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I’m trying to give her space, but at the same time, my mother’s words unnerve me.
Pacing my room, I grab my phone and dial the one person I haven’t wanted to burden with all my Payton shit because deep down, I know she wouldn’t approve. I call her anyway because the truth is, she is the only person who’s always been there for me and will be able to help.
“Trent. Took you long enough to call,” Ivy answers.
“Hey, sis.”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Not true. I’ve just been—”
“Trent Aldridge,” she scolds, and I’m transported back to elementary school when she used to mimic Mom’s tone whenever I got into trouble. Which, admittedly, was a lot once Dad thought it was a good idea to make me into a man and toughen me up. Apparently, kindness is for pussies. “You’re my big bro. Don’t you think I know when you’re lying?”
“Fine. I’ve been avoiding you.”
She laughs at my brutally honest answer. “Spill.”
And I do. I start from the beginning, rushing through the entire ordeal because I’m desperate to get to Payton. Sue me.
“I knew you wouldn’t approve,” I say when I finish.
“Oh, really? You thought tormenting an innocent girl would bother me?” She’s laying on the sarcasm heavier than I appreciate, but my actions asked for it.
I shrug. “Yes.”
“At least you have the decency to sound sheepish.”
We settle into silence.
She breaks it with a soft sigh. “Why are you calling, Trent? I know it’s not just because you miss me.”
“I don’t know what to do . . . about her.”
“You need me to tell you it’s okay that you like her.”
“No,” I respond, too fast.
“Then what?”
I clear my throat, scratching at the skin of my neck. “I need you to forgive me.”
“You did nothing wrong.”
“I didn’t protect you.”
It’s the big regret of my life. The one I’ll feel every morning when I wake up. And every night when I go to bed.
I didn’t protect my baby sister.
How fucked is that?
“Trent,” Ivy whispers.
I can hear the tears in her voice. It drives the guilt deeper.
“No,” I interrupt. “Let me talk.” I clear my throat again, trying to figure out what apology would be adequate for something so unforgivable. “I never protected you from Dad.”
“Stop, right there.” Her voice is firm. An unbreakable barrier. “It wasn’t your job to protect me.”
“I’m your older brother. Of course, it was.” The damn lump in my throat won’t go away. I swallow, and swallow, and swallow again. “Ivy, I failed you . . .”
“Is that what this thing is with Payton?” She quiets. All I hear are sniffles on the other line for a few minutes. “Are you doing this for me?”
“Ivy—”
“No, Trent, you’ve gone too far.” Her strength is back. That’s how I know, without a doubt, she means what she says. “I love you for thinking of me, but this is not her fault. Whatever Dad did was not her fault. Nor was it yours. Be better than Dad. It’s time to let this guilt go.”
“But—”
“There’s no room for a but here, Trent.”
I’m taken aback by the hard edge of her tone.
I open my mouth to apologize again, but she blazes forward. “I didn’t ask for you to do cruel things under my name. I’m actually mad about it, and the only reason I’m not full-on pissed is because I know you did it out of love for me. It doesn’t make it okay, but I understand. Apologize to her, Trent. She deserves an apology.”
I know she’s right.
Worse, it’s the answer I’ve been hoping to hear.
Hating Payton while craving her is so taxing I’ve spent the past several months exhausted. I can’t even imagine how she feels. And now the guilt is hitting harder, only this time, it’s over what I’ve done to Payton.
“Okay,” I promise. “You’re right.”
“Of course, I am.”
“I love you, sis.”
“Love you, too. Now go,” she urges, and this is the demanding sister I know and love. “You have a lot to make up for, but not to me. Never to me.”
I hang up the phone.
The truth hits me hard, like a forecasted storm I should’ve seen coming.
Mom is right.
Ivy is right.
My grudge is unfounded.
My hatred misplaced.
I have been basically torturing an innocent woman.
I glare at the floor. At the dark hardwood that smells of the fucking lemongrass cleaning solution Payton made.
You listening down there, Dad? I’m no better than you. You raised an asshole. Just like you.
Maybe I didn’t sell Payton to a Russian trafficker, but I was holding her prisoner with blackmail.
There might not be any chains, but the monetary ones I wrapped her wrists with still cut deep. They tethered her to me. I used her hopes and dreams of financial security—of a life different from the one she was raised in—against her.
I need to speak with Payton. To tell her she is free to go. It doesn’t matter what she did to get that money. I need to call Baker. Get him to make the changes to put her in charge of the money as soon as possible.
