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“No, it isn’t okay.” Fin spun around to face her again, his blue eyes a swirling mess of emotions. “I know.”
Her heart stopped beating.
That was what it felt like anyway.
There was no way he could mean what she thought he meant.
No way.
She had only ever told two people.
Her psychiatrist in the hospital just after she’d attempted suicide, and Michael a couple of days ago.
There was no way her psychiatrist would have said anything, the woman had retired a couple of years ago, and she would have no reason to contact Fin. And she’d asked Michael not to tell anyone—especially her brother—and he had agreed.
So how did Fin know?
She must be wrong, he must be talking about something else.
“Samara, why didn't you tell me?” Fin came and sat on the edge of the bed beside her. He reached out a hand as though to hold hers but then stopped at the last second.
She just stared at him.
This was the last conversation she wanted to be having right now.
“All these years I thought that you tried to end your life because you couldn’t deal with everyone walking out on us. I was angry at you because you wanted to leave me too, but if I'd known …” he trailed off, jumped to his feet walked four steps, stopped, spun around to face her, opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it closed and walked back to the bed where he stood looking down at her.
Samara shrunk away from his gaze.
He knew.
Fin knew.
He knew that their grandfather had raped her for two years straight, which was why she had attempted suicide.
“Why didn't you tell me?” The anguish in her brother’s voice was too much to bear. It was like no matter what she did, it was wrong, and someone wound up being hurt.
“I didn't want you to know,” she mumbled, averting her gaze.
“Why?”
“Because I was scared and ashamed and I thought you wouldn’t love me anymore if you knew, I thought you would leave me too. And then you were so angry with me after I tried to kill myself and I thought you would hate me even more if you knew the truth,” she admitted, staring at the floor because she couldn’t look at her brother’s hurt face.
Fin sat back down on the bed and dragged her into his arms. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Samara. I hate that you had to deal with that on your own. I hate that I made it worse by being angry with you when I had no right to be. I'm sorry that what I said to you yesterday made you think I didn't care if you were dead so long as Asher was okay. That is not true. I love my son, but I love you as well. I hate that you didn't know that.”
“It’s not your fault,” she said automatically.
“Michael also said that your perfectionism thing is because you’re trying to make up for what you did, stop doing that, you have nothing to make up for. Nothing,” he said fiercely. “I love you, Sami.”
“Really?”
“Always.” He held her so tightly that she winced but wouldn’t ask him to loosen his hold for anything.
Samara smiled despite the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. “Is Asher okay?”
“He’s fine.”
“What time is it?”
