3. Bailey #2
“It doesn’t make sense,” I mutter, knowing how many times Dad has shown up for all of us. Even when he was in the thick of football season, he still did his best to make time for everyone. He wouldn’t abandon a kid he knew he had. It’s not who he is.
But maybe this is proof I don’t know my father at all.
I wipe at my eyes, but I shouldn’t be near tears in a diner over this. It’s fucking embarrassing.
“Hey, it’s okay to be upset. This . . . this has changed everything for me too,” he says, and I wish I was just upset. I’m so fucking angry, I don’t even know what to think.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my words slow while my brain struggles to adapt to this alternate reality where everything up until tonight could be a lie.
“Listen, I know this is a lot to take in, and I’m sorry I bombarded you with it.
I can’t tell you how grateful I am you took the time to hear me out.
If you need space to process, I get it. I’ve had a couple weeks to do that.
I only want the chance to get to know you and make up for lost time .
. . if it’s something you’d want too,” Carter says, pulling cash out of his wallet.
I’m not sure how to wrestle with this, but if he’s really my half brother, then I want to be able to see him again. I want to get to know him after all our stolen years.
“Can I have your phone number?” I blurt out, terrified if Carter leaves, I’ll never get the answers I didn’t know to look for until now.
He smiles, his shoulders relaxing. “Yeah, you can call or text me any time.”
I save his number, staring at the new contact in my phone, and I feel . . . cheated.
“I need some time to process this, but I do want to get to know you,” I say, swallowing the lump forming in my throat.
“Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
Maybe now is better than never.
I’m supposed to be at soccer practice.
Instead, I lied to my coach about being sick and faked a call from my parents to get me out of school so I could drive to the house I grew up in. The house where a family was built on lies and deceit .
It’s been two weeks since I met with Carter, and I’ve been scouring the internet for more information about the years surrounding the hidden gap in their relationship, but everything I’ve found has brought me to the same conclusion: Carter’s my dad’s kid.
I started texting Carter on and off again while digging through my parents’ old things for any proof he was Dad’s son, but there isn’t much at the beach house.
I know I need more proof before I can ask Dad why he abandoned Carter, and the house in Charlotte is my best chance.
I heard Hunter tell Kaitlyn earlier he talked to Mira, and I guess she’s going out with her coworkers tonight. I’ve been ignoring her and JJ’s calls because I’m not ready to find out if they knew about Carter or not.
When I spoke with Carter on the phone last night, I asked some questions about his childhood, and I didn’t realize how desperate I’d been for someone to connect with until I heard he played soccer.
I love my brothers, but they’ll never understand what it’s like to grow up as the only son of the great Sebastian Walker who didn’t play football.
Maybe Mira would have understood if she hadn’t competed at the Olympics, but she can’t. For fuck’s sake, she was on a cereal box two years ago.
I’m great at soccer, yet it’s never seemed to hold a candle to the love my family has for football.
But now I don’t have to be alone.
I’ve been digging through boxes in the attic, hoping to find something, but also praying I won’t.
There’s so much dust covering everything up here, I can’t stop sneezing.
My fingers brush against what feels like an envelope, and I feel light-headed as I pull it from the bottom of a box filled with vintage Blue Panthers gear.
I recognize Dad’s handwriting in a heartbeat, pulling out the old letter and scanning it.
It’s for my mom, and the date in the corner lines up with the dates from that summer.
Lia,
I hate being apart from you. I know I’ve said the same thing in all of my letters to you, but it’s true.
We’ve wasted so much time. I wasted so much time because I didn’t listen to you.
I was blinded by hurt, and I know you’ve forgiven me, but I’m not sure I’ve forgiven myself yet.
I don’t like to think about the years we’ve spent apart, so I’m trying something different by thinking about everything I want with you.
I want a life with you, in any shape or form you’ll have me.
I’d love to give you a ring and my last name, but they don’t mean everything to me anymore.
I’d rather we choose each other every day for the rest of our lives because we want to, and not because we feel like we have to because of a piece of paper. You already have all of me.
I’m not sure if I’ll ever give this to you, but if I’m being selfish, I like to dream of the house on the beach you spoke about.
You know I’ve always wanted a big family, but it doesn’t matter to me how we have it.
Hell, if it’d make you happy, Henry can have his own room at our house.
I dream of trips to France, babies with your smile, and being your biggest fan. All of my dreams are with you .
I have a lot of regrets, but leaving Kiera isn’t one of them. I shouldn’t have stayed with her as long as I did. I know her pregnancy complicates things, especially with the media, but you know the truth, and that’s all that matters to me.
I won’t apologize for loving you.
Forever yours,
Bash
A wet mark appears on the faded paper, and I lift a shaking hand to wipe my cheeks, surprised to learn I’m crying.
This letter means so many different things, but it’s practically an admission of my parents’ guilt.
Since I was little, my parents—but especially Dad—have been big on telling the truth. It’s never okay to tell a lie. One leads to more, and it turns into a never-ending cycle. Promises are meant to be kept. Now I see it for exactly what it means.
I’ve always wanted to be like my dad, but he’s the biggest liar of all.
I hate him for hurting Carter and his mom, for hurting me, and for the lies. Everything could have been so different.
How am I supposed to believe anything they’ve said? Every time my parents would remind us of how important the truth was, they were lying .
I have a brother I know nothing about—one I could’ve bonded with, and who would have seen me.
But Dad took that away because he didn’t want to admit he’s not as perfect as he’s led us all to believe.
It’s all been lies.
I grab the letter, taking off down the stairs, trying to catch my breath as memories of growing up here chase me. How many people have been hurt by their lies? None of this was real.
How could they do this to us? To our family? To Carter?
And then my anger turns into a flame when I walk into the living room, spotting the lighter sitting next to a candle on the coffee table.
It feels like I’ve been possessed, holding the edge of the letter to the small flame before dropping it on the rug.
It can’t decide if it wants to burn or not, but then, as if sensing how poisoned everything in this house is, the fire starts to dance, spreading across the rug before I can change my mind.
I trip over my feet as I backpedal, my heart thundering in my chest as I force myself to walk out the front door I came in through.
What the fuck did I do? I drag my hand through my hair, trying to catch my breath. Am I fucking insane?
How am I supposed to undo this? Two wrongs don’t make a right, and if anything, I should have saved the letter instead of burning it.
There’s a fire extinguisher in the garage.
I can still fix this. The rug is probably unsalvageable, but I can lie and say I knocked over the candle when I came back to grab something for the new school year. I made a mistake, but I can fix this.
I run back inside the house, but I didn’t think about how quickly the fire would spread. The entire room is filled with flames, now climbing the walls, and the heat kisses my cheeks.
Oh my god.
I make a split-second decision to cover my tracks, darting through the kitchen to exit through a side door.
There’s a rock near the ground, and maybe if they think someone broke in, no one will realize it was me.
I chuck it through the glass window above the lock, then I run as if it’ll be enough to save me.
None of it was real.
Not one bit.
Maybe it deserves to burn.