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How fucked is that?
“Trent,” Ivy whispers.
I can hear the tears in her voice. It drives the guilt deeper.
“No,” I interrupt. “Let me talk.” I clear my throat again, trying to figure out what apology would be adequate for something so unforgivable. “I never protected you from Dad.”
“Stop, right there.” Her voice is firm. An unbreakable barrier. “It wasn’t your job to protect me.”
“I’m your older brother. Of course, it was.” The damn lump in my throat won’t go away. I swallow, and swallow, and swallow again. “Ivy, I failed you . . .”
“Is that what this thing is with Payton?” She quiets. All I hear are sniffles on the other line for a few minutes. “Are you doing this for me?”
“Ivy—”
“No, Trent, you’ve gone too far.” Her strength is back. That’s how I know, without a doubt, she means what she says. “I love you for thinking of me, but this is not her fault. Whatever Dad did was not her fault. Nor was it yours. Be better than Dad. It’s time to let this guilt go.”
“But—”
“There’s no room for a but here, Trent.”
I’m taken aback by the hard edge of her tone.
I open my mouth to apologize again, but she blazes forward. “I didn’t ask for you to do cruel things under my name. I’m actually mad about it, and the only reason I’m not full-on pissed is because I know you did it out of love for me. It doesn’t make it okay, but I understand. Apologize to her, Trent. She deserves an apology.”
I know she’s right.
Worse, it’s the answer I’ve been hoping to hear.
Hating Payton while craving her is so taxing I’ve spent the past several months exhausted. I can’t even imagine how she feels. And now the guilt is hitting harder, only this time, it’s over what I’ve done to Payton.
“Okay,” I promise. “You’re right.”
“Of course, I am.”
“I love you, sis.”
“Love you, too. Now go,” she urges, and this is the demanding sister I know and love. “You have a lot to make up for, but not to me. Never to me.”
I hang up the phone.
The truth hits me hard, like a forecasted storm I should’ve seen coming.
Mom is right.
Ivy is right.
My grudge is unfounded.
My hatred misplaced.
I have been basically torturing an innocent woman.
I glare at the floor. At the dark hardwood that smells of the fucking lemongrass cleaning solution Payton made.
You listening down there, Dad? I’m no better than you. You raised an asshole. Just like you.
Maybe I didn’t sell Payton to a Russian trafficker, but I was holding her prisoner with blackmail.
