Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,107

already hurt me and I wasn’t willing to risk my heart being broken?”

“You mean the stuff with Tessa? It wasn’t his baby, Bris.”

“It could have been.” I shake my head and twirl my chair away from him to face the view through my window. “That wasn’t even the point. He lied to me. He never once mentioned he was in a relationship that whole week we were . . .”

Together. To even think of us as “together” pains me.

“Whatever we were doing that week,” I finish lamely. “If he would cheat on Tessa, he’d cheat on me.”

Rhyson comes to stand in front of me, propping himself against the windowsill.

“You think Marlon would cheat on you?” Rhyson looks at me disbelievingly. “He was a kid!”

“He hasn’t exactly been chaste since.”

“Neither have you,” Rhyson tosses back. “You can’t hold anyone he’s been with against him when you weren’t together, Bris. That’s ridiculous.”

“You say that so easily because you’d never cheat on Kai.”

“Of course I would never cheat on Kai.” He looks offended that I even brought it up. “I couldn’t.”

“Well you’re the exception to the rule. Most men have no trouble cheating.” A laugh sours in my mouth. “Our father certainly doesn’t.”

“What did you say?” Rhyson peers at my face like he’s never seen me before. “Dad cheats on Mom?”

“Oh, God, Rhyson.” I lean back in my seat, part horrified, part relieved that he knows. “Yes. Dad cheats.”

“When?”

“When not?” I meet the confusion in his eyes. “Almost since the beginning.”

“I mean, I figured they didn’t have what you would call a typical marriage.” A frown settles on Rhyson’s face. “But I hadn’t thought about . . .”

He shrugs, his expression clearing.

“She probably cheats, too,” he says. “It isn’t like they have some grand passion.”

“She loves him,” I say softly. “She’s never cheated on him.” “How do you know all of this and I don’t?”

“Because I’ve been there, Rhyson.” Pent up emotion pushes my voice out louder than I intend. “You left and never looked back. I’m the one who stayed. I saw what happened."

“What did you see?” His eyes never leave my face. Maybe he’s really seeing me for the first time since we were kids.

I hear my father screwing that girl as if I’m standing down in the foyer again.

“I heard him.” I draw a deep breath, releasing it on a shaky exhale. “I went home after spring break but didn’t tell them I was coming. As soon as I walked in the house, I heard them upstairs. Someone having sex. Like loud, so I knew they didn’t think anyone else was in the house.”

I lean forward, propping my elbows on my knees and scooping my hair away from my face before going on.

“There was this part of me that was happy.” I shake my head, remembering the goofy grin I wore thinking I’d caught my parents making love. “I never thought they loved each other. I knew they were. . . partners, but I didn’t think of them as having sex. Of enjoying each other.”

“Yeah, neither did I.” Rhyson clears his throat. “And then what happened?”

“Then Mom walked through the front door.” I meet Rhyson’s horrified eyes. “Yeah. She walked in and heard him fucking someone upstairs. And I was standing right there, thinking the whole time it was her.”

I pop up, on my feet and pace around my office, because even the memory agitates me.

“She wasn’t shocked.” A staccato laugh chokes me. “Devastated, but not shocked. She was used to it. She accepted it.”

“Why doesn’t she just leave him?” Rhyson asks. “If it hurts so badly, why not just leave? Is it the business?”

“No, that’s what I thought.” I walk over to join him at the window, setting one hip on the windowsill and leaning my shoulder against the pane. “She brushed it off like it meant nothing, but later that night, I found her drunk and crying. Just . . . this pathetic person, nothing like our mother at all.”

I bite my lip, as if I can physically hold back the last of a dirty secret, but it’s about to spill out of me.

“She loves him. She doesn’t leave because she can’t. She loves him desperately.”

I tip my head back, preferring the ceiling to the perplexed look on my brother’s face.

“She has vodka for breakfast to get through the day,” I say. “Did you know that? Bloody Marys if she’s in public, but at home, she just drinks vodka first thing in the morning.”

“Are you saying our mother