“You defend him,” Ryke tells me. “He says some pretty fucking horrible things right to your face, and you just stand there and take it or you walk away. And then the next day, you’ll talk about Jonathan like he’s a fucking savior.” I can’t feel that great burst of relief when he doesn’t compare me to him. I just feel like shit.
I grit my teeth. “What am I supposed to do? Punch him? I wasn’t into the whole let me beat the hell out of my father tragedy growing up. Sorry.”
“You’re right,” Ryke says, surprising me. “You were stuck in that house, with that fucking asshole. But right now, you have the option to leave him. And you’re going back.”
“He’s not all bad.”
“And there you go, sticking up for him again.”
“He’s my father.”
“He’s our father,” Ryke retorts.
I hit the wheel with my hand, nervous and pissed and so fueled right now. “I can’t cut him out of my life!” Not because of the money. Not because of the trust fund or the information I need from him. I can’t leave Jonathan Hale because he’s my family. He’s my dad, and before Ryke and Lily, he’s all I fucking had.
“Pull over for a second.”
“I’m not turning around.”
“Just pull over.”
I drive into a gas station and park the car by the pump. I face Ryke, and my chest rises at the empathy in his eyes. He’s about to drop a bomb on me, but he knows I can take it.
“No one is going to tell you this,” Ryke says. “Everyone says it behind your back, but you’re going to hear it from me, right now.”
I stare at him for a long moment, already hearing his words before he says them. I think I know. I’ve always known.
“Our dad abuses you,” Ryke says, his eyes reddening. “He’s verbally abusive, and he’s fucked with your head.”
I let this sink in, but I’m so numb to the answer. I just nod. “Yeah, I know.”
Ryke nods a few times too, watching me, trying to gauge my mental state. And maybe he’s reliving the fact that he was the older brother, the one who was handed the better deal of two really shitty ones, not having to be raised by him, not having to endure the onslaught of fucking grow up! I didn’t raise you to be such an idiot! Why are you crying? Stop. Fucking. Crying.
“Don’t guilt yourself over this,” I tell Ryke. I feel nothing. I should be red in the eyes like him, but I just can’t be. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Yeah,” Ryke says, nodding again, but he’s more upset than before. “The fact that you believe you can have a real relationship with him fucking terrifies me, Lo. That’s what kills me. And that’s why I don’t want to go there and watch him try to emotionally manipulate you.”
I break his gaze and stare at the wheel. “I’m not asking you to come with me.” My voice is edged but considerably low. “I can drop you off at your house.”
We sit in uncomfortable silence again. For maybe five minutes, both of us just thinking.
And then Ryke says, “If I go, you think he’ll lay off you?”
“Is that even a question?”
Ryke nods. “All right. Let’s go.”
“Are you sure?” He would do that? He’d go stomach a whole hour or two with our father just so the verbal assaults are redirected his way?
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
I don’t know what I’m feeling. My lungs seem to lift from my chest, and I know what word I want to say. I know what word I can’t.
Thank you.
In this moment, I truly feel like I have a brother. One that’s probably too good for me.
{ 45 }
LOREN HALE
“You don’t drink?” My father is hung up on this one fact about Ryke. Overhead fans circulate cool air on the patio, and I sit in between Ryke and my dad like someone about to referee an arm wrestle.
“Not since high school,” Ryke says. “I overdid it.” He doesn’t mention how he crashed his car into a mailbox.
“And that’s why you’ve deluded Loren into thinking he’s an alcoholic—because you couldn’t handle your liquor?”
The muscles in Ryke’s jaw twitch. “Get to the fucking point, Jonathan. Who’s the leak?”
My dad leans back in the iron chair, cupping his glass of scotch. “I’ll get to the fucking point when I feel like it. Maybe I want to have lunch with my two sons first.” He presses a button on his phone. “Carter, make three burgers for us.”