Chapter 40
Forty
Colt
I get rid of the condom and throw on pants and a shirt, the level of noise coming down the hall telling me this is going to be a nightmare.
It’s after two.
I’m exhausted.
I just had the best orgasm of my life after a game where we absolutely trounced the Gold and did it scoring two goals and getting an assist on a third, and all of that was with my brother and Kylie in the stands.
Fucking perfect.
And now…
This shit.
“Hey, maybe you should take a breath?” Kylie says as I reach for the door handle.
She’s pulled on pajamas and one of my sweatshirts, the material absolutely dwarfing her.
And I know she’s concerned, know she needs me to be calm.
But fuck, I can hear my mother’s voice.
“She hasn’t even seen my house before right now,” I say, resting my forehead on the door. “And if I’m being honest, she didn’t bother to see my two previous houses.”
She sucks in a breath.
“She and my dad have been to less games than Blake and he’s fucking dying.”
“He’s—”
“His lungs are shit. His heart is failing. His kidney values suck. My brother isn’t going to live to be eighty. Hell, he might not even make forty, we all fucking know it, and—”
Her hand settles on my back as I suck in a breath, trying to swallow down the lump in my throat.
“He had a great night tonight,” I rasp.
“We all did,” she whispers when I can’t find the words to go on. “And now they’re here, doing…” A sigh as the volume increases further. “Doing that.”
“Ruining it.”
“Yeah.” I blow out a breath. “I need to get out there. Blake—”
Needs me.
She’s going to steamroll him and my dad will be his usual detached self and then it’ll be months before I see him and—
“You deserved more than they gave you.”
The air in my lungs freezes and I turn to her. “Come here.”
No hesitation before she steps into my arms. That trust heals another piece of me and I wrap her tight, inhale that soft floral scent of her, listen to her slow and steady breathing.
A minute of peace.
A moment of quiet before I face the shit that always cuts me deep.
Then we’re breaking apart, but Kylie doesn’t let me go completely.
Her fingers wrap around mine.
And then we’re walking down the hall.
The light’s on in the kitchen and I might have been amused at my brother foraging for a middle of the night snack and leaving the remnants on the counter—a box of cereal, the milk, a bowl and a spoon—if not for the pair standing beside him.
“I cannot believe you went behind my back,” my mom is shouting, leaning over Blake, her finger in his face.
God, he hates that.
And my dad just standing there—
Fuck, but I don’t know what’s worse.
The shouting, the bullying, the smothering care…or the complete dissociation, even at two in the morning.
“I didn’t go behind your back!” Blake shouts back. “I told you I was coming no matter what. You just tried to pull your usual crap so I wouldn’t be able to.”
That doesn’t surprise me.
“It was dangerous,” she snaps. “You might get sick!”
Blake’s face is red, his jaw painfully set. He reaches for the bowl on the table, but she brushes his hand away. “And you shouldn’t eat that crap—”
“Mom,” I begin.
“It’s processed and has too much sugar and your body needs proper nutrients—”
“My body is fucking dying, Mom!” Blake screams. “I’m fucking dying. Every year, every month, every week I get a little worse. So, yeah, if I want to watch my brother play then I’m going to watch my brother play—”
“It’s just hockey—”
“No, it’s not!” He shoves her hand back, picks up the bowl and brings it over to the sink. “It’s my life and Colt’s life and it’s not fucking about you.”
“Now, I know you’re upset I’m not supportive about Sara—”
I go stiff.
“No, Mom,” Blake says, snagging the milk and bringing it to the fridge. “You’ve been so goddamned terrible to Sara it’s a miracle she still talks to me, still wants to build a relationship with me.”
Our mom glowers.
“And I don’t know what your problem is, but I do know it’s a miracle that Colt”—his eyes come to mine—“still talks to you. Though, I guess he could take a page out of Dad’s book and pretend you don’t exist.”
“Blake,” I warn, even as our dad doesn’t so much as look up.
“No,” my brother says as he glances back at our mom. “Sara’s decided that she’s not related to you so she doesn’t have to put up with your shit. And you know what? I don’t fucking blame her.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” Blake is breathing heavily, sweat sheening on his forehead.
Fuck.
“Hey,” I say. “Let’s all take a breath. Mom, Dad, it’s late. Why don’t we get you guys set up in the other guest room? We’ll all get some sleep and we can talk more about this in the morning.”
“No!” my mom snaps, barely looking at me. “We’re solving this right now.”
“Blake doesn’t feel well—”
“Because you dragged him on a plane and exposed him to a petri dish of germs—”
I glance at my dad.
Nothing.
Fucking typical.
I look at Blake, who’s now pale in addition to sweaty.
Kylie moves to his side.
“Don’t you dare touch him!” my mom rushes over, shoving Kylie back into the cabinets.
“Mom!” Blake shouts.
Kylie gasps, clutching her hip. “I think we all need to calm down.”
I move to her side, hand brushing hers away, rubbing at the spot that has to hurt. “Baby,” I begin, apologies bubbling up.
“I’m okay,” she whispers. “But Blake isn’t.” She nods at my brother.
“Tell her,” Blake rasps.
I frown, and when Kylie nudges me, I move closer, boxing my mom out so I can hear him properly and ignore her nonstop blustering. “Tell who what?”
“Tell Mom what she did to you.”
I rock back on my heels, heart pounding. “It doesn’t matter.”
He squeezes my hand. Hard. “It does.”
“She won’t listen.”
“But you need to tell her anyway.”
He holds my eyes and I sigh. “Giving advice to your big brother?”
“It’s my prerogative as the younger and more good-looking sibling.” He squeezes again. “Tell her. I need you to tell her.”
That gets me, likely in the way he knew it would.
So, I nod.
And then I turn to my mom.
She won’t hear me, not really. The words, my life, it will always be background noise to her.
“I need you to stop and listen to me.” Her eyes flash and she shoves at my chest, but I don’t move.
And I don’t stop talking. Because Blake needs this…
and I guess, some part of me needs it too.
“Do you understand how you’ve nearly broken both of us?
Do you understand that your obsession with Blake’s health makes it almost impossible for him to live a full life? ”
“He needs—”
“To live, Mom. To take pleasure in what he can do. Not what he can’t. And you need to get a fucking life.” Before she can reply, I go on, “Your life can’t be living for him—”
“I don’t—”
“Tell me one thing you’ve done in the last two decades that hasn’t involved Blake.”
Her mouth snaps closed, eyes flashing.
“You certainly don’t have any hobbies or any friends. Fuck, Dad has spent most of those years—when he’s graced us with his presence, that is—checked out.”
“Frank,” she snaps.
But my dad barely lifts his head from his phone. “What?”
She glares. “Say something!”
“Respect your mother,” he replies dutifully.
Then looks right back at his phone.
My mom makes a sound of fury, but I’m not done.
Blake’s right.
It’s beyond time.
“You smothered him and neglected me. You can barely look at me, can barely acknowledge my presence. I spent most of my life desperate for you to pay attention to me, to fucking love me, and it hurts, Mom. It hurts that you can’t seem to do the bare fucking minimum.”
I exhale, shove down the vitriol that wants to escape.
I won’t be that person.
No, I’ll be better.
“That’s done. I’m done. I get you have no interest in my life.
That’s…well, it’s not fucking fine because you were supposed to be my parent, but I’m going to find a way to be okay with it because I’m an adult and I don’t want to keep living with this goddamned hole inside me.
” I rub at my chest, at the ache that’s still there, but an ache I know is going to fade.
Because I’m building something better.
“The only thing I want to know,” I say, “is how you could do that to a kid.”
The room goes quiet, so quiet I can hear the soft whoosh of Blake’s oxygen.
“How, Mom?” I press when she doesn’t answer.
A shake of her head.
“How?” I ask again. “Just tell me ho—”
“Because I didn’t want you!” she screams and I jerk back at the tone, at the words, at the utter hate in her eyes.
“I didn’t want you and that bastard put you in me and you’re lucky I decided to keep you at all because I sure as hell didn’t have to!
” She glares at my father. “But Frank said I should because the two of us couldn’t get pregnant, so it was a gift. ” She sneers the last.
My head starts spinning and I have to dig my toes into the floor to keep myself upright.
“And then I did have my baby—my baby.” She looks at Blake, who’s gone even paler. “Not the one that monster forced in me, the one I was forced to keep…but mine, and he was sick, and I knew God was telling me that I needed to put all of my care into him, needed to love him with everything I am.”
Her eyes lock back onto mine and I brace.
But bracing doesn’t do me one lick of good.
“How could I do it, you ask?” She comes closer, jabbing her finger into my chest, the look in her eyes so cold a chill skates down my spine. “Because I hate you. And I always will. And I will never forgive you for being here, for being perfect when my baby is—”
“Donna—”
But I don’t get a chance to process that my dad actually sounds like he’s paying attention for once, that his tone is sharp, that he finally succeeds in getting my mom to shut the fuck up.
Because Kylie gasps.
And Blake…
Fuck.
Well, I turn just in time to watch my brother have a seizure.