Bastards and Scapegoats (Twisted Legacy Duet #1) - CoraLee June Page 0,79

something I can do.”

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself, Jess. Have you ever considered that just being you helps him? You’re best friends. He loves you, Jess.”

“Hamilton is my bro, you know? This is my thing. Our thing…”

“Look, if you want me to stay home, I will. But you don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to feel like your entire friendship depends on one day.”

“Do you ever just feel like you owe someone your life?” Jess asked quietly. She’d curled her arms around herself and was staring at the concrete. I knew exactly what she meant. Every day I woke up, I felt like I owed my mother. “I wasn’t always this confident, gorgeous bitch that had her shit together. I once struggled. Really bad. Hamilton stopped me from—” Jess grabbed her chest and rubbed it, like the pain in her words was stewing there. “Hamilton is a good man. A tortured man, but still good. This is the one day a year where he shows his vulnerabilities, and it’s also the one day a year I can pay him back for saving my life.”

Her words were powerful, landing like a punch straight to my chest.

I wanted to hug her. Reassure her. Shoulder some of the burdens she’d been carrying, but before I could, the front door opened, and Hamilton came jogging out. Jess wiped a stray tear and smiled. “You ready to have your ass handed to you?” she asked, her cocky façade flooding her tone.

“I seem to recall beating your ass last year?” Hamilton replied while Jess shook her head. They both looked at me, and I shifted on my feet awkwardly. I didn’t think this was something they wanted me to go to.

“Well, you guys have fun. I’ll see you later,” I said before stepping forward to give Hamilton a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I was still nervous for him, but I knew he was in good hands.

“I don’t think so, princess. You better get on some comfortable clothes because it’s girls against boys at paintball, and you can’t run in those boots you’re wearing,” Jess teased while nodding at my feet.

“Really?” I asked. Admittedly, I had zero desire to shoot paint at people, but if it was what they needed, then okay.

Jess leaned over and playfully shoved my shoulder. “Get dressed. We’re leaving in five.”

22

The restaurant looked cozy and romantic. It was dark inside, flickers of candlelight the only thing illuminating every table. The walls were lined with exposed brick, a warm red color. Arched windows lined a west-facing wall, showing off the last bit of light from sunset. It smelled delicious, robust Italian spices hitting my senses as waiters dressed in all black carried platters of authentic cuisine from table to table.

“This place is beautiful,” I whispered in awe.

“It’s the same as I remembered,” Hamilton replied quietly while we waited for a table. I reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing lightly. Today had been exhausting. Jess wasn’t kidding when she said we had to fill every second with activities to distract Hamilton. Paintball was fun, though I already had bruises forming on my back from where I got shot. I sat out on rock climbing, and the hike wasn’t a leisurely stroll. It was five miles on an intense incline with Hamilton practically jogging the entire way. Every muscle in my body was sore, and I knew that I’d be paying for our adventure for at least the next week.

I was surprised that Hamilton wanted to come here. It was his mother’s favorite restaurant, and I felt conflicted about his motives. From what I gathered, Hamilton didn’t want to think about her today. It’s why Jess had a fucking itinerary full of things planned out.

“Did your mother used to bring you here?” I asked softly. Dealing with Hamilton today was like navigating land mines. I wasn’t sure what was the right thing to ask and what would send him over the edge. I tried to stay attuned to his reactions, but his behavior made it difficult.

“I know you’re worried about me,” Hamilton said. “And I know this is confusing, and I should have probably given you a heads-up about today.” I chewed on my tongue, forcing myself not to ask him another round of questions. “I didn’t want to stress you out more than you already were. I thought I could handle it.”

“It doesn’t stress me out,” I argued. “What stresses me out is not