of what she actually means. She squeezes my hand, drawing my gaze to her.
“I suspect that your biological father is Thomas Morgan, not Michael Moreland.”
Her words send me into a kind of shock. What the hell is she talking about?
“Mom…” I shake my head, then look over at the morphine drip attached to her arm. “That’s… you’re not thinking right. The meds the doctors have you on…”
She clutches at my hand. “I’m making sense, Aiden. It’s important that you listen to me. This could be the last time I have the chance to talk to you like this.”
“Mom…” I start, feeling anger rising inside me like a tidal wave. “You’re saying that my dad isn’t my dad?”
She nods, her chin wobbling. “Yes.”
A sense of betrayal slithers low in my belly. I’m not just angry, I feel… disgusted by her.
My lip curling, I rip my hand out from hers. “He beat me black and blue, Mom! Every fucking day! And you just let him.” I rise, pointing at her. “You watched him beat me and tell me I was stupid. He made my childhood hell! And now you’re telling me that he wasn’t even my real dad?” I start seeing red. “All that time, you could’ve told me! And yet, instead of letting me go to… whatever… you just sat and let me get my ass beat?”
“I’m sorry,” my mom says, feebly trying to reach for me. “You don't understand…”
“No. I definitely don't understand,” I say. My hands are shaking. I’m picturing my dad leaning over me, pressing the buckle of his belt against my tear stained face. Whispering that I deserve what he’s about to do to me… Then he raises the belt and brings it down full force across my back, causing me to cry out.
A sob rises from Mom’s chest. “I’m so sorry, Aiden…”
The crack of that belt hitting my flesh rings through my memory. I grit my teeth. A tear slips down my face.
“You know what, Mom? Fuck you. You’ve disappointed me for the last fucking time.”
Whirling, I storm out of her hospital room, so furious I can't even think or see straight. Eve is coming down the hall as I stride down it, a disbelieving look on her face.
“What happened?” she asks, grabbing at my arm.
“Our mom’s a whore,” I spit back, evading her grip.
Her look of perfect surprise is more than I can take. I shake her off and head for the stairs, pushing open the door and taking stairs down two and three at a time.
I make it down to the parking lot in no time at all. Soon I peel out, burning rubber in my haste just to leave the damn place. I can't even hear the noise of the tires against the pavement over the voices in my head.
Every single voice angry, every one shouting at full volume inside my head.
I drive into the night, knowing full well that I’m not going to return, even though she’s only got a day left. Let Eve have her.
I’m done.
Chapter Two
Aiden
“Get the hell out of my apartment!” she shouts, steaming mad. She’s standing by the tall open windows of her Port Angeles apartment, still buck naked. She looks jiggly and yet somehow statuesque at the same time as she leans out with a bundle of my clothes.
That’s a moment to remember. But I know I won’t. There have been too many Emmas to count recently. I guess there is a reason she’s a model after all, because she is the very picture of grace even as she hurls my clothes out the window.
“Emma—” I say, holding my hand up to ward her off.
The other hand holds a silk bedsheet, covering my junk. Two minutes ago, we were naked and writhing around in her bed.
Then she asked about brunch tomorrow with her friends and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. All this, before we actually fucked. It’s too much for anybody, most of all me.
I made what was obviously in retrospect the huge mistake of being blunt and honest about my needs. After all, I only plan on being here for a few more hours at most.
I have plans. Stuff I need to do while I’m in town. After this, I’m headed back to base camp to lead a ten-day tour.
That wasn’t what she wanted to hear, I guess. Thus she’s now dumping my stuff out the window and demanding I leave.
“Oooohhhh. My name is Emily! Em-uh-lee!” she screams. Her mascara is