Whatever It Takes (Bad Reputation Duet #1)(20)

I’m used to seeing Ryke in video footage, yelling and throwing out F-bombs at paparazzi, trying to block cameras from his brother and girlfriend’s way.

Seeing him now—with an unshaven jawline, crinkled brows, brooding eyes, and overwhelming masculine energy—it’s like meeting a scruffy god in the flesh.

I’m surprised I haven’t combusted into flames yet.

Ryke turns to Loren, probably wondering what to do with a crazy, awkward fan like me.

Say it, Willow. Tell him that you’re his sister. Why is this so hard? I blow out a breath, prepared to let this truth out and desperately hoping Loren Hale will believe it.

I meet his amber eyes, our gazes locked for a strong, tense moment. And I say, “I’m—”

“My sister,” he finishes.

The hairs rise on the back of my neck, a chill snaking down my spine and arms. My eyes burn as tears try to well.

Loren barely flinches. “Willow, right?”

My mouth keeps falling. All this time, I thought he’s been looking at me like who is this girl? But he’s been really looking at me in disbelief like this is my half-sister, standing right here. He’s been piecing me together with the middle school girl he once met, so long ago. In Caribou, Maine.

“You…remember me?” is all I manage to say.

“Yeah.” His lips rise, and my heart warms. “The day I met my birth mother is one I really can’t forget.”

“Oh…” That was the first time he met my mom? I mean, our mom. My eyes drop for a second. She really did abandon him then…

I take a quick glance at Ryke. His lips are parted in surprise, eyes a little wide as they go from me to Loren and back to me. I wonder if he knew anything about me. If he knew I existed out there, or if Loren just kept it to himself. Because my mom told him to leave Ellie and me alone.

“Do you want to talk over coffee?” Loren asks. I whip my head back to him, a chill never disappearing. Coffee. “Maybe in the break room?”

I nod over and over, and the tears just keep rising. I blow out another breath, my strained shoulders loosening.

He wants to talk. He’s not going to kick me out. He’s not going to tell me to get lost, kid. I feel like I’m reaching out to someone who’s not only clasping my hand but drawing me closer, so I don’t fall backwards on my own.

For the first time since I left home, I feel safe.





*



I’m in the break room of Superheroes & Scones.

I can’t believe I’m here—and yes, I’m slightly shaking. My arms tremble, and my legs have glued together. I wonder if the jitters are from the coffee Loren handed me, the only thing I’ve consumed today. Or maybe it’s nerves—from being in the presence of a famous person for longer than one minute. Or from being related to this human being.

I cup the coffee mug, afraid to drink more and have a panic attack at Loren Hale’s feet. Please don’t do that, Willow.

He sits next to me on the bright blue couch. The break room is pretty typical: a microwave, small kitchenette, tables and chairs, a few racks of comic books, and a single bathroom.

Lily, her son, her bodyguard, and Ryke all disappeared upstairs to—well, I’m not exactly sure what leads upstairs. The point is: we’re basically alone except for a couple of employees eating sandwiches at a back table, sitting beneath an Iron Man poster.

I think we can speak freely enough, but if Loren is cautious, I’ll follow his lead and be cautious too.

“I…” I begin but realize I’m unsure of where to start.

Loren’s confidence radiates and practically dwarfs what little I have in this moment. He keeps an arm on the back of the couch, rotated towards my body. “How’d you find out about me?” he asks, discovering a place to start.

Now I have to figure out how to explain everything. I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, having trouble holding his gaze. “My parents divorced about a year ago.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounds a little cross, not towards me really, but maybe that’s his normal tone of voice? Everything seems to come out harsh, but it doesn’t always match his expression.

I guess if I looked at him, I’d have a better interpretation of this moment. Willow Moore, that little turd, can’t even look her own brother square in the eyes—will definitely be my eulogy.

I shrug and push up my glasses that keep slipping down my nose. “Ellie had her sixth birthday about a month ago, and it was the first time my parents were together since the divorce.”

The fight starts to flood me: the balloons littering the linoleum floor, the way my father passed me coldly and never looked back, the half-eaten cake and my mother gripping the counter. My chest tightens, and my eyes burn again.

“I heard them fighting in the kitchen,” I nearly whisper, “about how my mom had a son, and she…abandoned you.” I clutch my mug harder and finally look up.

He scratches his neck, appearing a little more uncomfortable than he has been. “I had my father, so it was okay.” His throat bobs.

I wonder if Jonathan Hale is nice. Just based off tabloid rumors, I’d say no. (They’re so awful I really hate to repeat them.) Disregarding those, all I have to go on is the fact that he slept with an underage girl—my mom, our mom—and got her pregnant.