“Who is it?” I ask, my hands clutching the steering wheel so tightly.
He doesn’t say anything.
“Dad?!” I shout. A car honks, and I realize I swerved into his lane and cut off a pick-up truck.
“Keep your eyes on the f**king road,” Ryke chastises. “Or pull over and I’ll drive.” No, he’ll take us the other direction. And right now, I’m too wired to go climb a mountain
“Is Ryke with you?” my dad asks roughly.
“We’re on our way,” I tell him, ignoring how Ryke is searing a death glare into the phone.
“No, we f**king aren’t,” Ryke refutes.
“You both should come,” he tells us. “This is important, and I don’t want to discuss it over the phone.” He hangs up.
I flick on my blinker and drive along a side street, off the highway.
“What the f**k are you doing?” Ryke asks.
“He knows who the leak is,” I say like he’s an idiot. “What the f**k are you doing? We’ve spent months trying to track down this a**hole.”
Ryke stares at the road with a hard gaze. “Maybe you should drop me off somewhere.”
I frown. “What? Where?” What’s wrong with him?
“Like anywhere but there.”
And then I realize that Ryke hasn’t come into contact with my father since the Christmas Charity Gala. Before rehab. Before everything.
A brutal silence strings though the car. And then I say softly, “Are you scared of him?”
“I can’t stand to look at his face.”
“What did he personally do to you?” I ask.
“I hated him because my mother did,” Ryke says briefly, but I can tell his mind is reeling, so I’m not surprised when he divulges more. “…when I was older, I tried to look at him differently, but she painted a portrait of a monster. So when I stare at his face, that’s all I f**king see.”
His words sink in, and I don’t have anything to say. I can’t change the way he pictures Jonathan Hale. That damage is too deep-seated.
“I tried to forget about him,” Ryke says, staring out the window. “I tried to act like I just didn’t have a dad. And then…” He shakes his head.
“What?” I prod.
“…and then I met you. And all that hate just came back ten times stronger than before.”
I hesitate before I ask. I fear his answer. “Why?” This is where he’ll say I’m just like my father. I’m the monster of the story. The thing to be hated.
“You defend him,” Ryke tells me. “He says some pretty f**king horrible things right to your face, and you just stand there and take it or you walk away. And then the next day, you’ll talk about Jonathan like he’s a f**king savior.” I can’t feel that great burst of relief when he doesn’t compare me to him. I just feel like shit.
I grit my teeth. “What am I supposed to do? Punch him? I wasn’t into the whole let me beat the hell out of my father tragedy growing up. Sorry.”
“You’re right,” Ryke says, surprising me. “You were stuck in that house, with that f**king a**hole. But right now, you have the option to leave him. And you’re going back.”
“He’s not all bad.”
“And there you go, sticking up for him again.”
“He’s my father.”
“He’s our father,” Ryke retorts.
I hit the wheel with my hand, nervous and pissed and so fueled right now. “I can’t cut him out of my life!” Not because of the money. Not because of the trust fund or the information I need from him. I can’t leave Jonathan Hale because he’s my family. He’s my dad, and before Ryke and Lily, he’s all I f**king had.
“Pull over for a second.”
“I’m not turning around.”
“Just pull over.”
I drive into a gas station and park the car by the pump. I face Ryke, and my chest rises at the empathy in his eyes. He’s about to drop a bomb on me, but he knows I can take it.
“No one is going to tell you this,” Ryke says. “Everyone says it behind your back, but you’re going to hear it from me, right now.”
I stare at him for a long moment, already hearing his words before he says them. I think I know. I’ve always known.
“Our dad abuses you,” Ryke says, his eyes reddening. “He’s verbally abusive, and he’s f**ked with your head.”
I let this sink in, but I’m so numb to the answer. I just nod. “Yeah, I know.”
Ryke nods a few times too, watching me, trying to gauge my mental state. And maybe he’s reliving the fact that he was the older brother, the one who was handed the better deal of two really shitty ones, not having to be raised by him, not having to endure the onslaught of f**king grow up! I didn’t raise you to be such an idiot! Why are you crying? Stop. Fucking. Crying.
“Don’t guilt yourself over this,” I tell Ryke. I feel nothing. I should be red in the eyes like him, but I just can’t be. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Yeah,” Ryke says, nodding again, but he’s more upset than before. “The fact that you believe you can have a real relationship with him f**king terrifies me, Lo. That’s what kills me. And that’s why I don’t want to go there and watch him try to emotionally manipulate you.”
I break his gaze and stare at the wheel. “I’m not asking you to come with me.” My voice is edged but considerably low. “I can drop you off at your house.”
We sit in uncomfortable silence again. For maybe five minutes, both of us just thinking.
And then Ryke says, “If I go, you think he’ll lay off you?”
“Is that even a question?”
Ryke nods. “All right. Let’s go.”
“Are you sure?” He would do that? He’d go stomach a whole hour or two with our father just so the verbal assaults are redirected his way?
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
I don’t know what I’m feeling. My lungs seem to lift from my chest, and I know what word I want to say. I know what word I can’t.
Thank you.
In this moment, I truly feel like I have a brother. One that’s probably too good for me.
{ 45 }
LOREN HALE
“You don’t drink?” My father is hung up on this one fact about Ryke. Overhead fans circulate cool air on the patio, and I sit in between Ryke and my dad like someone about to referee an arm wrestle.
“Not since high school,” Ryke says. “I overdid it.” He doesn’t mention how he crashed his car into a mailbox.
“And that’s why you’ve deluded Loren into thinking he’s an alcoholic—because you couldn’t handle your liquor?”
The muscles in Ryke’s jaw twitch. “Get to the f**king point, Jonathan. Who’s the leak?”
My dad leans back in the iron chair, cupping his glass of scotch. “I’ll get to the f**king point when I feel like it. Maybe I want to have lunch with my two sons first.” He presses a button on his phone. “Carter, make three burgers for us.”
“Any preferences, Mr. Hale?”
“The usual.”
“They’ll be right out.” The line clicks.
“I’m not your son,” Ryke says, even though he does, on occasion, call Jonathan his father when he’s trying to make a point. Like in the car. “My mother took full custody of me, in case you forgot.”
“How old are you?” My dad asks mockingly. “Oh wait, you’re twenty-two. In the eyes of the American judicial system, you’re an adult. And as an adult, you’re not your mother’s property like that Ferrari she bought with my money in her goddamn driveway.”
Ryke rubs his jaw in agitation and looks around the patio like he’s trying to find some excuse to leave, but then his gaze drifts to me and he stops searching for that escape.
We can’t go until we find out the leak. And if that means eating a burger with the devil, then so be it.
My father sets his scotch down and focuses on me. “Have you met your mother yet?”
Shit. I can feel Ryke’s confusion and livid heat permeate in the air. “Not yet, I’ve actually been waiting for Lily to…adjust.”
“You’re going to meet your mother?” Ryke asks, accusation lacing the words.
My father doesn’t cut in, which means he’s curious about our relationship, wondering how close we’ve become these past months.
“Yeah,” I say.
Ryke shakes his head. “How long have you had her name? How’d you find her?” And then realization floods his face, looking between our dad and me. “You two have been speaking this whole time…” But his hate is redirected at Jonathan. “Can’t you leave him alone for one minute?”
“He wanted to know who his mother was. It’s not your place or mine to make that decision for him.” He sips his scotch casually, incensing Ryke more.
“I don’t care about that. I care that you used that information to draw him back in. I care that you push him to drink.”
“Ryke…” I start and then stop, not wanting to defend my father. Not now. “I was going to tell you that I started talking to him.”
“When? When I find you in the hospital bleeding from your stomach because you drank?”
My father groans. “You’re not still taking that ridiculous pill.”
Ryke turns on him. “It’s not a f**king joke.”
“It is,” my dad says. “You’re making him soft.”
“Yeah, you made sure he was f**king sharp, didn’t you?”
“Stop, both of you,” I say coldly. “I don’t want to talk about alcohol or Emily.”
“Fine,” my father says and stands to replenish his glass. “What do you do Ryke? Or are you like your mother, gobbling up all my money on furniture and clothes?”
“How about we leave my mother, the woman you f**king cheated on, out of the conversation as well.”
“Forgive me if I don’t like the bitch,” he says. “I always wanted you two to meet, and because I wanted it, she could barely tolerate the idea. And here you are, closer than ever. It’s as if it was always meant to be.” He grins, as if he set fate into motion.
“It wasn’t your doing,” Ryke refutes. “I didn’t meet Lo because of you. I met him because I wanted to.”
My father rolls his eyes dramatically. “I can’t ever win with you. Ever since you asked me some silly goddamn question and you didn’t like the answer.”
“I was fifteen,” Ryke sneers. “I just found out I had a brother. I felt lied to and cheated on. I needed your compassion and you f**king spit in my face. But I guess I should have known better.”
“You didn’t need compassion.” My father grimaces at the word. “You needed the truth, and I gave it to you. It’s not my fault you were too weak to handle it.”
“What are you guys talking about?” I ask, hesitating. Maybe I shouldn’t know. But I hate being in the dark.