The Heartbreaker (The Goode Brothers #3)

Prologue

Lucas

13 years old

M y mother sets a cake in the center of the table as I stare at my brother over the thirteen individual flames.

“One, two, three, go,” Adam announces.

Caleb starts to laugh, but quickly presses his lips together as he gazes wide-eyed at me across the table.

Mom starts singing first, her sweet soprano voice louder than my brothers’ or dad’s. Isaac and Adam are standing on either side of the table, trying to make one of us blink as Caleb and I battle each other in a staring contest. The same staring contest we have every year on our birthday.

I won last year, and neither of us has won two years in a row yet, so I’m trying my best to beat him again.

“Boys, knock it off,” my father booms from the head of the table in the middle of the song.

When Isaac waves his hand in front of Caleb’s face to get him to blink, Dad swats him in the back of the head, and I flinch, blinking immediately .

“I won!” Caleb proclaims, throwing his hands in the air.

I can’t take my eyes off Isaac as he clearly fights the urge to cry.

“Blow out your candles!” Mom says excitedly.

Still tense from watching my dad hit my brother, I forget to make a wish as I lean forward and blow out the candles with Caleb. Mom kisses the top of my head before she cuts the cake and hands me a piece.

“Happy birthday, my sweet boys,” she says.

Then, she hugs Isaac to her side and I see a single tear fall down his cheek, so I push my cake away and glare at the man at the head of the table.

I think my mom notices because she immediately tries to distract us and lighten the mood—ever the mediator.

“What did you boys wish for?” she asks excitedly as she takes a bite of cake from her own plate.

“I bet Luke wished to finally get a girlfriend,” Caleb jests with a laugh.

I scowl at him. “I don’t even want a girlfriend,” I reply. “I bet you wished for an extra brain cell since you probably lost the last one playing football.”

He flips me off where our mother can’t see it and I laugh to myself. Even my dad cracks a smile at seeing my brother and I poke fun at each other.

But when the room goes quiet for a second, little Isaac asks, “Do you want a boyfriend?”

The sound of a fork clinking against a small dessert plate is the only sound in the room as we all stare wide-eyed at Isaac.

“What did you just say?” our dad asks with a cruel, biting tone.

Isaac starts to shrink into himself. The tension creeps in as I wait for him to say something, trying to understand why he would ask that.

“Be—because Luke said he doesn’t want a girl…friend.”

Isaac’s only six years old. He doesn’t understand why a teenage boy doesn’t want a girlfriend, and his innocent mind only assumes that means I want the opposite.

“It’s okay, buddy,” I say, staring at him with warmth in my expression. “That’s not what I meant, but it’s not wrong to ask that. Some boys do want boyfriends.” I know full well this response will not go over well at our family table with our dad at the head.

A loud booming sound fills the dining room as my father’s fist lands against the table, rattling the dishes.

“Lucas, so help me God,” he shouts. “If you don’t stop it, right now.”

I feel his angry gaze on my face so I turn to glare right back at him. “Stop what?”

“That’s enough now,” my mother chirps next to my little brother. “Isaac was just confused.”

But no one is paying her any mind. The focus is on my father and me right now and a very different stare-down than I just shared with my twin.

“You know damn well what,” he grits through his teeth. “We don’t talk about such deadly sins at the table and you know it.”

“How could love be a sin?” I argue.

“Lucas, stop,” Adam mutters in frustration.

Caleb is watching our dad across the table as if he’s ready to pounce, waiting for me to tag him in like this is a wrestling match. I’m the brains, and he’s the brawn.

“That’s all Isaac is asking about,” I say. “He doesn’t know any better. What’s so wrong with asking if I want a boyfriend?”

“Because it’s a sin,” he grunts.

“And I asked how two people loving each other could be a sin.” I’m poking the bear, and I know it.

“Lucas, that’s enough,” my mom snaps. It grates on my nerves that she asks me to stop but not him.

My dad’s face is red and I imagine smoke billowing from his ears. At this point, I’m too energized by his frustration to stop. I want to see just how mad I can make him .

“How can it be a sin?” he argues. “Because the Bible tells us so, and no son of mine is going to speak against the word of God. Now don’t you dare go and put those disgusting ideas in your innocent brother’s head, you understand me? I don’t care that it’s your birthday. One more word out of you, Lucas Goode, and I’ll remove you from this table myself.”

I swallow down the bile rising in my throat. The dining room falls silent as I turn my clenched jaw expression down to the uneaten cake in front of me. Slowly and quietly, everyone starts eating again, but the room is bathed in so much tension that I can’t move.

Overwhelming hatred for everything swarms inside my head. Hatred for my father and his hypocritical lies. Hatred for my older brother who feeds into everything he says. Hatred for my mother who never stands up against my father but just tells us pretty lies to keep us happy.

That familiar desire to run away floods through me. Every time we get into one of these fights, I resist the urge to run. And these fights have been happening more and more lately. But where would I go? I am stuck in this prison for five more years.

Once I’m old enough, I’ll get a scholarship somewhere and I’ll never look back.

I lift my gaze from the plate and stare at my little brother across the table. His bottom lip is quivering as he resists the urge to cry.

Who’s going to stand up for him when I’m gone? If I don’t do it now then Isaac will never learn that we can and we should stand up against our dad. He’s not God. He’s not a king. He’s just a man. And I’m not afraid of him.

“What kind of God would condemn someone for who they love?” I mutter under my breath.

“What did you just say?” my dad barks.

“I won’t worship a God who condemns people for who they love.”

I barely get the words out when all hell breaks loose .

I see Caleb burst out of his chair as a heavy hand clamps down on the back of my neck. My chair tumbles backward as my mother screams, and I’m hauled out of the dining room.

“Truett, stop!” she shouts, but my father puts up a hand and huffs in her face.

“Mel, sit your ass down! These boys need to learn some discipline.”

All I can see is the floor as my father holds me with a punishing grip on my neck. I’m wincing in pain, but the fear is worse. The fear of what awaits me when he gets me alone.

I already know Dad will win. He always wins.

Caleb tries to pry Dad’s hand off my neck, but then he’s shoved violently away. He crashes against the wall, knocking a family photo from the nail as it comes crashing to the floor and shatters at his feet.

Isaac wails in fear as my dad continues his tirade, forcing me away from the rest of the family. I stumble on the steps, falling onto my face before he picks me up again and continues the march toward his office.

I’m not strong like Caleb or brave like Adam. I’m no match for my giant of a father. All I have to fight with are my words and those can’t protect me now. So, whatever happens next is going to hurt. I know that much.

Once we reach the office, he tosses me inside and slams the door, closing us in together.

I expect a lecture first, but he doesn’t waste time with words. At least none more eloquent than, “Ungrateful little brat.”

Suddenly, I’m hit so hard against the side of my face, it knocks me off my feet. It’s the blow of a lost temper. And it’s followed by more. Fury-filled and rampant, as if beating me is something he needs to get out of his system.

“You will listen to me, boy,” he barks through gritted teeth.

“I don’t have to listen to you!” I shout defiantly through tears and rage. My face is on fire, red and throbbing.

“Oh, you don’t think so?” he snaps back. “As long as you live in this house, you live under my rules, and I will not tolerate your rebellious bullshit!”

“I’ll never be a bigot like you!” I shout. I’ve never yelled at my parents. I hardly even yell at my brothers. But I’m thirteen now. A teenager. Nearly a man. And I’m drunk on it.

I want to scream my way out of this family. I want to punch and yell and fight until I’ve dismantled the entire house. Until there is nothing left of the Goodes.

He picks up the Bible from his desk and waves it at me. “You will learn some respect!” he shouts.

Then, I feel the blunt end of the book crashing against the side of my head. It’s a dull thunderous feeling that rattles my brain and makes my eyes feel like they’re going to fly from the sockets.

It shuts me up fast.

I’m holding the side of my head, looking for blood, and still in shock. It hurts so bad I can’t think straight. Can he do that? Is he allowed to hit me so hard? Spankings and smacks I’m used to, but beaten with an object… This is new. It never even registered to me that parents could do something so awful to their own kids.

My vision pulses and throbs and my hearing is deafened by a ringing noise. Am I dying?

Would he kill me?

He’s angry enough. And he hates me enough.

But surely my mother would stop him. Or Caleb.

But no one comes. I’m sitting on the floor of his office alone without any strength left to fight.

He won. He always wins.

“You think you’re so smart,” he says. He sounds breathless and almost remorseful. “You think the rules don’t apply to you. But trust me, son,” he says with a bite of anger. I slowly trail my eyes upward toward where he stands over me. “I will break you.”

My teeth are pressed together so tightly I’m afraid they’ll shatter.

“I hate you,” I whisper .

“I know you do,” he replies. “And you can hate me all you want, but you’ll serve the Lord eventually, Lucas. To save your very soul, I’ll be sure of it.”

He slams the book on his desk and storms out of the room. I’m still holding my head when I glance up to the door. Caleb is on the other side, glaring at him with rage in his eyes.

“Leave him in there,” my father bellows. “He’ll sleep on the floor tonight.”

I hear my mother argue, but my dad shuts her down immediately. As the door slams, shutting me inside alone, I slump against the floor and cry into the expensive rug.

It’s the first night I’ve spent away from Caleb, and it’s all my fault. Why couldn’t I just be quiet? What good did it do to argue with him? It scared my baby brother and upset my mom. Not to mention, I probably have a concussion now.

From now on, I’ll never speak up. In fact, I may never speak to him again.

Then, when I’m old enough, I’m gone. For good.