Page 71 of Dark Little Game
“Tell me about your problem with Weston.”
“Why do you want to talk abouthim, anyway?” Hunter protests, eating another strawberry. “Swear you guys used to call each other to figure out what to eat for breakfast each morning. Maybe it’s good that you’re a little more distant now?—”
“We aren’t distant. What did you do to him?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Why do you assume it wasmewho did something tohim?”
“Because I know Weston doesn’t hurt the people around him. And I know you do.”
He looks me up and down. “It wasn’t either of us. It was our father. Is that enough truth for you, Colson? Or are you going to interrogate me more?”
I’m silent for a moment.
My heart’s already pounding, like I’m in a physical fight with him even though we’re just talking.
Theirfatherhurt them?
Barrett Knox always seemed like a stern but kindperson, welcoming me into his home as a kid, offering me food that was cooked by their live-in nanny.
I never knew my own father, and having glimpses into what it was like to have a dad around always felt…
Like a fairytale.
Too good to be true.
“Yourfatherdid something to you guys?”
“He didn’t touch us, Rayne. If you’re looking for a sob story, it’s not that type of horrifying.”
I kick off my shoes and hop in my bed, sitting so that my back is up against the wall and I’m facing Hunter’s bed.
He does the same, looking over at me, and finally he pulls in a long breath.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” I tell him.
“Too late. You wanted the truth, didn’t you? I’ll tell you everything, even if Weston won’t.”
14
Hunter
“People always expect brothers to be treated the same,” I tell Rayne as he sits back on his bed. “Especially when you’re only a year apart. But the truth is that our father always had a favorite. And that favorite was me.”
Rayne furrows his brow. “But…”
“I know. It sounds weird, because Wes is the obvious favorite now. But when we were young,reallyyoung, my father hadn’t started hating me yet. Weston was a surprise baby, coming so quick after I was born. And he was adifficultbaby, apparently, and even worse as a toddler. Wailing every night, never happy, never calm. But I was an angel.”
“So your dad liked you better as a baby, and that’s why you were a dick to Weston for the rest of your life? I’m not buying it.”
“When I was six and he was five, Weston accidentally knocked another kid off a platform at the playground. The kid broke an arm, and Weston went home and told our father that I did it.”
Rayne narrows his eyes, like he can’t decide if he believes me or not.
“Weston doesn’t tend to lie,” he says.
“Not usually. But he did that day.”
“Why?”
