him, help him.”
“I’d like to have the support of his biological sons.”
“You have mine,” Donny says.
Begrudgingly, I finally say, “Fine. You have mine as well.”
Why so much anger? So he abandoned his kids. He’s not the first lowlife to do that. And he bears no blame for what happened to us.
Except that maybe he does. We were alone in our house the day we were taken. If he hadn’t abandoned us, maybe our mother could have been there with us instead of working all the time.
But many single mothers leave their children home alone, and they grow up just fine without ever experiencing what my brother and I did.
Still, the rage claws at the back of my neck.
Rage I never let myself feel before. I tamped down all emotions long ago to survive.
I had to.
For if I’d allowed myself to feel, I wouldn’t have been able to deal with what happened to me. The horror and torture I endured to spare my brother.
It was worth it. It still is. My brother is a fine young man, and though he may have his struggles, he’s put the past behind him in a way I’ll never be able to.
I’d do it all again to protect him. I have no regrets.
Which is a lie. That thing buried inside me is pawing at its cage, determined to escape.
I ignore it and focus on my conscious regret.
Allowing emotion to overtake me.
I’m in love.
I’m in love with Ashley White, and the feelings are so overwhelming I can’t make sense of them.
They’re beautiful but chaotic. Like all the perfect notes of a symphony but with discordant undertones that keep it from its pureness.
And those feelings have also given rise to the intense anger that consumes me now.
“I want to meet him,” Donny says once again.
“All right,” Dad says.
“And just so you know, he’ll never be my real dad.” Donny smiles.
“I know that.” Dad returns his smile. “Trust me, I’m not in any way feeling displaced.”
“Good,” I say. “You’ll never be displaced.”
“Are you boys hungry?” he asks. “We can hit up one of Denver’s fine restaurants.”
“Starved,” Donny says.
I regard my brother. He just had news that could have upended his life, but he’s jovial as ever, starving as usual.
I worry about him sometimes. Though I took the brunt of abuse while we were in captivity, he still took a lot. Yes, we had the finest therapy money could buy once we came to the ranch, but I fear something remains in my brother that he doesn’t let anyone else see.
And I fear it could come out with a vengeance.
If it does, I’ll no longer be able to protect him.
Dad and I return to the ranch at noon the next day. We eat a quick lunch with Mom at the house.
“I had the pleasure of dining with Ashley last night,” Mom offers.
“Oh?” Dad says.
I say nothing. Of course she ate with Ashley last night. Ashley lives here, Dad and I were in Denver, so they ate together. I fail to see the point in my mother’s assertion.
“Yes,” she continues. “We went into town and ate at Lorenzo’s.”
“Lisa Lorenzo’s new place?” Dad says.
Mom nods.
Lisa Lorenzo is several years younger than I am. I remember her, as she hung out with Henry and Brad sometimes.
“We stopped at Murphy’s for a drink first,” Mom continues.
Dad nods. “How’s Sean?”
“We didn’t see him.”
“I suppose not, now that he’s retired.”
“He’s around sometimes, but last night Brendan was manning the bar.”
“How’s Brendan, then?”
“He’s good. Busy. He seemed quite taken with Ashley.”
The bite I just took of my sandwich lodges in my throat. I can’t respond. I wouldn’t anyway, but I physically can’t.
“That’s not surprising,” Dad says.
“Not at all,” Mom agrees. “She’s a lovely girl. Like a ray of sunshine around here.”
I take a drink of water and swallow hard, dislodging the ball of bread and meat from my throat.
A ray of sunshine.
Everything I’m not.
God, I have no business dragging her into my life, especially now that I’ve let loose the hell inside me.
Ironically, she was the catalyst.
Or rather, the feelings she brought out in me that I can’t control—those are the catalyst.
I like Brendan Murphy. He and I went to school together from fifth grade on. We weren’t best friends, but then I wasn’t best friends with anyone. He’s a good guy—smart, nice, hardworking.
And right now I want to fucking pummel his face into the ground. Punch his nose until an artery spurts blood.
“Both she and Brendan could do a lot worse,” Dad says. “Though I