Page 61 of Winter's End

“He bullied Emmett for years, and then when Emmett got his growth spurt, he moved on to terrorize his sisters. Emmett couldn’t retaliate without severe consequences, but I could. When Wyatt went too far and forced himself on Aidie, I beat the shit out of him. There were no witnesses, so he couldn’t prove it was me, but he never forgot.”

My mouth filled with saliva and I shivered at the burning image of an innocent Aidie pinned under Wyatt. Dad’s fists clenched and his eyes filled with a heated anger so palpable its waves washed over me.

“When Carson came after you, I knew. Like father, like son. It was why your mother and I tried to bury him alive. I know it didn’t seem like it, but we wanted that family to pay. I wanted to break their assault cycle once and for all. Wyatt was a menace who hid behind his father’s money, and then Carson did the same.”

Hot tears pricked the back of my eyelids as the first few tendrils of understanding collected in my consciousness.

“But you paid the price, honey, and I’m so, so sorry for that.”

A sob escaping, I buried my face in my hands, hiding behind my hair, a privacy screen between me and the truths of my parents.

“I wanted to tell you about the open marriage years ago.”

Mom spoke for the first time in what seemed like hours, her smoky voice breaking through my tears. “I was a cowardand didn’t think you would be open to the idea—I guess I was worried that Carson’s actions would traumatize you, and you wouldn’t have been comfortable with this aspect of our lives. I should have trusted you.”

You could have knocked me out with a feather. It was like we were on Dr. Phil’s couch with the bald man himself in the corner directing the dialogue of our forgiveness journey—or whatever the hell this was.

“I know we’ve never been great parents.” Mom smiled weakly; another red-hot acknowledgment spoken into the confines of her office. “We tried to make you strong and independent, but I know we missed the mark sometimes.”

Mom wasn’t good at being vulnerable. Dad wasn’t great at admitting anything was ever wrong. I had woken up in an alternate universe, I was sure of it.

“Why now?” I croaked out, so caught off-guard by the deluge of confessions that I needed to divert the conversation enough to get my bearings again. “Why bring all of this up now?”

Dad stroked his jaw, avoiding my scrutinizing stare. He squared his shoulders before matching my stare with one of his own.

“Drew came to me and put me in my place about a few things. You’ve got a good man there.”

I didn’t expect that. My Hardy Boy was bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders and trying to come to my rescue besides? The feminist in me wanted to be indignant; the woman, though, she felt unbelievably loved by a man willing to face her father and wanted to kiss the shit out of him.

The revelation also explained why this conversation had not one mention of the FBI, or ties to Georgio, or WAQ. Drew must have made the focus on me.

Guilt filled my pores as I realized my parents were trying to pass me an olive branch—whether solicited by Drew or not—and my actions may end up putting Dad in jail for the rest of his life.

Hisactions.Hisactions were going to put him in jail. Now, more than ever, I really needed to know why. Why would my father, who defended innocent women’s honor, who had worked so hard to get out of this town that wasn’t kind to him, come back and set up roots here with illegal start-up cash? I couldn’t push the topic today, but I needed to know the answer before he paid the ultimate price for his decisions.

A clammy film seeped out of my skin and covered me; a cold sweat battling with hot flashes of panic. I clamped down hard on my go-to reaction. Hell, no.

Taking a fortifying breath, I stood. “Thank you for telling me.” I stiffly moved to the door of the office before I turned around. Not meeting either of their stares, I said, “I need some time to process. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

Tears blurred my vision most of the drive, but I knew the mountain roads like the back of my hand. My mind was empty, like I’d opened up my head and scooped out every thought. I was grateful for the mild reprieve, even if disassociation was most assuredlynota sound coping technique.

I soon sat in the parking lot of Shane’s apartment complex. I should have known this was where my heart would take me when my entire world was too heavy for me to carry.

We were blurring the lines of our friendship in a way I didn’t understand, but hadn’t pushed back against. The night we’d shared with Drew between us was one of the sexiest, sinful moments of my life, but I couldn’t bring myself to regret it.

The way Quick’s gaze had worshipped my body; the way his hands had worshipped Drew’s … There was arightnessto all of it I couldn’t ignore. But the thought of taking our soul-bond to a higher level was, at best, a terrifying consideration.

He wasn’t expecting me, but I was too bone-tired to take out my phone and give him a heads up. I made my way up the three floors and let myself in with my trusty key.

My handsome best friend looked up from his position on the couch. His tall frame was sprawled out, his head on the armrest, and his feet dangled over the other side. One of his sci-fi thriller books lay on his chest.

He was wearing a baseball cap backward, with his dark hair tucked behind his ears, a white t-shirt, and black joggers. His gray eyes searched mine. Whatever he saw there was enough for him to leap off the couch like the panther he was and wrap his arms around me in three seconds flat.

“Hey, Snow,” he murmured, rubbing his large hands in soothing circles along my spine. “What’s wrong?”

Through my soul-weary haze, I vaguely made out that his usually neat and tidy space was trashed. Three pizza boxes lay in a haphazard pile on his tiny breakfast table, and from the smells lingering in the air, they still had remnants of day-old pizza in them. Piles of dirty clothes littered the floor, and food wrappers and stubbed out joints lined the coffee table. The room didn’t reek of an ashtray, but the mild, sweet smell of pot smoke clung to the small space.

Now wasn’t the time to question him, though. We’d all been under a lot of stress, and he’d only finished his final exams last week. My apartment was pretty gross-looking too—although that was more my norm.

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