“My brother came by,” Slade says, looking at Sullivan like he’s preparing to swing at him again should he say the wrong thing to me.
I school my features at the sight of him. He really does look identical to Slade apart from a few subtle differences. And right now, he also has a swollen cheek with a rapidly developing bruise on it.
“Looks like it hurts.” I tip my head toward his face.
Sullivan purses his lips. “Not the first time someone’s wanted to hit me. Probably won’t be the last.”
He’s fully suited and looks immaculate apart from his cheek. But where he had this air of authority about him when I’ve seen him before, now he looks… worried.
Slade’s gaze burns into his brother, arms still folded like he’s waiting on something.
Sullivan clears his throat. “I apologize for the way I spoke to you, Jude. It was uncalled for.”
“It’s a hard situation… for everyone,” I say, sliding past him so I can stand beside Slade.
“Indeed,” Sullivan clips, his attention fixed on the way Slade visibly relaxes as I rest a hand on his arm so I’m touching him.
“What did you come for?”
Sullivan drags his gaze to Slade’s face, and he hesitates, an emotion I can’t identify passing through his eyes. Something about it makes Slade’s arm tense beneath my palm.
“You’re my twin. I should have known you weren’t really gone,” he says, a pained undercurrent to his voice.
My gut tightens. If he’s about to tell Slade he should have stayed gone, or that any of this is his fault again, then he’s going to have a matching bruise on his other cheek. From me.
“You didn’t know about her. That’s what I’ve had to remind myself of. If you did, then you’d have come back sooner. You wouldn’t have left her. What you did to all of us was…” He sucks in a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring. “That was bad enough. But you wouldn’t have done it to her on purpose. I still know you well enough to know that. Something I lost sight of earlier when I lost my temper.”
“What are you talking about?” Slade says.
Sullivan looks him right in the eye, and I notice his are bloodshot. He looks like he’s falling apart from the inside out.
“Molly,” he says, achingly softly. “She’s your daughter. Not mine.”
“What?” I gasp.
Slade’s staring at Sullivan, the color draining from his face. “That’s impossible. I haven’t?—”
“Natasha. Miami. Over three years ago.”
The energy flowing off Slade beside me is enough to knock me over. I feel the moment realization hits him as if it’s a living breathing entity in the room with us.
“She’s mine?” he chokes.
Sullivan nods tightly, his lips pressed together hard like he can’t physically tear them apart.
“Her mother?” Slade frowns.
“Dead. Accidental drug overdose. All self-inflicted. Although I’d suggest you allow any empathy you have for her to end here and now. She abandoned Molly on my doorstep when she was a few months old. She put her in a goddamn peaches box. She was never a mother to her. Not like Molly deserves.”
Slade runs a hand around his jaw, his eyes wide and glassy.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
His heart breaking honesty has my throat burning, and I look at Sullivan.
“Are you sure?”
