Slow Play (The Rules #3)(92)

My body freezes. How does he know? “Y-yes.”

He turns in his seat so he’s facing me, allowing me to see the horror and sadness etched into his familiar, handsome features. “Your dad had an affair with my mom. Stole all her money and she tried to kill herself over it.”

I gape at him. “What?” His words aren’t computing. I know my parents stole money. I know they took people’s life savings and spent it all, leaving their victims left with nothing. They devastated and destroyed futures. They took with zero intentions of ever giving back.

Their stories, though awful, never touched me on a personal level. I felt bad but there was nothing I could do for them. At the time, I could only concentrate on what my parents’ actions did to me. How it ruined my life. I wasn’t thinking of anyone else. Just myself.

“Your father had an affair with my mom,” he says slowly. “She tried to commit suicide after he left her and took all of her money with him. Took a bunch of pills but she survived.”

I’m horrified. Could it be true? Did my father really do that?

“Thank goodness she’s still alive,” I automatically say, reaching for him but he jerks his arm away from me before I can grab hold. I lean back in my seat, hurt that he won’t let me touch him when that’s all I want to do right now. He grounds me. Makes me feel whole.

I can see him drift away from me, little by little.

“Like you care,” he mutters, turning so he can focus on the steering wheel once again. “She admitted to me later she’d saved up that money on her own so she could leave my dad. They weren’t getting along. Their marriage has been essentially loveless for years. She wanted to escape but your father took everything and ruined her plans. Almost damn near ruined her life.”

My heart feels like it’s cracking in two. I can’t explain my father’s actions. I can’t excuse what he did either. But is his stealing my fault? His affair with Tristan’s mom, did I make that happen? No. And Tristan is looking at me like I did. Like this is all on me. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, not knowing what else to say.

No response. I watch him, study his strong, familiar profile. His jaw is like granite, a muscle working there and I know he’s clenching and unclenching his jaw. He’s so tense. And somehow he believes this is my fault.

I don’t know how to convince him otherwise.

“I’m not the one who stole your mother’s money,” I start and he turns on me, his expression hostile, his eyes blazing with anger.

“Is that how you justify it? That you weren’t the one who took it? Did my mom’s money help pay for anything you’ve got on tonight? Your Chanel purse that probably costs five thousand dollars? Those expensive ass shoes?” He’s yelling and I’m cowering in my seat, taking the brunt of his anger. “My parents almost got a divorce over that shit. Things still aren’t right between them. It f*cking tore my family apart.”

“It tore my family apart, too,” I whisper, my throat scratchy and raw.

He barely glances in my direction. “I’m sure it was real tough,” he says sarcastically.

I flinch at his words, anger suffusing me. He can be mad. I’ll allow that. I hid something from him and that wasn’t right. I hid something even bigger that I had no idea existed, and that part can’t be held against me. I refuse to take the blame for something I’m not responsible for. It isn’t fair.

But who’s the fool that said life is fair? Was it me? Because no one has ever told me life is fair. It’s not.

It never is.

“Take me home,” I demand quietly when Tristan still hasn’t said anything.

He starts the car, drives me back to my place, and drops me off, never once saying a word.

So neither did I.

“Your misery is breaking my heart and I’m over it. It’s Christmas time. Not let’s-be-sad-and-cry-in-bed-all-day time.” Pointy fingers nudge my shoulder and I roll it back, hoping to discourage my annoying friend from touching me again. “Come on, Alex. Get up. Let’s go for a walk or something. You need to get some fresh air.”

“It’s freezing outside,” I mutter into my pillow, not wanting to go outside, not wanting to go anywhere. “And suicide rates climb the highest during the holidays,” I add just to freak her out.

“Are you serious right now? Because if you’re even contemplating—“

I roll over, glaring at her. The stricken look on her face is almost comical. “I’m not serious. I’m just trying to get you to shut up.”

Kelli glares right back. When she’s determined to get her way, she’s damn near impossible. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“So are you.”

“A walk will do you good.” She makes like she’s going to pull the comforter off my body but I clutch it close.

“It’s too damn cold,” I remind her. God, can’t she just let this go?

“So? It’s winter, it’s supposed to be cold.” Kelli claps her hands together rapidly, the sound annoying in the otherwise quiet of the house. “Get up, sleepyhead. You can’t mope around in bed all day.”

I have been for the last couple of days and everyone’s left me alone. So why is Kelli so hell bent on getting me out of bed now? “Do you have something planned up your sleeve? Because if you do, I’m so over your trickery it’s not even funny. You can try that shit on someone else.”