Page 88 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

Back in the living room, Mom is whispering with Jake by the TV. I resume my spot from before. Solo this time. I jam my hand through my hair and stare at an abstract painting on the wall. The haphazard strokes remind me of painting with Maggie, rolling Island Getaway green across her boobs, then watching her hold my fingertip-kiss in her palm.

I give my hair another tug.

Cal comes to my side, probably worried I’ll be bald in the next few minutes. “Hope everything’s okay with Maggie.”

Since I’m in no mood to discuss Maggie, and the fact that I probably just lost her, I say, “Hope everything’s okay with you and Jolene. Remind me again why you refuse to call your former best friend?”

His complexion pales. His eyes dart to the floor. “No reason.”

No reason, my ass. I pin him with a hard look and open my mouth to finally ask what’s up with them, but he slaps my back. “I prefer standing next to Mom. Be there in case she needs me.”

He marches to the other side of the room and avoids my stare. That schemer has secrets. He either fought with Jolene before WITSEC or he tried to covertly help her with something and it bit him in the ass. Whatever he did, it must have been a doozy.

“Lennon,” Mom says, corralling my attention, “I hope Maggie’s okay and they find the man from the bus.”

“Actually,” Delilah cuts in, holding up her phone. “She just texted. They found the man.”

Thank God. I pull my phone from my back pocket, expecting to see a text too. Maggie sharing her relief or telling me she’s coming back, admitting she yelled at me in a moment of stress and worry. Nothing’s there.

The ache in my chest worsens, like someone’s carving it up.

“That’s such a relief,” Mom says, returning her focus to my brothers, while my breathing turns shallow. “Back to your father’s book, there are two things you need to know—details he mentions in the chapters that will upset you. Things you should be told before you read about them yourselves or hear about them through the media.”

The room goes deathly still. We’re Bower boy statues, waiting for this latest sledgehammer to shatter us, and the word sick pops into my head. My father is for sure sick and dying, and I hate the dread that fills me at the thought, the flicker of sadness.

“First,” Mom says, “I want you all to know I’m okay, but your father had an affair years ago, before he started laundering money.”

“Goddamn bastard,” Des growls.

A polite slur compared to Jake’s, “Motherfucking, piece-of-shit prick.”

Since this upsetting news isn’t news to me, I don’t join the insult party. The shots launch hard and fast. Mom talks over them, explaining that she wasn’t shocked, making excuses about some rough spell they went through and how the cartel used the affair to blackmail him into laundering money. I barely hear her. I know this story, and seeing my brothers upset and furious has me wanting to hit something.

I wish I could drop a protective bubble over each one of them, shelter them from more pain. Snap my fingers and change our history. Give us a different father.

I scratch my beard, have the violent urge to shave it off. Hot. I’m suddenly hot and edgy, the walls feeling unpleasantly close.

“That brings me to the second thing,” Mom says, her worried tone cutting through my mounting discomfort. “I want you all to know I had no idea about this. I kept in touch with your father for a couple years at the start of WITSEC, let him know how you were all doing, but I eventually needed a clean break, and he didn’t push. I had the impression he was keeping in touch out of guilt, not interest. That might have been the case, but according to his tell-all, he also had other things filling his time.”

I’ve gone from dreading the words he’s sick to holding my breath. This reveal is not going as I expected. Cutting ties because he didn’t care enough has nothing to do with having cancer or some inoperable brain tumor. My brothers look equally as confused and wary—matching expressions of Here We Go Again as we wait for the ground beneath our feet to crumble.

Mom’s eyes go glassy. Her concerned gaze travels over each of us, eventually landing on me. “Your father is with someone new. I believe they got together not long after WITSEC, and he has two sons with her, which means you have two brothers. Their names are Brayden and Luke. They’re seven and five. From what the book says, your father is committed to them and his new partner. I think he sees this as his second chance to get parenting right, and…”

A whir builds in my head, getting gradually louder, overtaking Mom’s rational voice.

Because what in the actual fuck?

The father who wants nothing to do with me has another family? Two new sons? A new life? Kids he probably cares about and loves. They probably fish and hike together. He probably jokes with them and bastardizes music lyrics to make them laugh and takes them on special milkshake trips. He obviously loves them enough to be in their lives and “get parenting right,” and I don’t know where I fit into that picture.

I mean, I don’t want to fit into that picture. He doesn’t deserve my love, but he didn’t soften once at our meeting or look interested or seem to care. He was making amends with money, so he could go to his new family with a cleaner conscience, and I’m suffocating all over again. Walls closing in. Lungs too damn tight.

Cal’s beside me, his hand on my arm, but I can’t. I just can’t.

I shove him off, storm to the hallway on a mission for my coat and the front door. I grab my stuff and bust outside as Mom and E call after me. I don’t turn or stop. I can’t. The whirring noise is getting louder, and I don’t want to break down in front of them. They have enough heartache to deal with.

I hop in my truck, fumble with the ignition, and drive off as quickly as I can.

My phone, of course, blows up.