The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4 (Cursed #3-4) - Rebecca Donovan
Everyone has a secret. It dwells beneath our skin. Settles within our bones. And weighs us down. Anchoring us to the bottom until we drown.
And maybe that’s what we’re all doing … drowning. In our secrets. Our lies. Our hidden truths.
We’re standing in front of each other, slowly dying. Being suffocated by the words that won’t leave our lips.
All to protect ourselves from shame or guilt. Because we aren’t doing it to protect the ones we love. No matter what we try to convince ourselves. Secrets only tear us apart, separating us from each other.
I’m standing on an island, surrounded by others’ secrets. And drowning in my own. Struggling every day with the isolation. Silently begging to be relieved of their weight.
Our house was built on secrets. They tried to hide them from me … my aunts, my mother, my grandmother. But I knew when there was something wrong even if I never discovered what it was. I’d hear them whisper while I slept. The cries muffled into pillows. The doors slammed a little too hard. The voices that slipped into screams of hurt and despair.
My father is one of those secrets. My mother kept him trapped behind her haunted blue eyes; tears slipped freely from her lashes at the mention of his existence. I don’t know what he did to her, but he never let her go, even in his absence. He is the secret that’s slowly dimming her light. Or maybe it’s me—the reminder of the love she will never have.
But now … I may have found the key to unlocking that secret. I’m hesitant to unleash it. Can I finally release her from its cruel bind and set her free? Or will I lose what little of her he left behind?
You broke my heart. But I let you. Over and over again.
Vic?”
Brendan looks from my wide eyes to Joey’s avoiding gaze. And as if he can read our minds, he concludes, “He’s the one who pushed Allie down the stairs, isn’t he? Of course it’s him.”
Joey shoots me a panicked look before he demands, “How do you know about Allie?”
“He knows way too much about everything,” I explain vaguely, still in shock that I may be related to the biggest asshat in existence. Which is so much worse than learning that I could also be related to Joey or Brendan. “I need to go,” I say, rising on rubbery legs.
Joey reaches to steady me without actually touching me.
“I’ll walk you back,” Brendan offers.
“I can’t go through that tunnel again.” I ask Joey, “Where are you staying?”
“Lance’s room.”
“Take me with you?”
Surprise flashes across his face, understandably. I’ve been doing my best to avoid him.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Don’t get caught,” Brendan warns.
“Whatever,” I mumble. Before I move toward the door, I pick up the picture of my mother and Kaden, tucking it into my pocket. The rest Brendan can have. I’ve seen all that I need to see. And most I wish I hadn’t.
Joey checks that the hall is empty before nodding for me to follow.
“I’ll figure this out,” Brendan says quietly before I slip out the door.
A part of me wants to tell him not to bother. That I don’t want to know. Whatever the truth is, it’s messed up—or else our parents would have told us. They’ve kept it hidden for a reason.
And I don’t blame my mother exactly. Either she had an affair with a married man, or the man she loved more than life abandoned her as soon as he discovered she was pregnant. Unless … Kaden doesn’t know about me.
“How well do you know your uncle?” I whisper to Joey as we creep down the three flights to the second level.
Joey glances at me over his shoulder, shrugging slightly.
He refuses to speak, afraid of getting us caught. I follow impatiently until we arrive at Lance’s door, silently waiting for Joey to slide a laminated card over the lock.
“Hey!” Lance greets his brother. “I didn’t know—” He stops as soon as I enter the room. “What’s up? Don’t tell me you’re hooking up in my room.”
I flop down next to him on the beat-up couch where he’s holding a game controller. “Nope.”
His room is the typical guy room, if I’m being stereotypical. Clothes are tossed everywhere. The walls are covered with sports and band posters. A neon Open sign hangs above his unmade bed. And there’s a weird smell—dirty socks mixed with cologne with a hint of stale pizza.