Page 141 of Merry Me
I stepped out from around the corner, my bare feet soundless against the worn wood, my eyes locked on the man who helpedcreate me—who now stood there like he hadn’t just tried to auction off my half sister for a check and a pat on the back.
Terry’s head jerked up.
“Natalie—” he started, his tone pitched somewhere between innocent and oh-shit.
But he didn’t get another syllable out.
Because I punched him. Right across the jaw. A clean, snapping, bone-deep punch that came from years of swallowed pain and everything he hadnotbeen.
He stumbled sideways into the wall with a grunt, hand clutching his face like I’d just committed treason instead of self-defense. Brittany let out a tiny gasp, one hand fluttering to her chest like someone had spilled red wine on her Birkin.
More offended than concerned. Of course.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I shouted, fists trembling at my sides. “You show up after years—years—give some Oscar-worthy monologue about being sick and full of regret, and then I catch you here, asking my boyfriend for money like some back-alley grifter in a Men’s Wearhouse clearance suit?! And…offering her uplike she’s part of the damn deal?!”
“Natalie—”
“No,” I snapped. “Don’t speak. Don’t say my name. Don’tlookat me.”
My voice shook. My hands, too. But my spine? It had never felt straighter.
“She’s not a consolation prize,” I hissed. “I’m not some missed investment. And Easton sure as hell isn’t your personal ATM.”
His mouth opened again, but I wasn’t done. Not by a mile. Because something had just struck me…something he’d said.
“You told me you hadleukemia.”
He froze.
“I stood there while you tried to make me feel bad for you, and now I hear you spinning some sob story aboutprostate cancer?”
His mouth opened, shut, then opened again like a fish yanked out of water. “It—it’s both.”
“Oh really?” I barked out a laugh, half wild. “You’re just collecting cancers now, huh? Like Pokémon cards?”
“That’s not—I just didn’t think?—”
“No, youdidn’t. You didn’t think I’d catch you. You didn’t think I’d hear. And you definitely didn’t think I’drememberwhat you said. You’re not even sick, are you?”
Silence fell like glass shattering in the air.
His jaw worked, but nothing came out. His eyes skittered sideways. The corner of his mouth twitched. And there it was—truth, plain as day, smeared all over his face like a bad toupee and even worse lies.
My stomach flipped, but this time it was from clarity, not pain.
“You lied,” I whispered. “Tome. Aboutcancer.”
“I didn’t think you’d talk to me otherwise—” he started.
“Save it.”
His eyes darted to Brittany like she might save him, but she was too busy inspecting her nails and pretending the floor wasfascinating.
I stepped closer.
“Do you know what it cost me just to let youtouchme today? What I had toswallowto say yes to that dance?” My voice cracked. “And this is who you are?”
His eyes flickered…guilt, shame, something close to fear.
