“YOU’LL MAKE YOURSELF SICK, VEE,” Abby scolds, glaring at the untouched toast on the bedside cabinet. “You need to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” I say, my voice croaking from the ocean of tears I’ve cried.
“Thank fuck,” she breathes, whipping her hair over her shoulder, relief blazing from her eyes. “You’re talking again. You scared the hell out of me, you know? You’ve barely said three words since last night!”
I cover my face with my hands, expelling the air from my lungs. “I’m sorry, I…”
I don’t remember anything but the express train of thoughts polluting my head for what must’ve been hours judging by the daylight seeping into Abby’s bedroom.
I really need to call my doctor. Whatever dose he’s got me on now isn’t working. I feel like I’m running around in circles, my attention distracted from something more important by a vicious cycle of identical thoughts.
“At least drink something,” she pleads, perching beside me on the bed. “C’mon, just a glass of water. You’ve not eaten or drunk anything since you got here.”
I sit up, the comforter slipping lower, revealing a wrinkled t-shirt plastered to my skin. It’s the same one I wore yesterday… I should probably shower. Wash off the lack of sleep, tears, and countless hours I spent thinking, remembering every word Dad spoke about the Hayes, analyzing my entire childhood, scrabbling for clues, and coming up with nothing.
I don’t remember how I got to Abby’s. I don’t even remember how I left home. Did Dad chase me? Did Rebecca? Did Rose say anything when I was leaving?
My mind was in disarray. Utter and complete chaos, the same line bouncing around my head on repeat.
He’s your brother.
I’ve got glimpses, little flashbacks, nothing solid until about midnight when I’d calmed down enough to realize I was at Abby’s. Before that, there’s mostly emptiness interwoven with a sense of impending doom.
I drove here.
At least, I think I did… I shouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel, but I don’t remember doing it, consumed by shock.
That’s the best way to describe it. A deep state of shock.
Denial, too.
So much denial.
It wasn’t until the early morning hours that I started piecing together a story. Answering questions I should’ve asked my father last night. Maybe I did, but I don’t remember.
Slowly but surely, I’ve realized that if Conor’s my brother then Monica Hayes must be my mother. I look too much like my father for us not to be related.
While this part makes sense, nothing else does. Things I’m confident about one second topple over the next whenever I try to piece together a convincing timeline of events.
So my father had an affair. Okay, that’s plausible. Less so that a blue-collar man like him could snatch a woman like Monica Hayes, but then again… look at Conor and me.
It’s the same, just reversed.
Plausible, I decided sometime around five in the morning.
My father had an affair with Newport’s most powerful woman. And she’s my mother.
Again, plausible when I think about how similar we look. Gray eyes, similar hair color…
But what about the pregnancy? How in the world would Monica walk around pregnant with no one noticing? Did she leave for nine months? Hid somewhere to avoid scandal, then returned once she gave me up?
Why did she give me up? Did she not love my father? Was it just a one-night thing? What are the odds of getting pregnant after one night? Pretty low, I bet, and that’s why the foundations of this plausible idea seem built under a sinking city.
Then again, maybe she really disappeared for a while.
She could’ve been hiding the pregnancy until it was impossible, and that’s like… what? Five or six months? Then left for three or four, gave birth, and came back. The elite have a way of making things like this happen on the down-low. Rehab, charity work in Uganda, long vacation because she was stressed.
Plausible with seven sons.
The Hayes always had money, so sending Monica away for a few months wouldn’t be an issue.
But why would she give me up? She has seven sons. She adores kids, and Conor said she always wanted a daughter.
The foundations crack again.
But… maybe Robert threatened divorce if she kept me. Or perhaps she didn’t want me and palmed me off on Dad as soon as I was born?
Why would she cheat on Robert in the first place?
Every next question breeds more questions.
Do the older brothers know about this? Are they keeping this secret as close to their hearts as my father?
Doubtful.
From what I’ve learned, they’re family oriented. Very close to each other. If they knew I was their sister, they’d stop Conor dating me, wouldn’t they?
I feel sick the second he slips into my head, demanding attention. He’s worried by now. I’m sure he is, he always worries, and it’s already almost six o’clock in the afternoon. My phone’s been off all day. Rose should’ve started her piano lesson at five…
Rose.
God, I’ve left her there alone to deal with whatever Dad and Becca throw her way. They’ve probably locked her in our bedroom and taken her phone.
“Vee, you’re scaring me, babe. It’s been almost eighteen hours, and you’ve said three sentences. Your dad’s calling every hour checking on you.”
“He knows I’m here?”
Abby frowns. “Of course he knows. He dropped you off.”
My eyes narrow. I could’ve sworn I drove myself. “I don’t remember that.”
“Yeah, I know. You were in la-la land when he hauled you over here.”
“What did he say?”
“He said you needed some time away from home to think. What the hell happened?”
I shake my head, fresh tears springing to my eyes.
He’s my brother…
Half-brother, but that doesn’t change much. We have the same mother. We…
God, we kissed. So many times. The best kisses of my life. All of them. The short pecks, the long make-out sessions on the beach, those meant to soothe and show emotion, and those designed to start a fire.
We fucked.
Jesus Christ… we fucked. Not once. Not twice. A lot.
And every time, I wanted more. Needed more of him, his closeness, his touches, those reality-altering orgasms.
We fell in love. Deep and fast. Strong, too strong, irresistible, real… sick, depraved love.
I slept with my brother.
I’m in love with my brother…
“Conor and I are over,” I say, the words flooding out in a wail.
I know I have to break up with him. I know we can’t keep going, that even the idea of us together is unequivocally fucking wrong, but… my heart knows different. It feels different. It’s not rational and refuses to let him go.
“What?” Abby clips, confusion distorting her face. “Why? What happened? Did he hurt you? Cheat on you? I’ll fucking kill the bastard!”
“He didn’t cheat. He didn’t hurt me—”
“Then why are you breaking up with him? Shit, Vee, if you tell me this is about money again, I’ll flip the fuck out.”
I take the glass from her, another tumult starting in my mind.
Do I tell him what I learned? Do I annihilate his world the same way my father shattered mine?
The Hayes are a movie-worthy family. Close, tight, always there for each other, loving and caring.
Do I have the guts to destroy that? Because telling Conor I’m his sister will unravel a chain of events that will change them forever… and it won’t help us in the slightest.
Nothing will. Not one answer to the questions plaguing my mind will alter the facts. The truth won’t set us free. It won’t make loving Conor acceptable. Not the way I want to love him.
Nothing will change the fact we’re related.
Monica obviously didn’t want me. She must’ve had her reasons, and despite how unwanted that makes me feel, my pain isn’t enough to drop a bomb in Conor’s life.
Just because I don’t belong with him and I’m not wanted as a part of his family doesn’t mean I should pulverize it. I love him too much to intentionally cause so much hurt.
And that’s why I need a lie.
Powerful enough to make him walk away.
