Dirty Thoughts - Megan Erickson Page 0,78
going to prove he hadn’t touched Dylan. Who was going to believe him over the son of the company’s owner?
Time froze when Jenna appeared at the top of the hallway. She was backlit from the lights on the dance floor, so her hair was a dark wavy mass around her face. Just a moment ago, he was there, floating on a high in her light. And now, not five minutes later, everything was back to fucking black. The contrast stung his eyes and pierced his heart. Cal stared at her, shaking his head, unsure what to say. “I didn’t—” he began, but Dylan started wailing louder, drowning out Cal’s assertion of the truth. Cal could probably take out the guys holding him with a couple well-placed elbow jabs, but how would that look? That would only make him look guiltier. So he didn’t fight. He’d have to explain later, if he even got the chance. He allowed himself to be dragged down the hallway toward a back door.
Away from Jenna.
She stood there among the chaos. Motionless. Staring at him.
He hadn’t known the knife of disappointment could flay him alive. He knew now.
FIVE MINUTES LATER, his mind wasn’t on what had happened in that damn hallway of the country club. Because his phone rang again, and Gabe was hysterical with apologies, and Cal was doing ninety on the way to the hospital, thinking he wasn’t sure he’d make it through seeing another brother lying on one of those beds.
Chapter Twenty-Four
THIS WAS DÉJÀ vu to Cal. It was Max all over again—when he’d been attacked on his college campus, pistol-whipped in the back of his head.
Cal had nearly gone out of his mind when he saw his youngest brother on that hospital bed, a bandage around his head.
And now . . . well . . . now it was happening again. Except this time, it actually was his youngest brother, the one he didn’t know existed, lying on the white-sheeted mattress, a bandage on his head, his broken arm in a brace. The nurse said they’d cast it later.
Cal had shown up at the hospital to find a crying Julian and a hysterical Gabe, who apologized profusely. Cal hadn’t said a word as they led him to Asher’s room. Their words were nails hammered into his brain—how Gabe had given Asher a ride on his motorcycle around the yard. The bike had backfired, and Asher had fallen off, cracking his head on the driveway and breaking his arm.
Jesus fuck. He’d kept Asher in Tory to keep him safe. And he’d done exactly the opposite, suffering through a fucking party he didn’t even want to be at, while the kid fell off a bike and landed in the hospital.
He’d been so busy with Asher and Jenna, he’d completely forgotten about fixing Gabe’s bike. It just . . . slipped his mind.
Asher had been sleeping when Cal arrived at the room, so Cal talked to the doctors to find out that Asher was mostly fine, but he was being monitored for a concussion. While feeling like he was going to vomit in the fake plant outside his brother’s room, Cal had called his mom to tell her what happened. The hospital needed insurance information. Cal had expected a guilt trip from her. He’d expected something¸ but all she’d said was to have Asher call her when he woke up.
Fucking ridiculous.
And now he sat on a bench outside Asher’s room while the kid slept, telling himself to breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. He had his head between his legs, his hands laced behind his neck.
This is exactly what he’d wanted to avoid. This was why he’d spent ten years shutting himself down. Because this fucking hurt, to be so worried about someone else, to not have control. It made him want to gather everyone he cared about and stick them in a bubble where he could watch them and protect them all the time. He’d told himself he’d try this whole family thing all over again, and it hadn’t taken long before it all got fucked up. Hadn’t taken long before Cal realized he wasn’t strong enough to deal with all of this again. Even right now, he was sick to his stomach, one step away from a mental breakdown. He’d tried this—the whole responsibility thing—and he’d failed.
His fists clenched, his chest constricted. He needed to get his shit together before Asher woke up.
He kept his phone off, having told Jill