“Any preferences, Mr. Hale?”
“The usual.”
“They’ll be right out.” The line clicks.
“I’m not your son,” Ryke says, even though he does, on occasion, call Jonathan his father when he’s trying to make a point. Like in the car. “My mother took full custody of me, in case you forgot.”
“How old are you?” My dad asks mockingly. “Oh wait, you’re twenty-two. In the eyes of the American judicial system, you’re an adult. And as an adult, you’re not your mother’s property like that Ferrari she bought with my money in her goddamn driveway.”
Ryke rubs his jaw in agitation and looks around the patio like he’s trying to find some excuse to leave, but then his gaze drifts to me and he stops searching for that escape.
We can’t go until we find out the leak. And if that means eating a burger with the devil, then so be it.
My father sets his scotch down and focuses on me. “Have you met your mother yet?”
Shit. I can feel Ryke’s confusion and livid heat permeate in the air. “Not yet, I’ve actually been waiting for Lily to…adjust.”
“You’re going to meet your mother?” Ryke asks, accusation lacing the words.
My father doesn’t cut in, which means he’s curious about our relationship, wondering how close we’ve become these past months.
“Yeah,” I say.
Ryke shakes his head. “How long have you had her name? How’d you find her?” And then realization floods his face, looking between our dad and me. “You two have been speaking this whole time…” But his hate is redirected at Jonathan. “Can’t you leave him alone for one minute?”
“He wanted to know who his mother was. It’s not your place or mine to make that decision for him.” He sips his scotch casually, incensing Ryke more.
“I don’t care about that. I care that you used that information to draw him back in. I care that you push him to drink.”
“Ryke…” I start and then stop, not wanting to defend my father. Not now. “I was going to tell you that I started talking to him.”
“When? When I find you in the hospital bleeding from your stomach because you drank?”
My father groans. “You’re not still taking that ridiculous pill.”
Ryke turns on him. “It’s not a fucking joke.”
“It is,” my dad says. “You’re making him soft.”
“Yeah, you made sure he was fucking sharp, didn’t you?”
“Stop, both of you,” I say coldly. “I don’t want to talk about alcohol or Emily.”
“Fine,” my father says and stands to replenish his glass. “What do you do Ryke? Or are you like your mother, gobbling up all my money on furniture and clothes?”
“How about we leave my mother, the woman you fucking cheated on, out of the conversation as well.”
“Forgive me if I don’t like the bitch,” he says. “I always wanted you two to meet, and because I wanted it, she could barely tolerate the idea. And here you are, closer than ever. It’s as if it was always meant to be.” He grins, as if he set fate into motion.
“It wasn’t your doing,” Ryke refutes. “I didn’t meet Lo because of you. I met him because I wanted to.”
My father rolls his eyes dramatically. “I can’t ever win with you. Ever since you asked me some silly goddamn question and you didn’t like the answer.”
“I was fifteen,” Ryke sneers. “I just found out I had a brother. I felt lied to and cheated on. I needed your compassion and you fucking spit in my face. But I guess I should have known better.”
“You didn’t need compassion.” My father grimaces at the word. “You needed the truth, and I gave it to you. It’s not my fault you were too weak to handle it.”
“What are you guys talking about?” I ask, hesitating. Maybe I shouldn’t know. But I hate being in the dark.
My father is quick to answer. “Ryke asked me a simple question that day. Would you like to tell him, Ryke?’
“Fuck you,” Ryke sneers.
“I suppose not.” He takes a small sip from his drink, smacking his lips before he continues. “He asked me if I could take back the day that I fucked your mother—take back having you—would I?”
My throat goes dry, not expecting that. I think I know his answer. Because even in his hatred, his bigotry and vileness—there is one fact that my father has never let me question.