Addicted(89)

“Be that as it may, she was here about two hours ago.”

“Was here? As in not here now? She left without seeing me?”

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure she did what she came to do.”

I can see the moment he figures it out, the moment he realizes just what went down here when he was out doing God knows what.

“Chloe.”

I can’t even look at him. All those minutes wasted waiting for him, planning what I was going to say and how I was going to say it, and I can’t even look at him. Can’t even open my mouth.

“Chloe, baby, please, it’s not like it seems.”

“Oh, yeah?” The anger breaks through and I finally manage to get some words out. They aren’t much, but they’re better than nothing. “Please, feel free, tell me all the ways it’s not like it seems. Because the way it seems is pretty goddamn awful, Ethan. I’m just telling you that. I just want you to know. It seems pretty goddamn awful from where I’m sitting.”

“It is. I know it is, baby,” he tells me, dropping onto his knees in front of me. I’m still sitting on the couch, so we’re pretty much eye to eye, but it still feels weird to have him kneeling in front of me. Ethan’s never been the type to kneel for anyone and the fact that he’s doing it here, now … I don’t know what it means. I don’t know if it means anything. But it throws me just a little more than I already am.

“I have no excuse for what I did,” he tells me frantically. “No excuse for the part I played in hurting you. If I could go back and do it over, I would in a second. In a heartbeat.”




“Why did you do it? Why did you give them the money? You didn’t know me then, but no girl deserves to be treated like—” My voice breaks and I don’t even try to continue. He doesn’t need me to say it. He knows.

He knows.

“My mother told me your father was blackmailing them. That he was a con artist and he’d set his sights on them and was using you to extort the money.”

“And you just believed them? How is that possible? You’re a brilliant guy. How could you just take their word for it, especially considering what a douche your brother really is? How could you just decide that they were telling the truth and I was lying?”

“Because I didn’t trust them at first. Because I did research. Because I found out your father really was a con artist. That he really did spend his life bilking money out of people he considered his marks. And that you were just another tool for him. Just another way to get that money.”

“You thought I was like him. You thought that made it okay.”

“I thought it was okay because I thought you were lying. I thought you were accusing Brandon of something he didn’t do.”

“You threw me under the bus.”

“I did. Yes. And I’m so sorry for it. I’m so sorry. I believed them because I wanted to. Because he was my little brother and I couldn’t imagine, couldn’t believe, that he would do something like that.”

“But he did, Ethan. He did.”

“I know that now. I didn’t want to believe it then.”

“But you had no problem believing that I would do something like lie about being raped.”

“I didn’t know you then.”

“Would it matter if you had?”

“Is that even a question?” he demands, his blue eyes glistening with a thousand hints of madness.

“Did it sound like a question?”

“Of course it would matter! Of course it does matter!

“Don’t you think I know the mistake I made? Don’t you think it’s killing me that the little brother I always protected had a part in destroying the only woman I’ve ever loved? The only woman I will ever love? And that through him, I had a part in it, too?”

“So, why did you lie about it? If you’re so sorry, why did you never tell me what happened? Why did you leave me to find out from your mother of all people? You’ve had the time and the opportunity over and over again these last few weeks. Why didn’t you say something?”

“I tried. You have no idea how many times in the last three weeks I tried to tell you, Chloe. And then you instituted that no discussion policy and I thought, maybe, just maybe, I could catch a break.”

I think back to that night, to the way he kept trying to say something over and over again. To the way I kept shutting him down. The memory makes me sick, especially when it registers that I might have been able to stop this. If only I’d listened. If only I hadn’t tried to hide.