Cracked Kingdom (The Royals #5)(49)

“Fuck no,” he insists. Rolling onto his side, he tucks a hand under his head and scowls. “Have you been thinking that the whole time?”

“I didn’t know what to think,” I admit. “No one told me anything. I asked the doctor and the nursing staff, but they wouldn’t give me a straight answer.”

Easton sighs and drops his chin to his chest. “I don’t want to tell you, because it’s bound to make you hate me and that’s the last thing I want.”

Fear tightens my throat, but I push out the words of encouragement anyway. “I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

It’s true. All of the things he said before were painful to hear, but only because they came from such a deep well of hurt.

He lifts his head as if an anvil’s hanging from it. I catch his eyes and hold them, silently encouraging him to continue.

“It was my fault. I was drunk and mad. Your parents were threatening to send your sister to boarding school like you had been and I thought, because I’m a shithead, that I could solve it by going to see your father. We fought.”

An unholy pressure is developing on the nerve right behind my left eye. I blink. “We fought?” I say hoarsely.

“We all fought. You, me, your dad.” His eyes fall to my wrist.

I hide the scar against my thigh, instinctively knowing that the truth behind the scar is the secret to all of this.

“You were upset,” he continues. His words are slowing down. The crease in his forehead becomes deeper. The muscles in his neck work as he swallows his guilt and remorse. “You drove off. The curve near your house is a blind spot and the twins drive it way too damn fast. They almost hit us once before. We had gone to your house before because you were worried about your sister. Your parents wouldn’t let you see her. They were against you coming back to Bayview.”

My head feels like it’s ready to split open. Acid is climbing up my throat. I can taste it on the back of my tongue. I want him to stop. I roll on my back and throw my palm up. I’ve had enough. “I don’t need to know any more,” I announce.

But the silence is worse than his words, because I have to know. I have to know what I did or I won’t be able to live with myself.

“Tell me,” I choke out.

“Your father broke your wrist.”

I break down then. A mix of anger and sadness fills me up and pushes the tears out. I wanted to ignore the evidence in front of me and pretend what my dad had done to Dylan was an aberration, but I knew, deep down, just like I knew how to get here, that there was something wrong at home.

“How did it happen?” I wipe at the tears but they keep flowing.

“I wasn’t there. I didn’t know you then, but you told me you were having trouble sleeping. That you went downstairs and saw your father with a woman, and that woman paid your dad to screw up a drug case against her son.”

“He took bribes?”

East nods grimly.

“Did I confront him?”

“No. You went to your sister, Parker, who told you to go home and pretend like nothing happened.”

“But I didn’t.” My heart is racing. There’s a certainty pulsing inside me. I can’t remember the things that East is telling but they all feel true. There’s no reason for him to lie to me about these awful things.

“No. You caught him getting another buyout. You tried to run back to your house and he caught you. You said he was angry but that the broken wrist was an accident. He packed you up and shipped you off to boarding school. You didn’t get your wrist looked at for three weeks. That’s why you have such a gnarly scar. They had to break it and then go in and reset it.”

I cover my eyes with my scarred wrist and let the waterworks come. I couldn’t stop them if I wanted to. This is what my brain thought I shouldn’t remember. That my father hurt me and that my family abandoned me. My chest aches worse now than it did after I woke up in the hospital room. It’s like someone has reached inside me and snapped each one of my ribs individually and then stabbed me in the heart with one of the jagged ends.

“I wish I could stop crying,” I sob.

“Oh fuck, baby. Cry all you want.” There’s a swishing sound and then a long, heated frame presses against me. He presses my wet face into his shirt and rubs a hand over my back. “Cry all the fuck you want.”

I blubber into his chest for what seems like an eternity. When my seemingly endless well finally runs dry and my wails turn to hiccups, East asks, “Are you afraid at home?”

“No. Not for me. For Dylan. Tonight was scary. Dylan needs medication and I guess she didn’t take it. We were arguing at the table about how mad Dylan is that I’m home. She cursed and Dad blew up. He grabbed her meds and then forced her to swallow them. It was…ugly,” I stop, choking up at this recollection. “He held her face so hard.”

“You need to get out of that house. Both of you.”

I nod, but I’m not sure what I can do. It sounds like Parker is of no help. She didn’t believe me before, so she won’t now. Mom? She might be the wildcard, although why did I go to Parker instead of my mom in the first place?

“We can live here. Or I can find a bigger place.”

I blink. “We?”

“I’m not letting you go through this by yourself.”