Page 86 of Raise Hell

He doesn’t seem bothered by the question. “I think if he ever managed to have another son that he never would have acknowledged I exist.”

There really isn’t an appropriate response to that.

I’m not sure what impulse drives me, but I decide to offer him a small amount of my own honesty.

“My father is a dick, too.”

“How so?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.

“He only pays attention to us when we’re doing something of value to him. All it takes is one mistake, and he’s done.”

“Us?”

Shit. I pick up my wine and take a large gulp, practically choking on it. Drake continues to stare at me with an expectant look on his face as I struggle with what to say.

I just let myself step on a landmine.

“I have a sister.” I deliberately don’t mention the word twin.

He tilts his head to the side, expression quizzical. “Is she younger or older?”

“Older.”

Only by seven minutes, but he doesn’t know that.

His eyebrow raises. “But she didn’t go to St. Bart’s?”

The last thing I need is for Drake to decide to do research of his own and catch me in a lie. I decide to give him an abbreviated version of the truth that will hopefully be enough to satisfy his curiosity.

“Gigi is the problem child. She went to juvie for the first time when she was like twelve.”

“For what?”

“We had an uncle who liked to get handsy,” I say before I can stop myself. No one knows this story, at least not all of it, aside from Olivia and me. “She decided to handle it herself, and things got out of hand.”

“Assault, then?”

“Pieces of him are missing that won’t grow back, but yeah.”

I’m not proud of what I’ve done, but I’m not sorry for it, either. All I’ve ever wanted to do was protect us, even if somewhere along the line Olivia became convinced she hated me for it.

“And now?”

“The last time Gigi got in trouble, my father made it clear she wasn’t welcome back.” I shrug, my fingers playing with the stem of my wineglass. “I told you my father is a dick.”

“And your mother?”

I resist the urge to laugh. “My mother isn’t a fighter the way yours is. She responds to crisis by taking an extra Xanax and napping until the problem goes away. I can’t remember the last time she was awake by noon, and she doesn’t leave her room unless it’s an emergency. Things have been even worse since…”

I stop, realizing with painful shock what I was about to disclose.

But Drake doesn’t let up. “Since what?”

Since the real Olivia has been locked up in my parents’ house with machines doing her breathing for her. That was enough to break Cynthia Pratt in a way her prescription pill addiction never could have done on its own.

“Since my father has been traveling so much for work,” I say quickly. “My mother doesn’t do well when she’s on her own.”

“Not like you. Or even your sister,” he muses. “Are you guys close?”

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