Page 48 of Last Resort (The Collector Trilogy 3)

Leo’s face pales.

“Those things—that’s how I know that Emerson’s not like that. He’s not like Dad. I know what that’s like, because I lived there, too. You tried—” Tears fill my eyes, making Leo into a black blur in the soft studio light. “You tried so hard to protect me from all of that. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. That’s why I couldn’t tell you.”

“That I didn’t always succeed.”

One tear breaks free and falls down to my chin. I wipe it away. “You did a really good job. Dad almost never hurt me.”

“Almost?”

I can’t say it. I can’t. Because it wasn’t Leo’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, except my father’s. I have no idea what made him the way he is. It’s very possible it wasn’t his fault either. Not until it was. I hook my hand into the collar of my sweater and hold on.

Leo’s skin is nearly gray now. He walks over to the shelves at the side of the room and opens drawers until he finds a sketchbook and a pencil. Then he brings them over to me.

I fold the sketchbook across my chest. Wrap my hand around the pencil. Leo paces a few feet away. He stands in front of my unfinished painting, patient. Quiet. The longer I wait, the worse he’ll imagine.

“There was one time when you had a trip for school.”

Leo drops his face into his hands.

“Okay.” His shoulders draw up so tight they’re on the verge of trembling. “Tell me what happened.”

“I colored on Dad’s shoes with my crayons, and he was really pissed about it. He took me into his office, and—”

My brother holds up his hand, as if he can’t bear for me to describe this. And I don’t have to. He already knows. He picks up his head and looks me in the eye. “You can say it if you need to.”

“I saw you so many times after you fought with him. I know how much time you spent. How hard you worked. I probably had the best childhood of anyone in that house. I think part of this is—maybe you thought Emerson was the first person ever to hurt me. That had to have felt like the end of the world. But he wasn’t. He wouldn’t.”

“Was there more?” he asks. His voice sounds ragged. “Did I leave too early?”

Leo lived at home through most of college. Even after Lucian and Carter and Tiernan were gone. He stayed because we were still there.

“There was one time in high school. He was drunk. You know how he gets. It was a slap. It was nothing.”

For a heartbeat, Leo’s face crumples. It’s been a long few weeks. He’s had a harrowing life. And now, with a baby on the way, with me in Emerson’s house—I think he might break down.

He doesn’t. His expression smooths. “Neither of those things was nothing.”

“What I’m saying is, it could have been worse. I always had a safe place to go, and that was you. I know Emerson’s okay because of you. Every single thing you did for me taught me that. All those songs. All those times you carried me upstairs. You were the example. I don’t think he’s safe because I got brainwashed, or because I’m too naive. I know he’s safe because he’s like you.”

Leo looks at the floor for a long time. When he lifts his head, the color’s come back into his face. “Are you sure you want to live here?”

I heard him wrong when he asked me this question about my apartment above Motif. He wasn’t trying to convince me to leave. He was telling me I could, if I wanted. That no matter how far I got into a situation, he’d get me out again. Always.

“I don’t want to be like Mom and Dad. I don’t want to be bitter like they are. They’re not happy. Dad is not happy. If he was happy, he wouldn’t be like he is. I don’t want that for myself. I know you’re not supposed to fall in love with a man who’s so obsessed he kidnaps you. But I did. And it’s what I want. And I don’t want you to hate me. I really don’t want you to hate me.”

“I could never hate you.” Leo shakes his head, the muscles around his mouth tightening until I can’t tell whether he’s trying not to frown or trying not to smile. “I want you to be happy. I want you to be safe.” He sighs. “It was going to be impossible. Do you know what Emerson asked me?”

“No.” My voice shakes. “What did he say?”

“He asked me not to kill him where you could see. That’s all he wanted.”

“What did you think of that?” I grip the sketchbook tighter. “Of him.”

Leo’s eyebrows pull together in surprise. “Are you asking me if I approve?”

“Yes.” I really can’t catch my breath. “Because I was hoping, if you didn’t hate me, and if you didn’t hate him, that I could bring him to your house. For dinner. Sometime.”

He just opens his arms.

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