Resisting Ryann(57)

“Don’t be immature. You’re my brother,” she murmurs, annoyed.

“You never used to do it. It feels weird.”

“Well, it’s never too late to start. I thought I might have lost you,” she says, her brows pinching together. She grabs the chair behind her and scoots it up to the bed. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

I still haven’t told her about Glenn, and I’m not sure how she’s going to take it. They’ve never been close, but he’s still her biological father.

“What do you want to know?” I ask, scanning her face, hoping she isn’t going to hate me for this.

“The truth.” She looks me over. “Did Dad do this?” she asks, her eyes filling with unshed tears. “’Cause it wouldn’t surprise me if he did.”

“It wasn’t him,” I tell her.

She inhales a breath. “It wasn’t?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “He was already gone by then.”

Relief spreads over her features, then her gaze falls to the ground. “I really thought it was him.” She sniffs.

Taking her hand in mine, I look into her eyes. “I killed him, Lauren. I shot him …” I pause, swallowing. “Glenn is dead.”

Julie stands in the doorway. Both of us turn our heads.

“Sorry to interrupt. Your wife is here to see you.”

Of course she chooses to come at the worst possible time. “We’re in the middle of something. Can you ask her to wait?”

“It’s fine, Luke,” Lauren says, squeezing my hand.

Julie points over her shoulder and whispers, “She’s right outside the door. She was waiting up at the nurses’ station for quite awhile.”

Glancing at Lauren, I say, “You don’t want to talk about this?” I just told her I killed our father, and she didn’t bat an eye.

Leaning in, she says sincerely, “You did what you had to do.” Her eyes glisten. “I never really knew him. To be honest, I’m just glad it wasn’t you.” Flicking her gaze back to the nurse, she adds, “You can send in the wife.”





I’ve been out of my room twice since I got home last night—both times to use the bathroom. I’d asked Gia to kindly turn away any visitors and thank them for their condolences. She came in once to see if I needed anything, but I told her I’d come out when I was ready. I’m not sure when that’s going to be, because if I’m not sleeping, then I’m crying.

Over the course of two days I’ve lost everything. I’d rather feel nothing at all instead of this almost unbearable ache. At least I’d be able to function that way. I have forty-eight hours to plan a funeral with no idea where to start. I don’t even have a picture of him. I’ve flicked through my photos seven times in hopes one would magically appear. Unfortunately, it never occurred to me to take a picture when I had the chance.

I dial his number and press the receiver to my ear. After four rings, the greeting picks up. I listen all the way ‘til the end, then hang up, and toss my phone on the bed. I’ve already left three messages—one telling him that I miss him, the other filling him in on Luke and the wife I didn’t know he had. The message was cut off before I could finish, so I called a third time to tell him the rest. I’d love to hear his response to that.

Laughing and crying at the same time, I gaze at the ceiling. My dad didn’t know anymore than I had. Luke had fooled us both. The longer I mull it over, the angrier I become. He’d strung me along—played me like an instrument—just like Sean had said, and I was dumb enough to fall for it. I’d come to his defense. I’d thought he loved me. I’d even thought I’d hallucinated that whole scene at the hospital. But then it all started to make sense.

The letter. He had sent it four months ago, telling me to move on—that we both should move on. I’d stopped receiving his texts sometime before that. Maybe that was around the time he realized he didn’t love me—he had fallen for someone else.

I wonder where they met, and how long they’ve known each other. Did he fall for her instantly, or is she a part of his past? And where are they living? Is he planning to abandon his home or rent it out like the others? I couldn’t bear seeing the two of them together, living happily ever after. No, if that were to happen, I’d move far away from them. No question.

Why had he come here the other day, stringing me along the way that he did? Telling me he loved me? Is it possible to love two people at the same time? It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t enough. With him, I’ve never been enough. Why couldn’t he just leave it as it was? And the anguish on his face that night—was it the guilt for what he had done to me? I remember he kept apologizing, but he couldn’t look me in the face. I’d felt sorry for him and willingly took him in my arms. I nearly had sex with him that night.