Page 25 of Outcast
“I know I hurt you by leaving,” I said in a low voice, “but I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You could have stayed.”
“It would have made everything worse, Ax. I was trying to protect you.”
“Bullshit. Whatever it was, you were protectingyou.I know something went down with Dad. Ask me how I know, Gray.”
I hesitated, getting a bad feeling.
“Ask me,” he snarled.
“How?”
“He punched me in the fucking face when I asked where you’d gone and told me to never ask again. You weren’t my brother anymore.”
“Shit, Axel, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you all dragged into it. That’s why?—”
“I didn’t believe him, you know. Wewerebrothers. We had the code.” He tapped his wrist, and in the same spot Holden had shown was the same infinity design. “You wouldn’t just leave. Wouldn’t leave me withhim,the way my fucking parents left me over and over?—”
“I fucked up,” I rasped. “I know I did. I was a kid, and I was scared, and I fucked you over, Axel. I did. I own that. I’m so fucking sorry that he hurt you because of me.”
“He didn’t hurt me. That’s not the point, man.” Axel grabbed his tank top off the bar and pulled it over his head. “Youhurt me more than he ever could.”
He walked off, leaving me reeling with the truth that I’d been trying not to admit for ten long years.
I’d let my foster dad win—and in the end, my brothers had paid for it, anyway.
CHAPTERSIX
Emory
We pickedthe wrong night to meet up at Sauced to plan our ten-year reunion. The whole football team and their boosters packed into the red vinyl booths that ran around the edge of the pizza parlor, their voices and screams of laughter echoing through the place.
We’d been forced to crowd around a table in the center of the restaurant.
Todd Elliott, who was a football quarterback our senior year, grinned. “This is perfect. It’s like being back in high school.” He sighed. “Those days were the best.”
Sasha Cunningham rolled her eyes. “Onlyyouwould think being back in high school was a good thing.”
“What? They’re called the best years of your life for a reason.” He paused. “Unless you’re like Emory the moneyman and you’ve got nothing but good days ahead.”
“Lucky me,” I murmured.
This was the last place I wanted to be tonight. I’d spent the afternoon poring over the Forrester loan paperwork, hoping to find some loophole, a small piece of leverage that would mean I didn’t have to be the bearer of bad news.
But it was airtight. Old man Forrester had taken out a line of equity, missed payments, gotten a deferral, then failed to meet the extended deadline too. There was no avoiding paying the piper now.
I’d put off calling the Forresters until the last possible minute—and then I’d only gotten voicemail. I couldn’t drop the bomb that way. The only thing worse than telling Gray to his face would be blurting out the whole thing in a message like an insensitive asshole.
So I’d merely asked to set up an appointment to discuss their loan paperwork.
Cowardly? Yes. Absolutely. But just like them, eventually, I’d have to pay the piper.
I wasn’t really in the mood to be social, much less reminisce about the good old high school days. It wasn’t that I hadn’t liked high school. But the memories of those days were tight and itchy, like a sweater that no longer fit.
I took a long drink from my beer while Todd and Sasha bickered. They were total opposites, Sasha a jaded divorcee who worked in the office at the school and thus had no choice but to be here, and Todd an enthusiastic volunteer eager to relive his glory days—but then when your current days involved digging in people’s sewer lines, who could blame him?
“I’m going to check on the pizza order,” Sasha said with a huff, pushing back from the table.
