I suck in a breath, afraid that it might be me who has the heart attack. “It haunts me every goddamn day. Do you have any idea of what I went through? The hell I’ve gone through since then? Of what you let me go through—no, of what you demanded I go through? So don’t you dare tell me that the door is closed. I wish to hell it were. But it’s not. And it’s never going to be. That son of a bitch used me, Daddy. He used me. And even after all this time it hasn’t ended. He’s still fucking using me. I still can’t get away. And I still—shit.”
I cut myself off, then turn around and pound my fist into the nearest thing I find, which happens to be a wine rack. It rattles, but thankfully doesn’t fall. I don’t even try to steady it. I’m bent over, my hands on my knees, and I’m breathing hard.
“What? What are you talking about?”
Just tell him.
Like Jackson said, tell him, and then let him dig you out from this mess. That’s what fathers do, right? Protect their daughters?
Except I know better. Because my father had a thousand chances and then some to protect me before. He didn’t. I was a child, and he didn’t lift a finger.
So why the hell would I believe that he would do anything to help me now?
“Sylvia?” His voice is soft, and his hand on my shoulder is even softer. It doesn’t matter; to me the contact burns, and I flinch away. He takes a step back, his hands up. “Tell me.”
I stand there, my mind churning and my heart hurting. I want to run, but I feel bolted to the floor. I want to scream, but I have no power inside me to push the sound out.
I am simply frozen in time, at least until Ethan calls down, cheerful and loud and asking what the hell is taking so long.
It feels as though he has broken a spell. I race up the stairs to my brother. “Sorry. Distracted. Sorry.” I follow him back to the dining room, needing to see Jackson, but Jackson isn’t there.
“I think he went to the restroom,” my mother says when I ask. “Coffee?”
She starts to stand, but I shake my head. “I’ll get it.”
I leave her with Ethan and then head back to the kitchen. I consider going back down to the wine cellar and telling my dad everything. Just getting it all out. Just having it done.
But I can’t do it. I can’t stand the thought of him seeing those photos. Of actually talking to him about the fact that I came second. That he was willing to toss me to the wolves because he had to save his son even at the expense of his daughter.
My hand stalls over the canister of coffee and I squeeze back tears—and as I do, I hear my father’s sharp curse rise up from the wine cellar.
I frown, afraid he’s dropped a bottle or managed to hurt himself, and I hurry in that direction, running down the stairs and then stopping short when the room comes into view.
Because there is Jackson with my father.
And there is the envelope that Reed sent.
And there in my father’s hands is a photograph, and I don’t need to see the front of it to know what it shows. And I don’t need to have heard the conversation to know what Jackson has said.
My chest is tight. My heart pounding so hard I think it is going to explode.
Both men are standing stock-still and they are staring at me. Time has stopped. The world has stopped.
And then it all clicks again, and Jackson calls out for me as he takes a step toward me.
“No.” The word is ripped so hard from me that it hurts my throat.
I turn back and race up the stairs. Ethan is in the kitchen. “I have to go. Work. A project. I forgot. I’m sorry.”
The words tumble out, spilling onto each other in a tangled pile of lies.
I hug him, but I don’t wait for either protest or consent. I simply bolt.
I climb into the limo and slam the door shut. I push the button to roll down the privacy screen and meet Edward’s eyes in the rearview as he pushes the button on the stereo to turn off his audiobook.
“Go,” I say. “Please, just go.”
I see him glance out the passenger side window, and I turn that way, too. Jackson is there, standing in the doorway, his back straight, his expression unreadable.
“Go.” My voice is shaking, on the verge of hysteria. “Goddammit, just go.”
He does, and I fall back against the leather, breathing hard.
“Thank you,” I whisper, though I doubt Edward hears.
I push the button to lift the screen again as we drive away, leaving the house, my brother, my parents, and Jackson behind.