The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4 (Cursed #3-4) - Rebecca Donovan Page 0,111

has just occurred to him out loud. “Tell me.”

“I lied to you,” he says, still lost in contemplation.

“Uh, yeah. Like every time you opened your mouth. Be more specific.”

Brendan shakes his head, coming back to the present. “About my tuition. It came from my mother’s estate. Niall oversees it. Except she didn’t make enough money to have an estate. It stipulates that it’s only to be used for my education. And now … I get it.” Brendan lets out a humorless laugh like he can’t believe he missed it. “Julia told my mother that the truth has always been the truth regardless of what anyone believes. And it’s time to pay for the lives wronged.”

“You think she paid your mother off?” Grant concludes, helping me fold the letters so they fit inside the box. “Why not include you in the will too?”

Brendan shakes his head in exasperation. “I don’t know.”

“Well, that clears up nothing,” I snap impatiently. I pick up several sealed envelopes. I search the scattered pages and find a few more letters that were never opened, six in total. All postmarked within weeks of each other, years after I was born … seven years after.

What happened that made Kaden write to her again after so much time had passed? I bite at my lip, itching to open one.

“Um, Lana,” Grant beckons cautiously.

closer and recognize it’s a newspaper clipping. Written in red marker across the article is:

I reach for it. Brendan lets go without resistance. The paper flutters in my hand as I read the headline: Thorne Industries Heir Falls to His Death in Nantucket.

I skim the faded print, picking out key words. From what I gather, Damon Thorne fell off the roof of a home owned by the Harrison family when a railing on their widow’s walk gave way, breaking his neck upon impact, killing him instantly. Guests were at the main house when it happened; no one witnessed the fall.

I flip it over. Written perpendicular to the newspaper print in black ink reads:

Brendan and Grant stare at me wordlessly, waiting for a reaction.

“What does this mean? That your mother blamed mine for his accident? And then threatened to tell the Harrisons … what exactly?”

“The threat may explain why your mother lost touch with the Harrisons?” Grant offers gently.

“Could also explain why Vic hates her—and you—so much,” Brendan proposes pointedly, not nearly as careful with my feelings. “Considering she killed his father.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I say, dismissing it without giving it any thought. My mother, a killer. It’s ridiculous. “And the money is what? To pay for their silence? Fifteen years later is a little late for hush money, don’t you think?”

“Unless Julia wanted to avoid an investigation for some reason. Maybe they’re all in on the cover-up, which is why no one will say anything.”

I shake my head. “No. There’s no way. My mother’s not capable of that.”

“Then why was this hidden in the false bottom of the box?”

“Your mother obviously hated my mother over … I don’t know … Kaden? The article was just another scare tactic to keep my mom away from Nantucket, from the Harrisons. From our father.”

“You think Kaden’s our father?” Brendan doesn’t look convinced. “Then who’s his other son? Joey? I don’t think so.”

“Maybe he had a kid with a girl back at school. Who knows? He’s obviously not trustworthy.”

Brendan’s face reddens. It’s the first authentic reaction I’ve seen from him … ever—not having to do with Ashton.

“Did you read any of these letters?!” He grabs a fistful of letters on the floor beside him, shaking them in the air. “He loved Faye. She devastated him. He even begged for her back years later, but she wouldn’t even read those letters!” He tosses the crumpled paper to the ground. “I know him. He’s not the type of guy to walk out on us.”

“He didn’t walk out on you,” I argue. “I saw the pictures. Looks like you were a happy family.”

Brendan blanches, not realizing I found the photos hidden in the book.

“And maybe when my mom found out about your mother and her boyfriend, she cut him out of her life and mine. So tell me, who’s really to blame for ruining everyone’s lives?”

“Lana,” Grant cuts me off before I can say more.

Brendan and I stare at each other, fire in our eyes, daring the other to cross the line.

“Maybe we should get some fresh air,” Grant coaxes, offering me his hand. “It’s been a long day. Let’s not do