The Anti-Hero (The Goode Brothers, #1)(94)

I’ve had it wrong this entire time.

The only bad thing I’ve ever done was try to be the next Truett Goode.

“Are you okay, honey?” my mother asks as she approaches me from behind, placing her hands on my back.

“Yeah,” I reply, nodding my head. “I just…realized something.”

“Adam, listen to me.” With her hands on my arms, she spins me until I’m facing her. Then with her hands on my cheeks, she forces me to look into her eyes. “You’re not like him, baby. You are a good man and a good son. It’s okay if you were lost or if your faith in one man led you astray. I taught my boys to think for themselves, but I was afraid he already had his claws in you.”

It’s like being punched in the heart, having my eyes opened for the first time in my life. Seeing my family for the people they are.

Touching her wrists, I realize what it is I desperately need to know about my mother.

“Did you…know?” I ask, searching her eyes for answers.

Her features fall, guilt written across her face. “Yes. I knew about your father.”

“Jesus,” I reply, turning away from her. Snatching the half-full glass of wine off the table, I guzzle it down without stopping. It’s not strong enough.

Turning my back to my mother and this little nugget of information I’m not quite ready to face, I head into the house and march straight up the stairs. She calls after me, but I don’t stop. Even when I reach the closed French doors of his office, I tear them open and walk directly to the bottle of whiskey he keeps in the small bar in the corner.

Hands shaking, I pour myself a glass. After tossing the stopper on the floor, I throw the shot back with a wince.

Once I feel the alcohol burn my throat and warm my bloodstream, I think about the bombshells my mother has dropped at my feet.

She knows where Isaac is.

She’s protecting him from me.

She knew about my father’s cheating ways the entire time.

Was I the only one in the dark? Did I have my head so far up that man’s ass that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me? What would have become of me if none of this would have happened?

I would have been the next Truett Goode. Liar, hypocrite, cheater, homophobic, abusing, murdering monstrous piece of shit.

“No,” I mutter to myself as I pour another shot. “No.”

It burns its way down like the first one.

Before I know what’s happening, I’m on the floor, my back to the wall as I sob with my head hanging between my knees.

That’s not me. I never lied and I wouldn’t in a million years have treated my family the way he did. I’d sooner chop

my own hand off before I’d lay it on my child or a woman as innocent and perfect as my Peaches.

Thirty-seven years I devoted to that man and what do I have to show for it?

When my tears have dried and my sadness has melted into anger, I stand from the floor and walk over to his desk. Staring at the empty chair where he once sat, I think of all the things I’d like to say to him now.

Three weeks ago, he asked my mother to send me a message asking for a meeting with me. And I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or not, but I’m suddenly feeling ready for that conversation. But I want to go in prepared.

Making a mess of his desk, I shuffle papers from the various piles before I find the document I want.

Holding the deed between my fingers, I pull out my phone.

After dialing his number, I hold it to my ear and wait while it rings.

His voice sounds weak and tired on the other side.

“Adam?”

“You want to talk, motherfucker? Let’s fucking talk.”





Forty-Four

Adam

M y hand is clenched around the manila envelope. I’ve already left a fist-size indentation along the edge from clutching it too tight. With every floor the elevator passes, the tremble in my bones gets worse.

I’m about to be alone with him, and I can’t seem to get the image of him with his hands wrapped around Sage’s neck out of my mind.

My moral compass isn’t just skewed. It’s dead. The needle no longer points north. I’m not sure where it’s pointing at the moment because the temptation to walk into that hotel room and end his miserable existence calls to me like a gross, violent seduction.

As the elevator chimes, I pick my head up and face forward.

Where there would normally be an entourage of assistants and security guards, there is no one. Just an empty hallway in a four-star hotel, where my father is currently hiding.

As I approach his door, I take a deep breath and look back at the papers in my hand. There aren’t many in this folder, and really only one that matters. I’m not sure how I’m going to go about this, whether it be blackmail, begging, or violence, but I know which one sounds more satisfying. I also don’t know what state he’ll be in when I go in there. Will he be the smug, pompous, ego-inflated asshole who I sat across from four months ago?

Or will he be humbled?

I’m not sure which one I want.

It’ll be a lot harder to kick his ass if he’s desperate and apologetic, but not impossible.

So I guess there’s only one way to find out. My knuckles rap on the door. Then I hear his footsteps heavy on the hotel

carpet before the dead bolt clicks as he unlocks it. A moment later, he opens it, and then…there he is.