Page 3 of Toxic Hope
That’s not even the worst part, either. The worst part is knowing he would have gotten away with it if Sarah didn’t break down crying while we sat with her in the curtained-off area, waiting for the results of her x-rays.Please, don’t tell Dad. Don’t tell anybody.The memory is sharp and clear—her tear-stained face, the way her voice shook with fear and pain, the way she looked so small and broken and bruised.
What I wouldn’t give for the chance to kick his ass again. Once wasn’t enough.
“And?” Preston never could wait for Dad to get through a story.
“And… Brody is not going to press charges against you.”
“Why not?” I demand, because I’m not stupid. This is too easy.
“Because… you know what he did.” Dad closes his eyes, grimacing. “I cannot believe this is the decision I’m faced with. He’ll stay quiet so long as we stay quiet about what he did to Sarah.”
“No way!” I didn’t plan on blurting it out. But it comes out of me before I can help it.
Preston is with me. “Dad, this is bullshit! We can’t let him get away with this!”
“You beat the shit out of him. Two on one. There is a witness out there who will confirm that. Do you realize what a judge would do to you if given a chance? I won’t have my sons carrying a police record around with them for the rest of their lives—no matter the reason why,” he adds when we both try to argue.
“But it’s Sarah,” I mutter, not that it makes a difference. We’re supposed to stand back and let some asshole beat our sister and not do anything about it?
“I’m sure your hearts were in the right place.” Dad speaks slowly, like he’s choosing his words carefully to keep things from getting any worse. I guess I should be glad, since it’s better than him losing his shit on us, but now it feels like he’s being patronizing. I fucking hate being patronized.
“Oh, that’s bullshit,” I mutter. I can’t help it. We’re talking about Sarah, the little sister who Preston and I have protected since we were kids, and he throws some empty words around. He’s the one who used to make a big deal of us taking care of her back when he wanted us to bond or whatever; then he turns around and pulls this meaningless shit out of thin air?
“So your heart wasn’t in the right place?” Before I can say a word, Dad makes a slashing motion with his hand. “Enough. I am trying like hell to keep it together. I just found out my seventeen-year-old daughter is being abused by her boyfriend, and I can’t press charges against the bastard unless I want my sons spending time behind bars.”
And because he can’t leave well enough alone, he has to throw his hands into the air before adding, “Let’s not get started on what a scandal like this would mean for the hospital. My twin sons, beating an unarmed kid half to death in the parking lot. The Board would demand my resignation before sunrise.”
Would they? It’s not like he’s never exaggerated to make a point. For all I know, though, that’s exactly what would happen if word got out. If you’re somebody who ends up on the Board of Directors of a big, respected hospital, you have to care about optics and shit like that.
With a heavy sigh, he asks, “Could the two of you think for just a minute about how your actions might affect someone else? Is that too much to handle?”
My brother sucks in a sharp breath that tells me he’s about to unload on Dad, and something makes me stop him. I don’t know what. I only know I reach out to grab his arm before he has achance to say anything we’ll both end up regretting. That’s how it’s always been. There’s no punishing us separately. If he fucks up, says the wrong thing, we’ll both end up paying for it.
Right now, no matter how much I don’t feel like it, I need to kiss a little ass. “What do you want us to do?” I ask Dad, still gripping Preston’s arm.Keep your mouth shut.
Dad rolls his eyes and sighs again before lifting a shoulder. “Honestly, I want the two of you out of my sight for now. But don’t think this gets you off the hook,” he adds. “We are going to revisit this tomorrow, after I’ve had time to put my thoughts together. Try and see if you can make it home without potentially destroying my career and wrecking your lives in the process.”
The look I give Preston is enough to keep his mouth shut—either that, or he’s aware enough to know if we don’t leave now, we might not get the chance without having our asses handed to us.
Only when we are in the hallway on our own do I bother flexing my hands to work out the ache in my joints. Not that I regret it. If anything, the pain I’ll go through tonight is kind of a badge of honor. Every throb reminds me of what I did for Sarah, and she will always be worth it.
“That motherfucker.” Preston scrubs a hand over his close-cropped hair before growling as we step into the elevator. “He would come up with a deal like that, wouldn’t he? I won’t press charges if you don’t press charges. The bastard.”
“He beat up a girl who probably weighs a hundred pounds only after a heavy meal,” I remind him, jamming a finger against the button for the ground floor. “I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
“Do you really think Dad will let him get away with this?”
“How do I know? Fuck.” Flexing my fists, staring at my reflection in the mirrored elevator door, it’s not only my disgusted snarl I see.
It’s her. The girl whose name I don’t know, but who showed up at the worst fucking time tonight and decided to play the big, bad hero when she didn’t have the first fucking clue what was happening out there. To her, we were a couple of bullies beating the shit out of a defenseless guy. She wanted to swoop in and save him, didn’t she? How would she feel, whoever she is, if she was lying on a gurney in the ER after someone who’s supposed to love her decided to use her as a punching bag?
I can see her clearly. Wide eyes set in a pale face framed by glossy blonde curls. A small frame—it makes me wonder how she would hold up against the kind of beating Brody gave Sarah. My stomach turns when I try to imagine it, which means I should probably stop trying. Would little miss pain-in-the-ass run in and get a security guard to stop us if Brody was her shithead boyfriend? Or would she thank us?
“Do you think Sarah is in a room yet?” I ask once we reach the lobby. It’s quiet, pretty much empty except for the people behind the desk who know what happened earlier, judging by the way they eye us.
Instead of avoiding the judgmental women at the front desk, Preston walks straight over to them and folds his arms on the counter. “Is our sister in a room yet? Or is she still in the ER?” There’s no need to use names. They know who we are after years of Dad parading us around. His twin sons, along with a beautiful daughter and a wife whose life revolves around charity events. The perfect family.
We shattered that illusion tonight.
