What the hell?
I jerked my hands from her grasp. “You need to understand something, Mom. I’m in love with him, and that isn’t going to change.” I couldn’t believe we’d interrupted Thanksgiving dinner to have this conversation.
“Oh my God . . .” She propped herself against the counter, as if she couldn’t bear to stand on her own. Something in my gut tightened in response, and the same bad feeling I’d had on the way to Eugene resurfaced.
“Mom?”
“This is my fault. I should have told you.”
“Told me what?”
“Hamilton Payne is your father.”
24. Fate's Faux Pas
Her words roared through my head like the ocean during a storm: deafening, brutal, and unpredictable—a sneaker wave tumbling from her lips and catching me off-guard. I stumbled back and bumped into the center island. Aidan and me . . . sharing the same father. Sharing DNA. Siblings didn’t feel this way about each other. It was unnatural, absurd. The room spiraled out of control as I whirled in memories that crushed me—his skin on mine, our mouths colliding, bodies moving in tandem.
Vomit burned my throat. “It’s not true.”
“I know I’ve given you no reason to trust—”
“Shut up,” I cut her off, and the slight tremble of her lips only infuriated me more. “How could you sink so low? What do you have against Aidan that you’d try to sabotage us?”
Tears hung on her lashes, big drops of truth I didn’t want to acknowledge. “I-I’m not lying. He’s your brother.”
“Yes you are!” My voice bounced off the walls. Everyone at the table probably heard every shouted word, but I didn’t care. This wasn’t real. I’d wake up any moment, heart thudding too fast, body drenched in sweat and twisted in my sheets, and I’d shake off this ridiculous nightmare. “I don’t believe you.”
“Kenz, please . . .”
“Is this about Joe? Is that it? He must be desperate if he’s got you going to bat for him like this.”
“It’s not about Joe.”
I ignored her denial. “You wanna know why I turned my back on him? His dad raped me. There, I said it.” My chest heaved, and I blinked, trying to hold it in. Hysteria bubbled up anyway, gushed from me like a dam bursting. I hadn’t spoken that word once—not once since it happened.
Horror coursed from her eyes, and she opened her mouth, working to speak.
I beat her to it. “He didn’t believe me, Mom. He didn’t . . . didn’t . . .” I shrank back when she reached for me. “Just . . . don’t.”
I ignored her pleas and stalked into the dining room, wiping my face as I went. Everyone stared at me, their expressions identical masks of curiosity. Relief hit me as I realized they hadn’t overheard what I’d told my mom.
Aidan sprang up and took a step in my direction, and instinctively, I moved back. Every touch, every inch of closeness, took on new meaning in light of what my mom claimed.
It’s not true . . .
“Get me out of here, please.”
“What’s wrong?”
My eyes would overflow again at any moment, and once I started, I feared I wouldn’t be able to stop. “Can we just go?”
He rested his hand at the small of my back, and something in me shattered. I barely registered the perplexed faces crowding around me, didn’t feel their arms as they hugged me goodbye. Didn’t answer the questions they wanted to ask.
Glad you made it, sis. Sorry you’re leaving so soon.
That was Micah.
Stay safe.
That was my sister.
Marcus also said goodbye, but I wasn’t in the mood to deal with his disproval. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with anything. I hurried toward the door, the exit just a few feet away.
My mom was suddenly in front of me, face tense, her lips moving in desperation to get through to me. “Please . . . don’t leave like this.” She blocked my escape into the storm, and her gaze fell on Aidan. “Let’s sit down and talk about this. I-I didn’t know, Kenz . . .”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I shoved past her, and as I took my first step across the threshold, she grabbed my jacket.
“I have something for you. Just . . . wait here.” She disappeared from sight, leaving me alone with Aidan.
“What’s going on, Mackenzie?”
I shook my head, a rapid denial, and focused on his shoes. They blurred in my vision, but I refused to let the tears fall. I craved his arms, his smell, the way the essence of him surrounded me and made me feel protected. I hated my mom for making me doubt that feeling, for making me doubt the unstoppable connection I felt with this man.
This amazing man . . . who was not my brother.
He must have sensed my need for him. Without a word, he drew me to his chest. My head fit perfectly under his chin. “Talk to me when you’re ready. I’m here.”
My breath hitched, and I held it, as if doing so would contain the chaos threatening to explode from me. I tightened my grip on him. “I will.”
I would have to, eventually. When I could make sense of what she’d told me. When I could find the words to repeat her absurd revelation. When I was strong enough to face the possibility that she was telling the truth.
We’d inched together too closely, like a magnet to metal that can’t fight the pull. My mom returned to the foyer, and I untangled from his arms. She slid an envelope into my hand and then embraced my limp body. “I hope you’ll read it. I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “Forgive me.”
I couldn’t reply past the thickness in my throat. I avoided her eyes as we left through the door, and I’d never experienced such relief upon leaving my childhood home. The weather had worsened since our arrival, and the driveway was now a huge puddle of rainwater. We tiptoed on the outskirts of the small pond, navigating around the tree branches that littered the ground in haphazard patterns. A gust of wind carried us to the car.
Aidan backed out of the driveway, and too many thoughts vied for space on the raceway of my mind. Words, fragments . . . razor sharp truth. Yet questioning that truth kept me from total insanity. This had to be someone’s idea of a sordid joke. A mistake. A misunderstanding of epic proportions.
The word “brother” didn’t belong in the same sentence as Aidan. Not in relation to me. Mustard and chocolate made more sense. Snow in the tropics. Santa and Satan. I could find logic in any of those. But not this. Her letter burned a metaphorical hole in my coat pocket, but the idea of pulling it out, of opening the envelope and discovering whatever was hidden inside, terrified me. Paper was tangible—not as easy to set aside as spoken words.
“What happened back there?” Aidan’s voice was quiet compared to the anguish in my head.
“I don’t want to talk about it right now.” I never wanted to talk about it, but I knew I’d have to. I kept my unseeing eyes fastened on the passenger window. My mom’s face materialized in my mind, her horrified expression when Aidan told her who his mother was. Dread squeezed my heart, and I finally asked myself the question I’d been avoiding.
What if it’s true?
I wiped the thought from my mind. No, no, no.
“We’ve got a lot of time between here and Watcher’s Point.” I felt his gaze on me, sensed him waiting for me to give in. I always gave in to him. But not this time.
Not yet. Not while he was driving in this weather.
“Did you ever visit Watcher’s Point as a kid?” The question slipped out before I could weigh the wisdom of voicing it. If my mom was telling the truth, then his father was in Watcher’s point when Aidan was about six.
He raised a brow at the change of subject. “A few times.”
I swallowed hard. “Did your whole family go?”
His mouth turned downward. “Yeah, why?”
Why, indeed.
Why was I going there now? “No reason. I’m just curious, I guess.”
He gave me an assessing look. “We saw my grandparents a few times.”
Sile
nce filled the space for several minutes until Aidan broke it. “What were you guys fighting about?”
“Nothing new,” I mumbled. God, please let it drop. I’m not ready to deal with this yet.
“Sounded pretty intense. Reminded me of some of the fights I’ve had with my father.”
The temperature grew chillier. I reached for the dial of the heater. “Your temper is gonna get you in trouble someday.” My warning wouldn’t do a bit of good. Did he get that quick temper from his father?
I gulped. My father?
The weight of my mom’s words pressed on me a little more with each mile. If Hamilton Payne was my father, then what traits had I inherited? Aidan’s words came back to me, spoken only two weeks ago.
“Supposedly the Payne side of our family tree is full of ancestors with ‘odd quirks,’ as mom likes to call them.”
“Pull over. I’m gonna throw up.”
Easing off the gas pedal, he edged the car onto the shoulder. I pushed the door open before the wheels came to a complete stop, and his warm hands held my hair back as I lost my dinner and my pride.
“Sorry.” I took a deep breath to curb another bout of nausea. “I don’t think I messed up your car.”
“I don’t care about the damn car.” He dabbed at my mouth with a napkin, and the gesture was so gentle, so Aidan-like, that I wanted to cry. “Was it something you ate?”
“I don’t know, maybe.”
He brushed the hair from my face and then pulled away, and I let him. His touch, always so quick to comfort, to arouse, was now taboo. I leaned against the window, and once we were on the road again, I allowed the hum of the engine to lull me into numbness.
I had to get to the bottom of this. But first I had to figure out how to tell Aidan. And if it turned out to be true . . . I knew walking away from him would be the hardest thing I ever did.
* * *
“Can we stop at my apartment?” I sat up straight as Watcher’s Point came into view.
“You need to grab something?”
“Yeah.” I had to grab something, all right. Courage. And being on my own turf when I ripped both of our hearts out had to count for something.
He pulled in next to my beat up Honda and parked in what had been Six’s spot. Twigs and branches littered the area, and wind whipped soggy strands of hair into my eyes, making it difficult to find the keys to my apartment. Getting inside wasn’t much easier. And what a dismal sight it was. Aidan followed me in and shut the door.
“We’ll have to get someone out here to clean up,” he said, indicating the layer of black dust the police had left behind. I wondered how long I’d feel the need to watch my back in fear. Until months had passed . . . years? Until the Hangman was caught?
The place felt colder than usual, or maybe it was just me. I turned on the heat. “I’ll clean it up,” I said, flicking on the small lamp on the end table. The soft glow chased the shadows away but did little to dispel my unease.
I wanted nothing more than to go back to Aidan’s place and curl up beside him in bed, clinging to his body for warmth, but I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t touch him until I knew for sure.
Coming to a standstill in the middle of my living room, I warred with myself. Sure, my mom was a better liar than I’d ever realized, but something about her expression tonight haunted me. If I didn’t have good reason to believe she could be lying, I would have sworn she was telling the truth. I jumped when his hand settled at my back.
“Ready to talk yet?”
I didn’t answer. His heavy footsteps followed me into the kitchen. I didn’t know what I was doing.
Stalling.
“Not yet, no.” I circled the kitchen before going back into the living room, as if some tiny corner of my apartment would give me the courage to say the words.
Aidan, you might be my brother.
“You seem like you’re mad at me, though I have no idea why.”
I collapsed onto the couch and folded my arms around myself. “I’m not mad at you. I’m . . . I’m . . .”
Shattered into a million pieces.
He sat next to me. “Were you guys fighting over me? I can’t help if you won’t tell me.”
“You can’t fix this, Aidan.” I wished he could, but there was only one thing that would fix this and that was for it not to be true.
“You’re right, I can’t, especially since I don’t know what ‘this’ is.”
The thought of telling him made me physically ill. I couldn’t do it . . . oh my God, I couldn’t do it. I dropped my head in my hands. “Just leave me alone for a while.” The words were a muffled plea against my sweaty palms.
“Is this a space issue again? Is it Joe? God, Mackenzie, just tell me what’s wrong. You’re scaring the shit out of me.”
Wiping my eyes, I looked up and faced him. “I will tell you. I need to tell you. But right now I can’t. Please . . . I need to be alone.”
“I’m not about to leave you here alone, if that’s what you’re expecting.” He reached for me, and his eyes widened when I recoiled from his touch. “What’s got you so spooked?”
“You and me . . . we’re a mistake.”
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, almost a whisper, and I’d never seen him so ashen. “How can you tell me we’re a mistake?”
“It’s true.” I stared at the floor, knowing I had to do better than this. I needed time to process and that wasn’t going to happen if I couldn’t get him out of my apartment. “You even said it yourself. You wished we’d never met.”
“I also said I loved you.” He grabbed my shoulders and forced me to look at him. Those eyes told me so much. His hurt mirrored my own, and anger and confusion mixed with it, all warring in the depths of his gaze.
“Let me go.” Pushing against him was pointless. He wouldn’t budge.
“Not until you tell me what happened back there.”
“You’re such a bully!” I shouted. “So quick to intimidate to get what you want.” I wasn’t sure who was more shocked by my outburst, but I didn’t take back the words.
He instantly let go of my shoulders. “You know me better than that. I’d never hurt you. I just want an explanation. Don’t you think I deserve that much?”
An explanation? Was that all it would take to get him to leave? “I’m still in love with Joe,” I said, the lie born of desperation.
“That’s bullshit.” His mouth came down on mine, igniting heat instantaneously, and for a blessed moment, his kiss obliterated realty.
“No!” My mom’s words screeched in my head, bringing me back to earth. “I said no.” I shoved him away and put all my weight into it, hoping he’d mistake my self-disgust for repulsion. “No one will ever ignore that word from me again.” I’d meant to maim, and that’s exactly what I did.
His expression broke, and his mouth hung open in disbelief. “I guess that says it all. I’ll get out of your way then.” He rose and stalked to the door, wrenched it open, and halted. He didn’t say anything at first, though the heaving of his chest and the rigid set of his jaw painted the picture of a man struggling for control.
“You know where to find me if you need me,” he said, his voice calmer than I’d expect. The door slammed shut, followed by silence so heavy, so final, that for one insane moment I considered going after him.
Except I couldn’t.
Moving like a robot, I latched all the locks and realized how ineffectual they were. The killer had gotten into my apartment once already, and a few locks weren’t going to keep him out. I shrugged my coat off and flung it across the room as if the fabric had the power to burn. The stupid thing landed on the couch, and its mere presence challenged me.
Dammit. Ignoring the envelope wouldn’t make it go away. I stomped across the room and yanked it out of my coat pocket, and with trembling hands, I pulled out the contents.
Mackenzie,
I don’t know if you’ll ever read these words, but I need to get them out. Ever since you moved aw
ay and learned the truth about your father, I’ve been haunted by my past. Grief will make people do stupid things. I let a good man take the blame for my mistake, and even now I’m still perpetrating the lie. You think William Beckmeyer is your father, but he’s not. I loved him once, not like I did Tom, but enough to fall back on his friendship when Tom died.
Will and I were close, and he was my rock during a time when I needed someone to lean on. But it never went beyond anything platonic. He loved his wife and daughter and wouldn’t have done anything to jeopardize that.
I was a coward. People thought you were his, and I didn’t deny it. Denying it would open questions, and questions could possibly lead to who your real father is. My silence destroyed my friendship with Will. I’m ashamed that it also destroyed his marriage.
But your real father is a nasty man, Mackenzie. I was scared he’d find out—I still am. I kept the truth hidden all these years to make sure he never knew about you. I did it to protect you. If you ever learn the truth, I pray you’ll heed my words and stay away from him . . .
I read the letter several times, only stopping after the words blurred across the page, words that only added to my confusion. She wanted me to stay away, but she never mentioned why.
The ringing of my cell jolted me, and glancing at the display, I saw it was my mom. I sent her to voicemail and returned to the letter. There was only one person I wanted to talk to—one person who was going to give me answers—and I was determined to get them, even if I had to show up on Hamilton Payne’s doorstep in Seattle.
25. Two for the Road
The light of day hadn’t improved my outlook. Whoever came up with that bogus idea hadn’t been told they were in love with their own flesh and blood. I shoved another shirt into my duffle before zipping it shut. My apartment, now entirely clean of the black powder the police had left in their wake, no longer felt like home.
I stopped cold as it hit me. I couldn’t think of a single place—other than by Aidan’s side—that felt like home. What in the hell was I supposed to do about this? Somewhere deep inside, I’d come to accept my mom’s words as truth, otherwise I wouldn’t be thinking like this.
Epiphany (Legacy of Payne) Page 20