“Since when?”
Griff points to his head. His military fade. A faint beat of warmth in my chest, because I can still make out what he means by the clues he gives.
“Block training.”
He nods again.
“I’m … s-sorry,” he rasps with a stutter.
My brain quickly does math I’d rather not do. Griff—and I guess Cooper—are an image of Mom. It’s the red hair, green eyes, and they both have her nose and high cheekbones. If Cooper really is Kline’s son and Griff and Cooper are twins, then Kline is Griff’s biological father.
The idea roots me to the floor, my brain unable to get words to my tongue. This can’t be fucking real.
Father makes an annoyed sound. “We don’t have time for this. Ryan, you and I will be speaking after conference finals—you’ll be returning to Phoenix next season, and we have some things to arrange.”
What?
“Griffon is going home with his father for the weekend,” he continues.
I call bullshit. If Griff leaves this campus, he’s not coming back. The look on Cooper’s face confirms that for me, his green eyes cast down, head bowed, trying to be seen but not heard. Nothing like the spitfire with black-cat energy Gideon described.
“Back to Phoenix…?” The thing I’d been working toward before I embarked on a new journey with Tate. All I’ve ever really wanted for myself. I would have even remained Father’s prisoner if I were happily playing hockey. And yet, no sparks of joy explode in my chest.
What the fuck is going on here? Did Tate somehow coerce my dad into getting me back on the team?
Something tells me that’s not it. Something’s very fucking wrong. If I could get my heart to stop fucking beating in my ears, maybe I could think for a second.
“Gentlemen, maybe you want to use my office for the rest of your conversation?” the dean suggests. Guess we are causing a bit of a scene, but for once Father doesn’t seem concerned about that. He’s almost gloating.
“I want to speak with Griff alone,” I say, fully expecting a rejection, but Father nods in Kline’s direction. Kline nods back.
There’s a tingle, invisible baby spiders crawling over my skin. I don’t like seeing those two agree on things.
Once we’re inside, I close the door, which is the equivalent of shutting out the mind-bending chaos outside. It’s just us.
Silent tears drip off his face, his body language small. “I’m not even a Savage,” he whispers.
“I don’t give a fuck if we only share half our DNA—that’s all you really share with a parent anyway. A half-brother is a brother. You’re my brother, Griffon.”
“But you hate Kline. He’s horrible.”
Ah. It finally makes sense why he’s been so cold and distant all term. It wasn’t just the rules that kept us apart. He really thought I’d reject him for being a Kline by blood.
“Kline is fucking horrible, but I’d never hate you, bro. Never. I married Tate for you,” I tell him.
He shakes his head. “Don’t tell me that,” he whispers.
“But I did, and I’d do it again.”
“You don’t love him?” His brows squeeze together, making his forehead wrinkle.
“I …” I sigh. I really don’t want to say this out loud, because then it will be real, and if I make it real, it’ll hurt so much worse if I get my heart broken. Tate can’t love me. He said he cared about me and that’s enough. It has to be. “I’m so fucking in lovewith him. It’s pathetic, actually. But he’s kind of a psychopath and can’t love me back. So … yeah.”
He frowns. “That sounds awful.”
I shake my head. “Somehow, it’s not.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” he says, softly. His voice has been quiet or raspy this whole time. Is that how he speaks now? I don’t care how he speaks as long as he’s comfortable doing so. “So, husband, eh?”
