“Are you insane?” I want to stand up. To pace. And the fact that I’m trapped in a moving car only adds to my irritation. “That would mean me confronting my dad first. You know I don’t want to do that.”
“Maybe it’s time,” he says gently.
“The hell it is.”
“Maybe he needs to understand the full impact of what he did to you,” he continues softly, as if I hadn’t protested at all.
“No. No. Absolutely not.” Just the thought makes me want to throw up, and I clutch my knees, desperate to escape this claustrophobic box.
Just the idea—just the thought that my father might know about those horrible photos—makes me both terrified and furious.
“Do you think I would suggest this if I saw another way? This is all I’ve been thinking about. How the hell do we get out of this mess? And the truth of it is that it all goes back to your dad. To the choices he made and what he did to you.”
“To me,” I say. “And I’ve dealt with it. And I don’t want to open those wounds.”
“Sweetheart, we both know you haven’t really dealt with it.”
“Goddammit.” I slam my palm against the dashboard, because trapped in this car there’s no other way to lash out.
He winces, but doesn’t miss a beat. “And the truth is, it wasn’t just you. Your son of a bitch of a father was playing fast and loose with my life, too.”
I cross my arms over my chest and say nothing.
“He’s responsible for those photographs,” Jackson says. “He sold you, Sylvia. He hurt you. He’s your father and he didn’t protect you, and he’s as much to blame for all of this as Reed is.”
I keep my lips pressed together, but I don’t deny it. I know the role I played—it was my choice not to walk away because at the end of the day it was about Ethan—but none of that changes what my father did. None of that erases the fact that he set the wheels in motion and that he essentially did exactly what Jackson has said: he used me to protect Ethan. Balanced the well-being of one child against the well-being of another.
So, yes, I understand that. And I understand the rest, too. “Reed’s threatening me in order to get to you. I get that, Jackson. I do.” I lick my lips. “But I can’t confront my dad. I’m not ready to talk to him about it.” I draw in a breath. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. Please tell me you understand that. Because I need you beside me tonight. And I need you to not be mad at me.”
“Oh, baby.” He reaches over and takes my hand. “I’m not mad. Not at you, anyway. As for your father—well, that’s a different story altogether.”
“A secret story,” I say firmly.
“Yes,” he says, though I can tell the words eat at him. “A secret.”
“Oh my god, look at you!” I throw my arms around Ethan’s neck, then laugh as he picks me up and spins me around. My brother is tall and athletic, and he maneuvers me through the air as easily as if I weigh no more than a feather.
That wasn’t always the way. When he was sick in his tweens and early teens he’d faded away to almost nothing, and the robust little boy all but disappeared. When he got healthy, he started working out. And though he never told me so specifically, I always figured that he did it as a way to say “fuck you” to the disease.
Now, he’s pretty damn hot, even if he is my brother. He’s got the cut, athletic body, which is impressive all on its own. But couple that with his dreamy, deep-set eyes and thick brown hair, and he’s the kind of guy who never wants for a date.
Speaking of, I slide my arm around Jackson’s waist and lean my head against his upper arm. “This is Jackson,” I say. “Jackson, this is my brother, Ethan.”
“I thought as much,” Jackson says with a grin as he reaches out to shake Ethan’s hand, but ends up doing one of those mutual shake-and-shoulder-clap things that men do. “Your sister can’t stop talking about you.”
“Yeah? I thought it was you she couldn’t stop talking about.”
I roll my eyes and wave a hand at the limo. It’s not exactly proper office procedure, but I want to impress my baby brother, and Edward assured me that the car would otherwise sit idle tonight. “Go,” I say firmly, and we all climb in and get settled as Edward shuts the door behind us.
“Okay,” Ethan says. “Now I’m impressed.”
“That was the idea,” I admit as Jackson takes care of getting us each a drink.
“Are you still seeing Samantha?” I ask.