Ryke coughs, gripping the dirt.
Fight me.
“Lo, stop!” Daisy screams. She tries to rush us, but Connor grabs her around the waist and pulls her back with her sisters.
I can’t stop. Penance—that’s what I am to him. For all those years he never met me. I’m his way into heaven. Do right by me and all of his sins are absolved.
That’s why he sticks around.
Something cold drills straight through me, and I punch Ryke in the face again. He turns his head and spits blood on the dirt.
“Lo, calm down!” Lily screams. I don’t look behind me.
I just hit him again, my knuckles aching as they slam into his jaw, praying that he’ll get up. Get up. And punch me back.
“Hit me,” I sneer.
Ryke’s fingernails scrape the red dirt, almost clenching into a fist. His gaze stays fixed on the ground, his muscles tense like mine. And yet, his hands start to relax. He’s talking himself out of it.
“Come on!” I yell, my eyes burning, water brimming. “I’ve seen you beat the shit out of guys twice the size of me. I know you want to punch me.” I step towards him. Treat me like I deserve to be treated. Treat me like I can handle this shit. “Fight back!”
He staggers to his feet, his face beaten. “I won’t.”
I slam my palms into his chest, shoving him hard.
He holds his hands up in surrender. “Lo—”
I sock him in the jaw. Again. He stumbles but stays upright.
“STOP IT!” Daisy cries, her strangled voice pitching.
I can hear Lily sobbing. It breeds more pain inside of me, clawing to get out. I can’t back down. Not now. I point an accusatory finger at Ryke. “You’re a goddamn coward.”
His lips press closed, darkness clouding his eyes.
“You’re so f**king scared to talk to our dad,” I say coldly. “You’re so scared to talk to your own mom.” I barrel forward, and he actually steps back, keeping distance between us. I’ve never seen him do this. The aggression still exists in him; he just refuses to use it on me.
“What do you want me to say?” he growls. Anything you feel. “I’m f**king scared?” He points at his chest. “I’m f**king scared, Lo!” His eyes are bloodshot. “I’m so f**king scared they’re going to manipulate me into loving them when all I want to do is forget!”
“What’d they f**king to do to you?!” I scream. I see Ryke Meadows with Sara Hale. And I see a doting mom. I see love that I never f**king had. I don’t get what happened that’s so horrible that he hates everyone that much. He just won’t ever tell me. “I lived with our dad. You sat in your pearly white f**king mansion with a mom who loved you!”
Ryke shakes his head. Over and over. His lips pressed closed again. Why is this so hard for him? He pushes me to my breaking point every damn day. Maybe it’s finally time someone pushes him.
“Tell me!” I yell, taking a step closer. He breathes like it hurts to inhale, a sentiment I’m familiar with. “Tell me how you had it so f**king bad, Ryke. What’d he do to you? Did he smack the back of your head when you got a C on a math test? Did he scream in your face when you were benched for a little league game?” Hot tears pour out. I am so close to him, with narrowed eyes, watching this brick wall crumble between us. “What’d he f**king do?”
He shakes his head again.
Goddammit, Ryke. I slam my hands on his chest another time, and he finally pushes back. I stagger but keep my balance, still standing.
“I’m not f**king fighting you!” he screams.
I grind my teeth and charge him again, hoping to knock him down, but his strength outmatches mine.
His forearm rams into me, and my back is on the ground in an instant. His hands grip my wrists, his knee putting pressure on my ribs, the couple that I’d broken. I stifle the pain beneath every aching emotion.
“I don’t want to fight you, Lo,” he chokes, his anguished face near mine.
I feel hot, raging tears roll down my sharp cheeks. “You spend so much of your f**king time trying to save me,” I breathe, “and you don’t even realize that you’re killing me.”
His hard, masculine face just contorts in pain.
“The news isn’t just in Philly, you know. It’s everywhere we f**king go. All the way to a gas station in Utah.” I let out a weak laugh. “They think he molested me. The whole goddamn nation.” Saying it out loud to him—the weight of the words smash into me, harder than any fist could. “People think my own father touched me, and you won’t do a thing about it.” I stare right into him, a question on the tip of my tongue, one I’ve wanted to ask. I never pressured him about the allegations. Never pushed him. Maybe I should have earlier. Like he’s always done me. “Why do you believe them and not me?”
“I believe you,” he whispers. Maybe I shouldn’t trust him, not after all the lies. He could be placating me, afraid that I’m too close to this dangerous edge. But he wears a haunted look, one dragging him back to the past. This isn’t about me. It’s about the demons he’s buried. It always has been. Finally, I think he realizes that.
“What the f**k did he do to make you hate him so much?” I ask, referring to our father. I expect another brush off, so I’m surprised when he finally talks.
“He chose you,” he says with a hollow, dark voice. “He chose his bastard kid over me and my mom, and I f**king lied for him my entire life. I hid my identity for him. I had no mom in public because I was a Meadows and she was Sara Hale. I had no f**king dad to show for.” His eyes drill into mine, filled with hurt that he’s refused to come into contact with. Hate. For everyone. “I saved his reputation, and he buried me six feet in the f**king ground every single day he chose you over me, every day he paraded you around and shoved me aside. I couldn’t breathe I was so f**king angry.”
I find a real hole in his words, one that latches onto me like a parasite. “I thought you knew about me when you were fifteen.” How many opportunities has he really had to come meet me?
“I told you that I met him at a country club every week. I knew his name. I knew he was my father. He was a f**king socialite, so I was smart enough to figure out that his son was my brother. They just didn’t tell me until I was fifteen.” His arms shake, not with fear, just pissed. He crawls off of me but stays on his knees, exhausted. His face is reddened everywhere my fist landed.
I stay on my back and stare at the blue sky. And I wonder. I wonder what it must’ve been like to be him. Alone, no real dad or mom. Friendships that mean less when you can’t explain who you are.
“I hold grudges,” he confesses. “But I think you do too, Lo.” My jaw locks. I give him a hard time. Because I’ve been jealous of his strength, of the way people respect and trust him. Not because he showed up late in my life. The fact that he appeared at all is more than what I would’ve done. How could I keep holding that against him? If he feels any regret about that, then he’s projecting it on me. Beating himself up about it.
Our dad has always been at the center of our grief, and I recognize how hard it must be to help a man that has shit on you, cast you away and chosen the bastard. I get it now. But I’m also a part of this mess.
A cloud rolls over the sun, and I say, “I just wish you could love me more than you hate him.” I turn my head to the side, facing my brother’s mostly hardened features that rarely break. My eyes glass again. “Is that even f**king possible?”