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Chapter 29
Izzie
He didn’t try to stop me. I don’t know why I thought he would, but he didn’t. I guess it was crazy of me to think he would give me a chance to explain myself, justify keeping Liam a secret, but there’s no talking to him.
I run up the stairs two at a time. My only thought—the only thought I’ll allow myself right now—is to get out of the house as soon as possible. Away from Brady. Away from the cruel things he spewed at me.
Reaching my room in record time, I grab my gym bag, the first bag I see and start throwing everything I can into it.
Dirty clothes, a notebook, it doesn’t matter now. There’s no time for organization. The stuffed bag gets thrown into the hall and I start filling a new bag with all my shit.
This frantic packing is what I imagine people do as a house burns to the ground—just trying to salvage anything you can while your world crumbles around you.
Shaking uncontrollably from anger, hurt, and other emotions just rolling around inside me, I pack my belongings in record time before moving on to Liam’s, wiping tears from my eyes.
In Liam’s room, I collapse on top of his bed. I just need a moment to catch my breath. To stop the world from spinning around me.
But I don’t think the world will ever turn on its axis again. No, because of all the lies and secrets the world—my world—is spinning off into oblivion. All I can do now is try to hold on so I won’t get thrown into space.
I shake my head, trying to rid the image of Brady standing there with that damn tabloid in his hand. I don’t know if it’s the confusion etched on his face or the hurt in his eyes, but I just want to erase the image from my mind; and ease my guilt along with it.
If I stop and allow myself to think about it, I don’t know what I feel guiltier about: keeping the truth from Brady, or betraying my sister by falling for Brady?
Not that my feelings for Brady matter now. That ship has not only sailed, it’s capsized and sunk to the bottom of the ocean.
I was ready to run into his arms and tell him how everything’s changed now, how I was so wrong to think he shouldn’t know the truth. To keep the truth from him. But before I had the chance to tell him any of this, to tell him everything I feel for him now, he unloaded on me.
He said all those hurtful things, crushing me. The only thought I could keep in my head was that I can’t be in his presence anymore. I can’t stand to hear him say another hurtful thing to me.
In the middle of throwing Liam’s stuff in bags, he comes bounding in as happy and oblivious as only an innocent eight-year-old can be. He’s been blissful ever since we began staying here, and the thought of taking that away from him crushes me.
That feeling only intensifies when I notice the football tucked under his arm. The same football that he and Brady have been throwing back-and-forth in the backyard for days now.
Yesterday, Brady showed him a new way to hold the ball to make it go exactly where he wants it to. Liam practically beamed with happiness.
Fuck, I hate that all of that’s going to end now.
“What’s going on?” Liam asks.
“Grab a few bags from the hall and wait for me in the car,” I say, not really looking his way, but still throwing toys and clothes in a bag.
“What are you doing with my stuff?” Liam asks a little panicky.
“We’re leaving, okay?” I say sharply, with an edge in my voice I’ve never had talking to Liam.
“Leaving? Where? I don’t want to go!” he says, stomping his feet. “Is Brady going with us? He was going to throw passes with me.”
“Not now, Liam!” I say forcefully. “Just do it. Don’t ask questions.”
I grab Liam’s hand, and with both of us loaded down with bags, start heading downstairs to the front door. Once outside in the carport, Liam finally allows his shock to wear off and starts resisting me, jerking his hand out of mine.
“I don’t want to leave,” he cries.
Loading the bags into the trunk, I yell at him, saying, “This was never our home, Liam. We don’t belong here, and it’s time to stop living in this fantasy world.”
As the words are coming out of my mouth, I’m shocking myself. I’ve never spoken to him that way. When he was five, he wanted to see if my phone would float so he threw it in the toilet.
I was so mad at him, I couldn’t breathe. But even then, I didn’t yell at him like I did just now.
