Page 117 of Never Your Girl

I nod, the air between us heavy with unspoken understanding. “No one should have to feel that way.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence that stretches between us feels like a fragile thread.

I lean forward, locking eyes with Garret, my voice low but steady. “Is that why you started fucking with me?” For the first time, the anger that’s been burning in my gut feels hollow.

He exhales slowly as his expression remains guarded. “I wanted him to see that you weren’t the perfect son. That you weren’t untouchable.”

A humorless chuckle escapes from my throat. “Perfect? He never thought I was perfect. Hell, it was always the opposite. Most of the time, I was just a nuisance he had to deal with. Something to be fixed or ignored.”

Garret’s gaze sharpens, and his voice softens just enough to catch me off guard. “The bruises were from him, weren’t they?”

It’s not really a question. Even though part of me wants to deny it, to shove the truth back down where it can’t be exposed, I refuse to cover anything our asshole father has done.

“Yeah,” I admit quietly.

His face falls, guilt clouding his features like a shadow. “I’m sorry for dragging you through all of this.”

I let out a slow breath, the animosity between us easing as I sit back. “I’m not.”

“You aren’t?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m glad the truth is out there. For what it’s worth, I wish you’d just told me everything from the beginning. We could’ve had each other’s backs instead of whatever the hell this has been.”

He stares at me, his jaw working like he’s struggling to find the right words. Finally, he nods, his voice rough. “That probably would have been better.”

The silence between us feels heavy, but it’s not suffocating. It’s like the air has shifted. The tension replaced with something raw. Something real.

“We’re brothers,” I say softly. “We don’t have to keep tearing each other down. We’ve got enough shit to deal with without that.”

Garret drops his gaze to the floor. For a second, I think he might argue, but then he looks up. “Maybe it’s time we stop.”

It’s not a resolution, but it feels like a start.

I push to my feet, sliding my hands into my pockets. “I should go.”

He follows me to the door, leaning against the frame. The hostility from earlier is gone, replaced by something almost tentative. “I’m glad you stopped by.”

“Me too.” I hold his gaze. “We’ll figure this out.”

His nod feels real this time. No sarcasm, no bitterness. Just a quiet agreement to work through our relationship.

The cool air hits me as I step outside, clearing away the fog of tension that’s been clouding my head. I walk to my BMW, each step measured, like I’m testing new ground. When I slide behind the wheel, my chest feels tight, but not in the usual way. There isn’t the anger or frustration that’s become my constant companion.

It’s more like relief.

As if a missing piece has finally clicked into place.

My phone buzzes, and my stomach tightens when I see the name.

FragileLikeABomb

Just checking in to see how you are.

For the first time in years, I feel lighter.

Me

Truth?

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