4. Blake #2
I seethed at her, hating that she was right.
Beneath the blood rushing past my ears, a tiny corner of my brain registered that this wasn’t the first time Addie had seen us do something stupid. It was on brand—us being reckless idiots while she steered us down the right path. Keeping me from fucking up my plans.
From deep under the haze of my sudden tunnel vision, I registered that.
But the part of my brain revved up by adrenaline? It sped by her logic. It shot straight past reason to fear over the consequences I’d escaped this time, and it dragged up why I’d done it.
Before I could stop myself, I opened my fucking mouth.
“Well, maybe if you weren’t half-naked on the dance floor gyrating like a stripper, we wouldn’t be fighting off fucking assholes in the first place!”
Her eyes widened in shock. “What did you just say to me?”
Adam shoved his hands in his pockets, walking backward, as if he wasn’t six foot-fucking-three and clearly visible.
I glared at him, but then I growled at her, furious that she didn’t understand. The way she affected people. The position it put me in each time. Every day for the last four years. Like I needed the constant reminder of what they all wanted and couldn’t have. What I—
“Addie, you scold me for being reckless, ignoring that I stepped in tonight because those assholes were talking about you like you were nothing more than a young, cheap whore,” I spat the words, hating the way they tasted on my tongue. “Maybe next time, grow up and act right yourself!”
The second I said it, I knew I’d fucked up.
Addie’s mouth dropped open.
Tears brimmed her coal-lined eyes, and I winced.
But anger, pent-up frustration, and the sensation of something I couldn’t name spinning wildly out of my control kept me from retreating.
Until her voice gutted me.
“I can’t believe you just said that to me.”
Her quiet statement hit me like a ton of bricks. The pain in her voice drew me out of my haze and back to her.
“I didn’t mean that,” I rushed out, backpedaling on a stationary bike for all the good it did me. “Addie, I—”
“No.”
She shook her head before turning away from me.
Facing Adam, she refused to look at me again. Silence hung between us as she walked up to her brother’s side. She tugged on his sleeve, like she used to do when we were kids.
Like she did when she got hurt trailing after us, but didn’t want to admit it out loud.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“I want to go home,” she said quietly.
Adam nodded to her, nudging her past me toward the car.
Anxiety spiked, blood rushing past my ears as he shot me a look torn between apology and anger.
Nothing hurt Adam like Addie’s pain.
As much as I joked about them being the worst twins ever, times like these reminded me of their bond, and where I stood outside it. I could lose him for hurting her.
Fuck.
Adam’s frown softened slightly at whatever he saw on my face, but he still turned from me to follow her.
Even expecting it, the weight of his departure landed on my chest.
Standing there, in the wake of what I’d said, I ran through how I’d reacted all night—to my teammates ogling her, my body longing to move closer, fighting to keep her at bay—I couldn’t reconcile any of it.
I didn’t know how to make it right.
Then it hit me that my backpack, and what I’d stowed inside it, was still in their car. Because I was supposed to leave with them.
After a week with my father, I’d been so close. So close to going back to the only house that felt like home.
With one stupid comment, I’d ruined everything.
Her night. Our plans.
Maybe even my place with them.
As I stood there alone, with nowhere to go but the last place I wanted to be, I considered staying at the party house instead. But I couldn’t stomach going back inside.
Too sick over the tears I’d put in her eyes, I accepted where I’d ended up tonight.
I deserved it.
What better place to sulk over my behavior than with the man who’d taught me how to lash out. Who’d taught me to deliver quick jabs and sharp words, both aimed to draw blood.
Heck, I should consider myself lucky my father’s mansion was only a few houses down the block.
Lucky.
It was the last thing I felt as I started walking.
When the short distance passed too quickly, I stared up at my father’s cold, dark mansion.
Years ago, he had moved us from our house on the Barrows’ street to the imposing symbol of his status. His law firm had just taken off, and he and my mother had been thrilled. I hadn’t wanted to leave, and as we grew up, I’d done my best to show up. To stay.
Yet somehow, I kept ending up in the same place.
Welcomed, but not really home.
Belonging, but not really theirs.
Safe…
But always at risk of losing it.
Maybe that was why I did it—why I said what I did, why I couldn’t stop myself from reacting. Deep down, maybe I was just like him. Selfishly wanting more than I already had. Cruel when I couldn’t have it.
The Barrows probably saw it all along.
How much I was just like him.
With a heavy sigh, I pushed through the front door and went inside.
Given the late hour, I hoped I might make it to my room without running into him, and I almost made it to the stairs before my father stepped into the foyer. With his tie undone and a crystal tumbler full of bourbon in his hand, it would’ve been better to sneak by unnoticed.
But I’d called it right again.
Luck was the last thing on my side.
“Son.” My father’s bloodshot eyes were heavy lidded. “Where the fuck have you been?”
I faced him. Going down either way, I’d go down swinging. “Stargazing in a field of wildflowers, Father,” I deadpanned. “Where else?”
His gaze sharpened. “I expected you to meet some colleagues of mine at the graduation ceremony, Blake.”
“Bummer.” I snapped my fingers, swinging my hand across my body as I did. “They say you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take, and boy, are they right.”
He slammed his crystal tumbler on the countertop. “You were with the Barrows again, weren’t you?”
I stiffened, narrowing my gaze on his face. “I was with my entire graduating class. Celebrating our achievement? That’s what this day was about, remember?”
Moments like that, when I didn’t bite my tongue, I looked back on them later. It had become a theme, wondering why I couldn’t stop myself. But with her, I didn’t want the reaction that followed—I just didn’t know what else to do.
With him, I often wondered if I begged for it.
If I needed what came next.
My dad’s fist connected with my jaw. His punch snapped my head to the side.
Blood filled my mouth, and I spit it onto my sleeve. “One last hurrah for my graduation. Eh, old man?”
That earned me a punch to the gut. A familiar one-two combo I’d used myself tonight.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Keeling over, I wheezed as his hit to my diaphragm knocked the wind out of me. I gasped for breath. Urging my lungs to expand. Fighting to draw in air.
And taking my eyes off him.
But I already knew what came next.
His closed fist dropped like a hammer on my spine, buckling my legs. I crashed hard to the floor, my knees hitting the ground with a crack.
Pitching forward, I braced for impact. I tried to bring my arms up to protect my face. Tried to shield it before I slammed into the ground.
I didn’t make it.
Fuck.
He didn’t stop.
When his boot to my ribs ricocheted pain through my body, I cried out, unable to smother the show of weakness. Already knowing the cost.
My father lashed out again. And again. Each kick forced bile into my throat, pooling saliva in my mouth to mix with blood from his hit, but I didn’t dare spit it out.
The familiar sound of metal came next, anyway.
Tracking the soft clink of his belt as he undid it, I forced myself to swallow. He’d only make it worse if I got blood on the carpet.
Darkness teased at the edges of my vision.
It wouldn’t come quickly enough.
My muscles tensed, expecting the blow.
But it never came.
Rough hands seized me by the shoulders, hauling me up. My father’s grip tightened over my bruised ribs, and I nearly cried out again.
His venomous whisper hissed in my ear, “Keep your mouth shut.”
I bit my tongue, stifling a scream and caught off guard when he released me. My body crumpled to the floor at his feet. I waited for another blow, my mind reeling as his words and how this always played out jumbled together.
Listening for his footsteps, I tried to place where he was, but everything sounded far away. Fuzzy. Muted. As if I’d stepped into a wind tunnel after stuffing my ears with cotton. Nothing made sense.
Then, from somewhere behind me, different voices rang out.
Voices I’d recognize anywhere.
“Blake!”
Adam’s shout echoed off the walls. It rattled inside my brain, and I almost passed out.
“Oh my god!”
That cry lifted my head.
I searched for their voices. Searched for her. Needing to tell her I was sorry.
Needing to tell her I—
As I turned my face, I met my father’s cold, gray stare, and the hatred resonating within his blue eyes forced that thought from my head.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway, getting closer.
He couldn’t touch me. Not now.
I spat blood at his feet, spraying it across the carpet with pride.
The toe of his boot twitched like he wanted to kick me again, but it was too late.
They came back for me.
With that final thought, I gave my father a bloody smile.
And then, I promptly blacked out.