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Richard’s eyes flash to mine. I hold my hand up. “I didn’t tell them, Richard.”
“Hold up.” Noah stands, eyes narrowing on his father’s. “You make her call you Richard?” he scoffs. “Dick move, Dad.”
I look to the floor, ashamed. I’m not sure why, though. I didn’t choose to call him Richard. He did. So why am I so ashamed to admit that in front of my brothers? Clint squeezes my knee and I look to him. He doesn’t show me pity, only anger.
“All right, boys, settle down,” Richard says.
“Nah, fuck that. You hid our sister from us. How could you do that? Mom knew you cheated, but she wanted a little girl. She would have loved Callum. Would have treated her as one of us. Why would you do this?” Heath says, clutching his hair in his hands.
“The media,” Richard begins, but is cut off.
“You’re kidding, right?” Clint says.
Richard sighs. “You know how they can be.”
“Whatever,” Clint says, leaning back into the couch next to me.
“I fucked up.” Richard slams his hands on the desk. “Okay? I fucked up. I treated Callum like shit. I made her hate me because I thought it would be easier that way. She watches me parade all of you around the media, she cried on the steps of her front porch every time I came back home. I turned her away, never even allowing her a simple hug. I fucked up.” The room descends into shocked quiet. Everyone watching Richard as his head sinks into his hands. “I fucked up so bad.”
I feel my lips tremble, an emotional volcano building inside of me, ready to explode. I rise, refusing to look at anyone.
“Callum,” Richard’s voice pleads, but I slam the door on him, just as he’s done to me my entire life.
* * *
My mind isat war with itself. Over Richard, and Lincoln. I am sick and twisted, more than I could ever have dreamed of. Because when I feel this way, so down and broken, I only want one person. And these feelings are almost enough for me to not care whether we’re related or not. I want to run to Lincoln, fall asleep in his arms and wake up from this nightmare.
And Richard? I don’t even know how to digest his words. He made me into who I am today. Falling for older men, allowing toxic relationships to be painted as fairy tales. My sick need to be punished. The lack of self-love. People say it’s not a big deal for a little girl to not have a father, and maybe that’s true for some, but for me, it was a crucial part of my adaptation. I watched a man love a woman yet never fully claiming her. Watched him cheat on both his partners, and my tiny brain gathered that doing that was okay.
My father broke my heart long before any boy ever had the chance. And he has yet to sew it back together.
A knock on my door has me looking up from my phone. “Come in.”
Clint walks in, a duffle bag in hand. The sight of it makes me sad. I feel comfortable with the man with the same eyes as me. “Hey,” he says softly, dropping onto the edge of my bed.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“I have to head back for a couple of days, but I’ll be back soon. Hopefully, I can iron all this out and make the house less tense.”
I nod. “Will you… will you bring your fiancée next time?”
He grins. “Been doing a little keeping an eye on us too, I see. Yeah, I’ll bring Monica. She’ll love you.” My heart warms, turning the frosted coating over it to liquid. He grabs my phone from my hand, typing something on it before handing it back. The Favorite Brother is saved into my contact. I laugh a little. “Don’t let Noah see that.” He grins. “But if you ever need something, Callum, you call me, text me. Whichever. Doesn’t matter what time or day, okay?”
I nod. “Thanks, Clint.”
He pats my foot under the covers. “And give Heath some time to adjust. Noah and I have known for a long time.”
I nod, watching him slowly shut the door, leaving me with my thoughts once again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I’ve never needed anyone,always been at peace with the company of myself, never needing anything more. But the world seems off-balance now that I can’t bask in her melody. Get lost in the sparkling crystal of her eyes. My bed is lonely, cold, and empty. My soul feels like half of it has been ripped by the seams, the other half a rare material you can’t buy. It needs the original to mesh with the jagged edges.
Watching her and not being able to touch her, or speak to her, is my own personal form of hell. I know her life has been ripped apart. Thrown into a new family, feeling like an outsider. The difference between Callum and I? I fucking listen, she doesn’t. Because if she did, we wouldn’t be in this mess right now.
Sure, the shock of her parents getting married may have clouded her mind. Finding out I’m technically her uncle may have grossed her out. But I think the information has slipped her mind. I’m not her biological uncle. And I think that may be where the wires have crossed into a jumbled mess inside that beautiful brain of hers.
If she’d take a minute and pause, stop running from me like she has the last month, we could clear all this up. Because now that I’ve tasted love, the sweet bitter sensation melting on my tongue, I refuse to give it up.
