Chapter 39
Poppy
“ Excuse me?” My voice comes out more of a squeak than words.
Julian ’ s grip tightens around me, grounding me on the earth. “ Henry. Your brother had mine keep an eye on you,” he repeats.
He could say it a million times, but I still will never believe it.
No way. I shake my head in disbelief, wrenching my hand free as I stand abruptly. The table's edge jabs into my side, sending my coffee into a mini tidal wave across the surface. “ Stop saying that!” I shout, my voice cracking under the strain. “ That has to be a lie.” I ’ ve gone so pale I ’ d make Casper the ghost look like he had a tan.
“ Henry wouldn ’ t do that. Henry stopped caring about me when I killed Peter.”
“ You didn ’ t kill Peter,” Julian snaps. “ You did not kill your brother, Poppy Moore. Stop believing it, stop saying it.”
I ignore him.
Is this a surreal joke?
I try to escape the conversation, the kitchen, the revelation, but the tiny space traps me just as effectively as Julian ’ s confession. I find myself anchored to the countertop, gripping it for support.
Henry, my brother, has been more ghost than family for the past three years, fading into a silhouette in my life. Shadows don ’ t watch you; they haunt you.
“ I know it ’ s overwhelming,” Julian starts, his voice gentler this time, his chair scraping against the floor as he stands. “ But knowing he was your brother… it ’ s the only thing that stopped me from confronting him directly. He had good intentions, Poppy.”
“ Good?” I scrape my tongue over my teeth. The word tastes foreign on my tongue.
I clutch at my throat, hoping if I squeeze it, it will keep the emotions bubbling up at bay.
“ For three years, I was just the girl at the reception desk to Henry. Three years of watching him walk past me, holding on to a sliver of hope he ’ d acknowledge me. Even if it was with disdain, at least it would be something. Just one look was all I wanted, Julian.”
How can a broken heart continue to break?
“ Henry made me feel like I died along with Peter. Made me feel invisible, but even through all that, I kept fighting for his acknowledgment. I kept fighting because he was my brother. I ’ d take anything but his ignorance, I ’ d take his anger, his hate, anything, but I got nothing,” I whisper as tears cascade, burning trails down my cheeks, a cocktail of shock, anger, and a hint of relief so potent it threatens to overwhelm me.
Henry wanted someone to watch over me. He cared, after all.
I didn ’ t lose both brothers that night.
I finally have answers and feel the last pages of those terrible chapters of my life closing, but I feel like the next few chapters of my life are filled with more uncertainties.
Why did Henry do it?
"I finally moved on," I snorted a bitter laugh, "I thought I did until Andrew came back into my life, and now you're telling me my brother actually cared about me."
I guess it is true; you can't start a new chapter until you finish the last.
I can ’ t bring myself to face Julian. I feel stupid, embarrassed, hurt, and betrayed, so I turn away from him, wishing the cabinets would open up into a land like Narnia, if only for a few minutes so that I could breathe freely.
Why wouldn ’ t Henry just tell me?
A look, a blink, a gesture, a single syllable, a word. I forgive you; I ’ m sorry. I still love you.
Anything.
“ Are you sure?” The whisper barely makes it out; the fragile hope it carries is almost too much to bear.
“ Yeah. Henry and Theo became friends in college.” Julian's voice is soft, ethereal even, so gentle like the cape of a hero gently floating in the caress of the wind.
He steps closer, his hand hovering in the air between us—hesitant, as if unsure whether to complete the journey to my shoulder. Maybe he ’ s worried if he touches me, I ’ ll crumble.
I finally look up and see the warmth in his eyes, as sharp as a needle trying to knit the frayed edges of my world back together. I feel so tattered you couldn't even make a quilt out of my emotions. I'm just barren threads.
If Henry and Theo were such good friends, then why didn ’ t I know Theo?
Then it hits me. Swallows me whole.
The memory of the day Henry left invades my thoughts—he coldly marched down our house's hallway, leaving me behind when I needed him the most. I accepted his departure, blaming myself for the death of our brother. Henry never returned to our college; he transferred, only coming back after graduation to take over our parents' company.
That must have been when Henry and Theo met.
But why wouldn't Henry look at me?
How can you care about someone so deeply that you'd go to great lengths to ensure their safety yet refuse to acknowledge their presence?
Julian ’ s hand gently lands on my shoulder, its warmth seeping through the fabric of my shirt. "I know this must be devastating. I don't have all the right words, but I'm here, Poppy," he assures, his fingers pressing lightly, offering a solid presence in the turmoil swirling around us. "I'll help you get through this."
Slowly, I reach out and cup my hand over his. “ I ’ m sorry you were put in the middle of this,” I mutter. “ You must really love me; that or my pussy is amazing because any other man would have run away from my absolutely insane drama.” I try to joke, forcing my brain to make my muscles smile. I just need to laugh, to feel some grounding emotion other than shock.
I don't laugh, and the smile feels fake.
What's real are the tears falling down my face, and the man still standing beside me.
"I don't know what to think," I mutter.
"Hey, it's okay," Julian soothes, gently cradling my face in his hands. His thumb, ever so softly, sweeps across my cheeks, chasing the trails of my tears away as if he could also erase the confusion they sprang from. Tell me what you need.”
"I don't know what I need," the confession spills out of me before I can catch the words. There is a pause, heavy with realization, and then, "No, that's not entirely true." My eyes fall away from his, a confession in my gaze before it shifts. "I need to see Henry.”
“ Then let ’ s go see him.”
***
“ Tell me what you need?” Harper says.
“ A lobotomy,” I scold as I turn on the shower.
“ I can probably find an ice pick in this old house. Julian can hold you down, and I ’ ll start poking,” she replies. The shock is evident on her face. My beautiful best friend looks as lost and confused as I feel.
“ Do you want me to come with you when you go see Henry?” Harper asks.
I turn the knob all the way to hot, hoping it will be scalding. After my shower, Julian is going to drive me to my parents' corporate office, where Henry works as CEO. I ’ m going to confront him. This time, I refuse to be invisible. I want answers, and I won ’ t leave until I get them.
“ If you come, will you be silent?” I raise a brow.
“ Silent?” She mocks. “ What does that mean?”
“ I need answers.”
“ I can get them for you,” she crosses her arms.
“ I think it ’ s best you stay here,” I reach for her arms, “ I love you, but I need to fight this battle alone. Every other battle is fair game for you to fight for me.”
Her lips press into a thin line. “ Remember not to tuck your thumb inside your fist when you punch. Always keep it on the outside.”
“ This is a verbal battle.”
She shrugs, “ Still good advice to have. You want a bottle of wasp spray?”
“ No,” I feel a laugh trying to form on my lips. Harper ’ s always a balm to my wounds, and now Julian is the bandaid over that balm. Both of them, my first aid kit, mended me back to health.
Harper looks at the small mirror, which is filling with steam. She ’ s been quiet and distant, as if being here, back in our hometown, has ghosts haunting her, too. “ Are you okay?” I ask.
“ I’ve never been better. My bestie is getting closure,” she reaches out and cups my cheek. I just want you to be happy.”
“ I want you to be happy too. What ’ s going on with you and Kent?” I ask her, feeling guilty I haven't probed more.
She drops her hand, “ You ’ re wasting water,” she deflects as she turns my shoulders and slaps my ass, “ Get in the shower so I can hear all the gossip once you're back.”
“ Fine,” I glance back at her over my shoulder, “ But you know what ’ s going to happen once we sort my life out, don ’ t you?”
Her brows inch up.
“ We are going to sort out your life,” I promise her, and for the first time, I see genuine worry cover her beautiful face.