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Once I’ve confirmedthat Layla has left the property and is well on her way back to London, I look about to find Summer, to find only my father. Before I can ask, he answers my unspoken question.
“She headed back into the house a little while ago, son.”
I can feel my body relax at the knowledge she’s only gone inside. She hasn’t disappeared.
My father claps his hand on my shoulder, stilling me when I move to follow her.
“I can keep what Layla said just between you and me, so don’t worry on that front. But, son, could you please explain to me what Summer meant about your brother? I…I don’t follow…”
He frowns, trailing off, and I heave an internal sigh of despair at having to be the one to tell him the truth of the matter.
Fucking Layla.
“Dad, there’s a lot I didn’t know about that day that has recently been disclosed to me. Through Summer.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “But Layla was there too. She’s the one who got Noah to call the emergency services. She’s the one who gave the statement when you were too high to talk—”
“That’s just it, Dad.” I cut him off gently, grasping his hands between my own. “I wasn’thigh. They—both Layla and Archer—gave me a date rape drug, knowing that it would affect my judgement. My memory. It knocked me out, and Layla went for help, leaving Summer with Archer.”
His eyes move back and forth between mine. A heaviness in their depths I’ve not seen in many, many years. And I have to force myself to continue.
“And he attacked her. He—he said he wanted to take my love because I had stolen your love from him.”
Tears fill my father’s dark brown eyes. His face crumples, and I draw him into my embrace, holding tight as we both mourn not only the loss of Archer but the heart-breaking reason behind it.
Sibling jealousy, plain and simple, but Archer had covered his resentment with sarcasm and laughter–a trait I’d begun to use after his passing to cover my pain. To hide my grief.
I continue to tell Summer’s story in part, leaving out much of Archer’s deviousness so as not to tarnish my brother’s mantle too much in our father’s eyes.
“I can’t believe we never saw it, Caden. I can’t bear that he thought we loved him less than you or your sisters, for that matter. I don’t understand…”
He runs his hands through his chin-length, more salt than pepper hair as he shakes his head. “What will your mother think?”
I freeze on the spot, knowing she can never know. My mum is strong, but losing her son almost broke her. The knowledge that he’d brought about his own death through some twisted scheme to try to ruin my life…
“No. You can’t tell Mum. She can’t ever know, Dad. She needs to keep Arch on that pedestal. She needs to remember the son she mourned. To tell her the truth now would be an unkindness.”
Conflict flitters across his face, and for long minutes, I think he’s going to tell me to piss off with my demands until he nods sharply. “You’re right, Cade. She can’t know.”
I nod back in assent. “I’m just going to find Summer—”
“What did she mean about a baby, son?”
My forehead creases as I try to think about what he’s referring to. I’d been so fixated on the fact that Layla had been the one to leave the letter I’d read at least once a day, every day, for the last fifteen fucking years that it takes a minute to replay the conversation in my head.
“The final icing on the cake was when she took a pregnancy test and said she didn’t know if the baby was yours or Archer's.”
Realisation dawns, and hot on its heels is even more grief. “Was she pregnant with Archer’s kid?”
We take one another in for a long beat until I see a weariness enter my father’s eyes, and I once again tug him closer into my arms so that we can offer the other comfort.
My father doesn’t look his age typically, but right now, at this moment, he looks every inch of his seventy-seven years. Older even, and once more, I curse Layla for her fucking timing.
I hold my old man close for a long time until he slaps my back and clears his throat. “They’ll be wondering what the fuck we’re doing, son. Come on, let’s find your mother.”
When he slips out of my hold, he pats my cheek roughly, the way he used to do when I was a boy stealing chocolates out of his pockets. A loving gesture that he’s not done in years, and I can feel tears sting my eyelids as a lump forms in my throat.
“How’s about I find your mum, and you find Summer? I’m thinking she could use a hug right about now.”
