The Princess and The Jester - A.D. McCammon Page 0,80

to me.

“That little fucker is asking for it,” Thatcher grits.

Shane wanted me to find out what Cole was doing by exposing the secret. He must’ve thought Cole would confront me and expose himself. That way he would get what he’s always wanted: to keep Cole and I apart. Only Cole didn’t say anything to me because he’s probably too hurt and angry.

“Cole is going to hate me,” I whimper.

“Are you kidding?” Arwen scoffs. “You sacrificed a lot to protect him. That shows how loyal you are. It proves how much you love him. Cole will recognize that.”

“You’ve sure as hell earned our respect,” Thatcher adds.

More tears fall as I nod my head, and Arwen parks her car in front of a small honkytonk. “What are we doing here?”

“Cole’s dad used to play here all the time. It’s where…where he played his last show. He comes here sometimes when he needs to get away from Westbrook,” Thatcher answers as we all climb out of the car.

My heart grows heavier as I eye the tall brick building, a neon sign blinking above the door. It makes sense Cole would come here to feel close to his dad. But my gut is telling me this is the last place he would come right now. “What if he’s not here?”

Arwen looks at me with pity in her eyes, hooking her arm around mine. “Then we keep looking. He’s bound to turn up somewhere. Try not to worry.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Present

COLE

My stomach is in knots as I wait in line. I’ve never been this nervous about anything before in my life. This is something I’ve dreamed about for years, not really believing it would happen. That was before I knew the truth. When my only goal for coming here was to unleash my anger.

This isn’t the kind of place anyone willingly visits. Everything about it is cold and uninviting. The blank walls, the florescent lighting, the cold metal seating secured to the hard floors. Everyone in this room is miserable, all of us brought here by circumstance.

The line moves again, leaving only one person in front of me. The beating in my chest grows heavier, and I eye the exit, questioning if coming here was the right choice. My mother won’t be happy about it, but it’s something I need to do.

The vibrating in my pocket distracts me from my nerves. Another text from Gwen is waiting for me when I pull it out.

Gwen: If you don’t want to talk to me, I understand. But please come home.

I’ve been ignoring her calls and texts since Sunday. She thinks I’m angry with her for not telling me the truth about my father. That might’ve been the case at first. At least a little. It felt like a betrayal. After having some time to think about it though, I realized how much she went through to protect my mother’s secret. To protect me from the painful truth. If anything, I love her even more now. But I also feel even less worthy of her.

It was bad enough being labeled as the help’s son and getting ridiculed by my peers. Finding out I’m the bastard offspring of a murdering, abusive psychopath is a whole different beast. One I’m not sure how to conquer.

“You know they say people who use physical violence typically have lower intelligence. We know that’s not the case with you. So, maybe it just runs in your DNA. You’re a chip off the old block. Just like your dear old dad.”

What if the cretin was right? It’s no secret I’ve always had a bit of a temper. When I think of the way I treated Gwen after she broke up with me…

“Next,” the officer calls, her tone bored and dull.

Stuffing my phone back into my pocket, I move up to the metal counter with the bulletproof glass. “I’m here to see my…to see Brody Kenton.”

“Name?”

“Cole Masterson.”

After my mom told me the story about Brody, I ended up driving around for hours, not knowing where to go or what to do. The last place I wanted to be was home. I wasn’t ready to talk to my mother about all of this. Or to face Gwen. Thatcher and Arwen didn’t even feel safe. My emotions were all over the place, my mind reeling. It felt like the best option was to be alone.

I hit the store for some necessities and a change of clothes then pulled up to Brighton, knowing one of the front clerks would hook me