Mended (Connections, #3)(67)

“Xander!” I hear Jack’s voice calling my name.

I look ahead and see his face through the crowd. My heart pounds in my chest and threatens to break in two—why is he here to pick me up? His expression looks pained, and right away I know that what these people are yelling out can be nothing but the truth. He approaches me with a team of airport security behind him. Clutching my arm, he tries to thread us through the vultures.

“Come on, follow me,” he directs, and I do, only because I need to get the hell away from the chaos that’s trailing behind me.

His car is parked out front and he opens his door. I get in, feeling numb. He stops and talks to one of the men on the security team, then climbs in the car.

“Xander . . .” Jack reaches across the car to touch my shoulder.

He pulls me out of my trance and I jerk away. “What the hell is going on?”

“I want your mother to explain this to you.”

Through gritted teeth I say, “Jack, I need you to tell me what the hell’s going on.”

He pulls out of the airport and speeds onto the highway. “Josh Wolf died today and his son Damon decided to make a public announcement.”

“I f*cking gathered that. Is it true?”

He grips the steering wheel and hits the gas. A minute passes and he still doesn’t answer me.

“Is it true?” I yell.

“Yes, son, it is.”

“Pull over now. I need a drink.”

“Your mother is waiting for us at home.”

A scowl tightens my mouth. “I’m not your f*cking son and I said I need a drink. Either pull off at the next exit or stop the car so I can get out.”

Veering off the highway, he takes a right. He pulls into a dive bar just outside the city and I bolt out of the car. He follows and catches up with me inside the joint. “Look, I want your mother to explain everything, but you should know a few things.”

I glare at him from where I’m sitting at the bar. “What exactly are ‘a few things’? I think there is one thing—that Nick Wilde wasn’t my father and she never told me.”

“You’re wrong, son. Nick may not have been your biological father, but he was your father in the ways that count.”

“Scotch, neat. Make it a double,” I order. The bartender pours the amber liquid in a tumbler and I pound it back, then slam the glass down. I nod and he pours another.

“What do you know about it?” I ask Jack, after I’ve finished off the second glass and motioned the bartender back over.

“Two shots of tequila,” I tell the bartender, deciding a couple of shots might help faster than another drink.

“I only know what your mother told me today.”

I shrug my shoulders. “So she kept you in the dark, too. Why is that?”

“Xander, I understand you’re upset—and you have every right to be—but I think you need to let your mother explain everything to you.”

I lick the back of my hand and salt it. I tilt the shot back and suck on the lime, then toss back the second one straight up.

“What happened? Did she cheat on Nick when he was on the road? Was that the catalyst behind his career tanking?”

His hand grips my shoulder and this time he’s not trying to comfort me—he’s warning me. “I get this is a shock and I’ll let you take the brunt of it out on me. But I’m telling you right now, you will listen to your mother and treat her with the respect she deserves.”

“She cheated on Nick. What does that deserve?” I spit out.

“Xander, I can tell you this. She never cheated. She and Nick broke up right after he went on the road. She was seeing Dylan Wolf on and off for a while when you were conceived, but he died before he ever knew she was pregnant.”

Anger washes over me and I know I should just shut my mouth. My hand flies up in the air without conscious thought. “Bartender, another,” I yell. I don’t want to hear another word because already the use of the word conceived makes me want to puke right here. I am so f*cking relieved when the conversation finally disappears from my mind and into the next tequila shot.





CHAPTER 17


You’re Not Alone

A ray of moonlight through my window brings me to consciousness. I sit straight up, staring into his face, wild and fierce, full of hate. It takes me a moment to realize he is me. I struggle to find the floor and then stumble to the mirror over the dresser. I peer at the reflection; it’s murky, but I can see it now—I look like him. If I look like Damon, he must look like his brother. How did I not see it?

Devastation, anger, and remorse run through me in a cacophony. I head to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. I squeeze my eyes shut as a rapid succession of faces flies across a blank canvas in my mind. My family, the ones I belong to . . . but not really. I shake off that thought and try to persuade myself that my conception doesn’t change anything. But I know it does. If it didn’t, why did no one ever tell me?

Was Dylan Wolf a monster like his brother? I scream at that son of a bitch buried in a coffin somewhere—you bastard. Gripping the sink, I break down when I realize that no, I’m the bastard. What kind of f*cking irony is that? Along with rage, should I be feeling shame? What do you call that combination of emotions?

I bend over and purge myself of my thoughts and the alcohol. Vomiting profusely, I fall to my knees and wrap my arms around the toilet. A rush of memories that I haven’t thought about in years surfaces, only causing me to want to expel the toxicity even more. I spit in the bowl one last time, making sure every ounce of wretchedness is gone.