We Don't Talk Anymore (The Don't Duet #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,18

the country’s first ever railroad— though, her father only inherited it twenty or so years ago.

For almost as long as her parents have occupied it, mine have maintained it. Though everyone has always been careful not to use the word “servant,” instead throwing around euphemisms — “housekeeper” for my mother, “handyman” for my father — I’ve known since I was no more than three that the Reyes clan could never afford to live in this house, this zip code, this very town on our own.

We exist here at the behest of Jo’s father. Were he to simply snap his fingers… we’d be out on our asses, exiled from the the only home I’ve ever known before the ink on my parents’ severance check was dry.

Rounding the circular driveway, I slow to a stop at the front walk and turn off the engine. Jo makes no move to get out. For a moment, we sit in total silence. I have to curl my hands around the steering wheel to keep from reaching for her, from crushing her against my chest in a hug — the kind we used to give each other without a second thought, back when things were so much simpler.

“I don’t know what to say to you,” she whispers finally. Her voice is soft; I strain to catch all her words. “That’s never happened before.”

My jaw tightens, holding in the desire to apologize. If she forgives me, this whole night — everything I did with Sienna — was for nothing.

I can feel her looking at me. Waiting for me to say something. To make this better between us, like I always do when we disagree. But I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead, my lips pressed firmly shut.

“I don’t know what your problem is, Archer, but I hope you get over it. Soon. I didn’t even recognize you, tonight. You were so angry. So out of control. It was like…” She pauses. “Like staring at your brother.”

Jesus.

I suck in a sharp breath. I can’t help it. Her words are a calculated blow, directly to my soul. And she knows it. She knows better than anyone how hard I’ve tried to distance myself from the reputation Jaxon created for our family. She knows how much I’ve struggled to detangle my identity from his.

Jo isn’t done speaking. “You need to get over this knight-in-shining-armor act. We aren’t kids anymore, Archer. I don’t need you to protect me from the bullies. I don’t need you to watch my back.”

Bullshit, I think but don’t say. She may not want to hear it, but she does need a shield to keep her safe; a sword to slay her demons.

The kids who go to our academy are assholes. Always have been, always will be. I’ve spent my life putting myself in the path between her and them. She’s not even aware I’m doing it, most of the time.

Case in point, tonight. Ryan Snyder. I shouldn’t have hit him. I realize that. I realized it the moment my fist flew out, the moment he went sailing through the air like a sock puppet. The moment Jo’s eyes sprung open and she started looking at me like a stranger.

And yet, if I could go back, I’d probably do it again.

Snyder may look like a Ken doll, but he’s no dickless innocent. Beneath that floppy hair and sensitive facade lies a true player. He’s hooked up with half the girls at Exeter Academy — plus just about every other private school in New England. The guy has so many notches in his bedpost, it starting to look like an authentic Native American woodcarving. Over my dead body will he add Jo to that piece of work.

Her voice gets even smaller. Still tipsy, she’s struggling to articulate her thoughts. The ones that manage to escape are laced with undeniable pain. “You know, hard as it might be for you to believe, I’m not totally repulsive. I—I—”

I’m horrified by the devastating crack in her voice; even more so when I look over and see tears welling in her big blue eyes.

Christ.

I clutch the steering wheel tighter, a useless lifeline against the avalanche occurring beneath my ribcage. My chest feels like it’s caving in on itself. I wish the ground would swallow me up, suck me down to Hell. It would be a reprieve from this torture.

Still…

I say nothing.

I offer no comfort.

I hate myself.

“I just can’t… You need to realize…” She shakes her head vigorously, as if to clear it.