Fury unlike anything I’ve ever felt makes it hard for me to secure a full breath when Brandon nods his head. I yank him forward before slamming his body back with vicious force. The sound of metal crunching echoes in the quietness of the night. Even with his back slamming into his car with brutal strength, Brandon’s face remains staunch, not giving any indication of the pain rocketing throughhisbody.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask, my words a vicioussnarl.
Brandon’s nostrils flare as he inhales quick, sharp breathsofair.
“Yes,” he mutters, his chinquivering.
My stomach tenses, copping an emotional blow as every secret I’ve fought to keep hidden becomes exposed. My panic doesn’t last long, replaced with anger. Angry that I was ever forced to keep such a secret. Fury scorches through me, burning my chest with itsferociousheat.
“Do you know what they did?” I ask, my eyesblazing.
My lungs burn as my body battles to cool the furious heat of the blood scorching my veins. I’m spiraling out of control as a range of reactions crash into me. Anger, remorse, devastation. It all hammers into me in a flurry, nearly sprawling me ontomyass.
When Brandon remains quiet, I scream, “Do you know what they didtome?!”
“Yes,” Brandon replies, his head jerking inanod.
My whole body is trembling, my nostrils are flaring, anger is burning me alive. Brandon stares into my eyes, exposing his guilt and remorse.Hisshame.
“I'm nothing like them,” he pleads, his eyes rocketing between mine. “I didn’t change my name because I didn’t want people to know who my father is. I changed it because I'm ashamed of it. I’m ashamedofthem.”
His wholesome eyes stare into mine, silently begging for me to believe him. I know what he is saying is true. Even with his eyes hazed by sorrow, I can see the truth relayed by them. I can feel his shame, his remorse, but it doesn’t lessen my anger. I want to lay my fists into him. I want to make him suffer the way Gemma suffered.The way I suffered.But then, I'd be just as much a coward astheywere.
So instead, I release my grip on his collar and stalk tomycar.
Chapter Sixteen
Hugo
Istumbleout of my room with my head pounding as fitfully as my heart. My confrontation with Brandon last night turned my mood woeful. Instead of remembering the lessons Avery has taught me the past five years, I once again sought the aid of a liquor bottle to guide me through the storm. I was desperate, doing anything I could to wash away the memories asphyxiating the joyful mood I’d been in the past four days. I wanted the grim memories that haunt my dreams to vanish. Normally, I could only achieve that with a bottle. Last night, alcohol did nothing. The only people who have the chance to stop my nightmares are seven hundred miles away. Just looking in Ava’s eyes can appease any storm brewing on thehorizon.
Noticing my stagger, Hawke opens a bottle of whiskey and pours two glasses, sliding one across the marble counter to me. The inexpensive brown liquor sloshes over the rim, landing on the glisteningcountertop.
“Hair of the dog?” I mutter, securing theglass.
Hawke arches his brow. Every man knows there is only one cure for a hangover – keep drinking. The bitter-tasting bile sitting in the back of my throat washes into my stomach when I lift the whiskey glass to my mouth and down the generous nip in quick succession. My face grimaces when the familiar burn scorches my throat before settling in my churning stomach. Hawke props his elbows onto the kitchen counter. His movements allow me to see the time on the microwave. It is nearly five PM. My brows hit my hairline. I slept for over twelvehours.
“I wasn’t expecting you back so early. Didn’t go as you hoped?” Hawke queries, peering at me withuncertaineyes.
By the time Hawke walked in the front door of my apartment last night, I was well past tipsy. Assuming I was drowning my sorrows about my trip to Rochdale, Hawke gathered a second bottle of whiskey from the bar and joined my silent commiserations. We didn’t talk; we just sat, side by side, staring into space, drinking insilence.
“Rochdale was good,” I say, rubbing my temples, praying for the pounding drilling my skull into the next century to settle so I can get back on the road.Back to my family.“Actually, Rochdale was more than good. It was fuckinggreat.”
Hawke’s eyes missile to mine. His brow is arched, and the expression on his face is even more uncertain than the glint inhiseyes.
“I have a son,” I enlighten him. Even having a hangover that rivals all hangovers, I can’t stop an ecstatic smile stretching across my face. Joel has captured my soul even more quickly than Ava stole myheart.
Hawke’s eyes bulge as his looks at me in utter shock. “Who’sthemom?”
My brain screams blue murder when I throw my head back and boisterously chuckle. My hearty laugh booms off the laminated cabinets and ricochets into my ears. Hawke doesn’t see the hilarity of the situation. His brows are stitched, and his lips are screwed. He looks utterlyconfused.
“Who do you think?” I ask once my laughterdiesdown.
“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking,” he replies, his tone deadlyserious.
When I waggle my brows and smile, clarity forms in hisbaffledeyes.
“Ava?” His voice comes outsuper-alto.
