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But I did.
I told him about the family I left behind. And the girl who made my life better. The girl who made me excited to wake up and go to school. The girl who made me stronger.
So strong that I left.
I hate how Ashton said her name. Snidely. Grotesquely. Like she’s a bad memory when I never said a bad thing about her. So I bite back, “Don’t talk to her like that. You don’t know her—”
“You’re lecturing me?” he cuts me off. “I just flew three-hundred miles for you, Zoey!”
I flinch. I recover. And I bite back. “You already said that!”
“How can you not give a shit?! WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!”
The pressure on my chest has grown more intense. I barely breathe. Who did I bring in here? This doesn’t feel like the same person from Chicago. Or is he the same and I’m just now seeing him from the perspective of people I actually care about. The horror in Parry’s eyes. The anger in Colt’s. The utter concern in October’s. It shades Ashton in a new monstrous light.
“HEY!” Brian yells at Ashton, right as the power cuts back on. Multi-colored Christmas lights twinkle above us, and brighter lamps illuminate the rest of the bar. The jukebox screeches to a wonky start and begins playing Frank Sinatra’s “That’s Life” clearly and loudly.
Brian is on a tear towards the jukebox, but he points his bat at Ashton. “Get out of my fucking bar.”
“No, I need to talk—” Ashton flinches as Brian smashes the bat against the jukebox. The song keeps playing.
“Brian.” Parry jumps off the stool and sprints to my brother. “Brian.” He steals the bat, just as a fourth hit to the machine shoots sparks from the speakers.
Frank Sinatra is still going strong, and with more sense, Parry yanks the plug out of the wall. The jukebox sputters to silence.
Ashton is glaring at me.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
“Leave,” October orders. “Or they’ll make you.”
“Zoey.” Ashton only speaks to me. “I need to talk to you. I flew all this way. That’s the LEAST I FUCKING DESERVE!” He’s screaming so hard spit spews with his words and his face reddens.
I’m shaking. October is drawing me so far away. Her arms are around me.
“GET OUT OF MY FUCKING BAR!” Brian yells back like he can scream louder. He’s charging after Ashton with the bat.
Holy fuck.
Holy fuck.
Ashton races towards the door, slipping on the muddied floor. But he screams back, “SHE’S MY GIRLFRIEND!”
I shake my head in cold shock. “We broke up. Two years ago.”
“OH YEAH?!” Brian screams at him, shoving Ashton, then unlatching the door. “WELL SHE’S MY FUCKING DAUGHTER! YOU COME NEAR HER AGAIN AND I’LL KILL YOU!!” He throws Ashton out into the storm. He falls on his ass onto the porch, facing the bar. Still glaring at me, even as Colt slams the door shut and latches the lock.
I’m immobile.
Slack-jawed.
My pulse is skidding away from me. “Did you say…?” No. I didn’t hear Brian right. I couldn’t have heard him right. I’m in shock from fear. I’m terrified. That’s all. I gulp the stale air.
October squeezes my hand.
I can’t even squeeze back.
Brian breathes heavily, chest rising and falling. He’s still gripping the bat. And slowly, he turns to face me. He points at the door. “And that’s the last time you vouch for someone.”
I try to shake my head, but the movement hurts. “You can’t…you didn’t just say…are you my…?” My world is tilting. “…I’m your sister.”
Brian Durand. My brother with the same rough, turbulent blue eyes. Fifteen years older. Always there for me. Always taking care of me.
I’ve never seen Brian cry. His nose flares, his eyes pulsing with the kind of emotion that eats the soul inside out. “No,” he breathes. “You aren’t my sister.”
I start to shake my head, the movement gaining friction and speed.
“You’re my daughter.” He runs his tongue over his molars, then drops his gaze. He pounds the bat a couple times on the floorboards, peeks back up at me.
“I…I don’t understand…how that’s possible.” I whip my head to Colt.
His face is screwed up in confusion. “I didn’t know, Zoey.”
I look to Parry.
He’s wincing a little. “I just found out. Brian told me a week ago. I’m sorry, Zo.” He’s sorry because he couldn’t share the most important piece of information about my life with me.
But he’s not the one who should’ve shared. Frustration, anger begins to boil. “Why wouldn’t you tell me, Brian? You didn’t think that I’d want to know who my real father is?”
How can this be real?
“I was a wreck.” Brian has a hard time meeting my eyes, but he does. “I was fifteen, and I got a woman pregnant who was a lot older than me.”
“My mom,” I realize. “Is she the same woman…?” He’s nodding. “So she’s still dead?” He’s nodding, and my face falls. We’ve all known the names of our mothers who are buried and gone.
