Page 196 of There's No Us Without You
“Was the baby mine?”
Fucking hell. Why do I care?
Because I do. I have to know if Gabby aborted our baby. My baby.
Tyler shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t know. She never told me, and I never asked.”
I pull at my hair as I pace the front lawn. “Fuck.”
An abortion? I could have been a dad? I bend over, supporting my upper body with my hands on my thighs.
I can’t fucking breathe.
This is . . . a lot.
“Don’t push her away, too,” Tyler says after a long moment of silence.
Standing, I whip my head in his direction. “What are you talking about?”
“Eden.” He nods to the house. “She deserves to be treated better than the shit I just saw.”
“Fuck right off,” I spit out, jabbing a finger at him. “You know nothing about our relationship.”
I storm away, making it to the pathway before he stops me.
“I know she loves you.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “Love?” I throw my hands up and stalk towards him again. “What would you know about love, Ty? You really think what we experienced as kids was love?”
Tyler’s eyes glass over, and he blinks rapidly. “We loved each other, the way brothers do.”
I scoff. “That wasn’t love. That was survival.”
The words coming out don’t feel like my own. I don’t mean them, but I also can’t stop them.
Tears roll down Tyler’s cheeks, and he squeezes his lips together as he nods his head.
“By the way, while we’re sharing truths, Dad was in an accident almost two years ago. He’s brain dead and living in our old house. Just thought you should know.”
I leave him standing there, eyes wide, mouth open, and tears streaming down his face. He deserves better than that. I shouldn’t have spat the words at him the way I did, but there are a lot of things I shouldn’t have done over the last couple of months. What’s one more?
The front door slams behind me as I come face-to-face with a red-cheeked Eden. Her small nostrils flare as her wide eyes dart over my face.
Jesus. Here we fucking go.
“Your father is still alive?” Her voice is higher in pitch than normal.
“Do you always listen in on private conversations?” I storm past her towards the kitchen.
My mouth is so damn dry, it’s like swallowing sandpaper.
“Are you always such an arsehole?” Eden chases after me, her shorter legs struggling to keep up.
I lift a shoulder and snatch the water from the fridge door. “I never said he was dead.”
“But—”
“But what?” I throw my hands up, almost dropping the bottle onto the tiled floor. “Would it make a difference? He may as well be dead.”
