I could have helped him. I should have protected him, but I was too focused on being the good son.

“Then, the day before his eighteenth birthday, he just…

disappeared. It broke my mother’s heart, and I did nothing.”

These tears sting because these are the ones I don’t want to cry. I don’t like hearing Adam’s pain. I hate knowing that he’s beating himself up for something that is really his father’s fault.

“I’m sorry…”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you what you deserve, Sage.”

I don’t respond as I swallow down what feels like knives in my throat. But just the acknowledgment that Adam thinks about my needs, that we could be an us, stops me from speaking.

He turns toward me with bloodshot eyes.

“It was real, and you deserve a man who can admit that.”

“You just did,” I reply with a teary smile.

I can tell by the look in his eye that it’s not enough for him.

That he still doesn’t feel worthy.





Thirty

Adam

T he rain drums quietly against the window as I stare at the moon through the drizzle. I can’t sleep. Sage is breathing quietly next to me, cuddled under a heavy blanket, looking peaceful, and all I can think about is every cruel and depraved thing I’ve done to her.

I’m no better than him. And by him, I’m not even sure if I mean Brett or Truett, but it doesn’t matter. Because the three of us are the same.

My entire life, I considered myself a good man, and now I don’t even know what that means. I followed all the rules. I read the gospel. I lived the life my father and God set out for me to live and everyone I truly cared about ended up hurt. My mother. My brother. And her.