by Danah Logan
FUCK, shit. I promised myself I would explain everything to Rhys calmly and rationally. So much for that. Why did he have to go down that road?
Tears well up in my eyes, and I blink several times. This is not how this was supposed to go.
"He is my brother, Rhys," I whisper, pleading for him to hear me out.
Rhys stares back at me, dumbfounded. He opens and closes his mouth several times, and eventually turns to George. "Brother?"
I can’t see George’s face as he is still standing. He must have nodded or something, because Rhys slowly turns back to me.
"How?" His anger is completely gone. Instead, I see several other emotions flitter across his face. Surprise, confusion, sadness, relief…more confusion.
I’m not sure where to begin, so I start with the most obvious. "Henry wasn’t my father."
Rhys’s eyes widen for a second, then he bursts out laughing like a hysterical clown. I look over to Nate, who shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest. With a smug grin on his face, his entire demeanor shouts You wanted this; now figure out how to deal with it.
I sit on my hands so I don’t slap him over the head again.
It takes Rhys several minutes to calm down. As the laughter slowly subsides, he starts shaking his head. He looks everywhere but the screen, and I’m starting to worry. I’m not sure if I should say something, leave him be, or what?
Finally, after what feels like hours, Rhys looks back at me with a somber expression. "Of course he wasn’t."
I tilt my head to the side.
He must see my confusion and elaborates. "I mean, think about it. Given the shit we had already found out before you, uh…left, it’s not really a surprise to hear that there were more secrets."
Oh.
"Oh."
Rhys takes a deep breath. "I’m sorry, Cal. I have a hard time wrapping my head around any of this."
"Me too. This is not how I wanted to tell you about…" I trail off.
"Him?" Rhys completes my sentence, lips pursed.
"Yes," I mumble, and Nate scoffs next to me.
I narrow my eyes at him, and he makes a zip motion across his mouth, chuckling. God, this is so—I can’t even think of a word to appropriately describe the absurdity of the situation. I look down at my now clasped hands in my lap. I’ve come to terms with my relationship with my half-brother—that there will be a relationship no matter what the outcome is after I leave here. But this is the first time my old and new lives are overlapping, and I have no idea how to handle it. I want Rhys to tell me that everything will be ok, that we will figure this out together. I want him to hold me while I tell him everything. I don’t want to talk to him through a computer, almost three thousand miles between us. I most definitely don’t want Nate and George to listen to every word.
My dream from a few days ago comes back to mind, and a knot the size of a soccer ball starts forming in my stomach. How can I ask Rhys to accept my relationship with Nate? Tristen and Heather work for the law. Nate has broken said law—several times over. I love Rhys more than anything, but I can’t expect him to take my side. If he doesn’t want to be with me because of this, I can’t go home. Everything I ever knew and loved would be gone. Rhys would be gone.
My breath increases, but at the same time, it feels like all the air is being expelled from my lungs. I push the chair back so I can put my head between my legs—a motion I’ve been getting way too familiar with lately. In the distance, I hear Rhys call my name, but I can’t be sure over the ringing in my ears. My entire focus is on drawing in slow breaths.
A hand is placed on my back and starts rubbing back and forth. All of a sudden, I’m enveloped in my brother’s arms. Nate murmurs in my ear to inhale and exhale.
"YOU!" This time I’m sure it’s Rhys. "GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF HER!"
Why is he so angry?
"Would you shut up for a minute? Don’t you see that she needs a moment," Nate snarls. Who is he talking to? Oh. My. God! The realization that Nate has just revealed himself to Rhys—to help me through my panic attack—slams into me. I sit up abruptly, and my brother jumps back before I head-butt him in the chin.
With wide eyes, I glance between my brother and Rhys, who are locked in a stare-down.
SHIT! No, no, no.
I need to do something or this will turn bad quickly. I have no idea what instructions Nate gave George regarding Rhys. Now that the airflow to my lungs is reestablished, I take a deep breath and plaster the fakest smile on my face. One could say I’m channeling my inner Katherine Rosenfield—artificial as the blonde in her always perfectly curled hair.
"Rhys, this is Nate, my brother. Nate, say hi to Rhys."
My heart is still racing from concluding what just happened, but on the outside, I sound creepily cheery. Nothing like introducing the boy, who I thought to be my brother then adopted brother and is now my boyfriend, to the man who I thought was a nice guy at the gym, who turned out to have kidnapped me—twice—and revealed himself as my real half-brother. Nope, nothing unusual about this situation. As totally normal as seeing a sparkly pink unicorn walking down the street in a tutu, drinking a macchiato while smoking a cigar.
A high-pitched titter bursts out. My life has become a terrible reality TV show.
Both guys’ eyes swivel to me, and I slap my hand in front of my mouth, trying to hold in the giggles. I can see Nate glancing back and forth between Rhys and me before he fully turns to the screen.
"Rhys, man. I’m Nate, your future brother-in-law and the guy who kidnapped your girlfriend. Twice." He even adds a slow-motion, rainbow-shaped wave.
I jerk my head toward Nate, but all he does is grin at me and shrugs. "The cat is out of the bag. Now we have to figure out a way to deal with it."
Well, shit. I did not expect that.
I peer at Rhys, whose narrowed eyes are fixed on the guy beside me. Rhys’s gaze flickers to me and back several times before it settles on Nate again. "Good to meet you. To be clear, you will not stand up in our wedding. Now, how about some privacy so I can talk to Lilly?"
Brother-in-law? Wedding? Wha—
I blink several times. Rhys’s face is dead serious and doesn’t show any signs of fear or anger. Or disgust. He’s clearly in shock; that’s the only explanation.
Nate huffs out a laugh. "The boy has guts. I like it." He leans forward so his face is in the middle of the screen. "G?"
"Yes?"
"Is your place secure?" In Nate terms, can Rhys contact anyone or escape?
"It is."
"Let’s give them some privacy." With that, he pushes his chair back and stands up. "If you need me, I’ll be in the library."
All I can do is nod before I’m alone in the NCC. Nate left me alone with all his computers. On the other end, George murmurs something to Rhys, who dips his head and then turns back to me.
We sit in silence, and I am finally able to look at him. A lone tear escapes my eye, and I stifle a whimper. I’ve missed him so much.
Nate initiated the call from one of the laptops, so I unplug the device and make my way over to the couch. It’s almost midnight, and I’m exhausted. Today’s rollercoaster of events has left me completely drained, but the need to talk to Rhys is more powerful than my physical requirement for sleep.
With the computer settled on my lap, I stifle a yawn. I’m trying to figure out where to start when Rhys whispers, "I love you so much, Calla."
The affection reflected in his eyes is my undoing. A sob escapes, and the floodgates open. I cover my face with my hands.
"It’s ok, babe. I’m here," Rhys’s voice comes through the speaker.
This is all too much.
"Calla, please don’t cry. It’ll be ok…"
I pry my hands away from my face and look at the boy on the screen. "You think?" I hiccup.
"I know." Rhys’s confidence is contagious, but how could he possibly know that?
"How?" I whisper.
His face gentles, and the corner of his mo
uth quirks up. "Because we’ll get through it together."
I want to believe him. I do. But I can’t shake the small doubt remaining in the back of my head. "How can you still want to be with me?"
Rhys’s eyebrows furrow. "Why wouldn’t I?"
I’m scared to speak the words out loud, the thoughts that have been occupying my mind for the last few days. I close my eyes, and without looking at him, I say, "Because I am related to a criminal." I draw in a deep breath. "And because I will stand by my brother’s side."
When I don’t get a response for several moments, I slowly open my eyes, prepared for Rhys to have disconnected or walked away from the computer. He is still there, but his face is unreadable.
"Please say something." My heart is beating in my throat.
"You’re only saying this because you are still angry with Mom and Dad. And with me, for keeping the whole Kat thing from you." His voice is cold and detached.
It would be easier to deal with him being upset.
"No, I’m saying this because I know Nate—"
"IT’S BEEN A FUCKING WEEK. ONE. WEEK," Rhys bursts out.
He is angry.
"How can you possibly know this guy? He’s a fucking psycho!" Rhys is trying to rein in his temper, and I’m waiting for George to show up in the background after Rhys called Nate "a fucking psycho." George remains absent.
"Please let me explain?" I rasp out.
If he’d hear me out, maybe I can make him understand? Heck, I don’t even comprehend what’s going on inside of my head; how can I expect him to? That realization makes a wave of panic surge through me like a tidal wave, and the thought of not being able to return home threatens to choke me again. I put the laptop next to me on the couch and bend forward to concentrate on breathing. This is the second time in one night. Ugh.
"Calla?"
When I don’t react, Rhys gentles his tone. "Babe, look at me. Please."
It’s still hard to breathe, but I force myself to face the boy who essentially will decide for me if I’m going home or not. Without him accepting my relationship with my half-brother, I don’t have a home to go back to.
"Listen, Cal. I, uh…I’m trying. I am, but I know I will fuck this up. This past week has been a nightmare. Mom is a mess; Natty is with Olivia; Den and Wes are a shit-show. We had no idea where you were—if you were alive. I can’t put into words how relieved I am that you are…safe. But how you can be ok with what this guy has done…" Rhys trails off, sadness in his eyes. Hearing him say out loud what I feared my friends and family were going through while I played family is devastating.
"I’m not ok with it. Nate will take responsibility. For everything," I tell him cautiously. Perceptive as he is, he picks up on what I’m not saying.
"But?"
"There is more. More than any of us thought. Until Nate and I can sort through that, he won’t come forward." I neglect the part of Nate also wanting to make sure that my finances are sorted before he goes away. My new money situation is a conversation for another day. Somehow, I don’t want Rhys to know—yet. After a pause, I add, "I won’t make him. Not yet. We both need answers," I beg Rhys to understand.
The boy on the screen shakes his head, and my heart sinks. We don’t speak for a long time. Rhys stares at something in the distance, and I can’t look away from his distraught face. I’m hurting him with my decision, and it kills me, but I also can’t turn my back on Nate.
My gaze keeps moving to the clock on the top of the screen. We sit there for almost twenty minutes before Rhys’s eyes find mine again.
"Tell me," is all he says to me, and I do.
Over the next two hours, I try to summarize everything that has happened from the moment I walked out of school on Tuesday. Apparently, no one could figure out why I crashed my Jeep and assumed I was run off the road by my captor. I confess how angry I was at Rhys for keeping Kat’s games from me but that I don’t care about that anymore. He wanted to protect me, and the relief in his face is palpable. For the most part, Rhys lets me talk. I explain how Nate found me after our visit to Santa Rosa, and Rhys curses under his breath. We led him straight to us. When I mention my most recent migraine, his eyes widen, but he remains mute. Though, when I get to the financial statements, Rhys starts asking questions.
"You think Emily and…uh, Brooks had an affair all those years?" Tone skeptical, Rhys still assumes this is all part of an elaborate scheme Nate came up with.
"I don’t know. Between my memories and the letters, it makes sense. And then there is the money Brooks transferred every month. But some things don’t add up. I have this gut feeling…" I try to put it in words as well as I can. "It's like when I started researching for my paper. The more articles I read, the more I was drawn to it. It's the same with this." Deep down, I’m convinced everything we’ve discovered so far is still just the tip of the iceberg.
"Since your brother is such an awesome hacker, can’t he just track the money?" Sarcasm drips from Rhys’s tone.
"He’s working on it." I don’t want to start fighting again, so I leave it at that.
We sit in silence until Rhys points out, "None of this explains why he kidnapped you in the first place—or the other girls."
Up until now, I haven’t mentioned much about Nate’s past, so I backtrack and tell Rhys about Payton and Audrey, what happened to Nate after their accident, and how he later found out about me.
"Well, fuck. That’d make anyone crazy."
"I don’t think it was just that. At least not the only reason…" I mumble. I’ve kept my suspicion to myself ever since Nate told me about his mental health.
"What do you mean?" Rhys is squinting at me, probably questioning if I’ve also lost my mind.
I glance at the door as if Nate may barrel through it at any moment, subconsciously knowing that I’m revealing personal information about him.
"I think it’s his meds…" I leave the sentence hanging.
"His meds?" Clearly, Rhys doesn’t buy it.
"Nate and I talked a lot, and something he said stuck with me. I want to do more research on it, but I haven’t had access to a computer until today." I pause, and Rhys lets me collect my thoughts. "He mentioned that every time he, uh…needed company…"—I can’t bring myself to say kidnapped a girl—"it’s right after his shrink switches his meds around. So…uh, remember when Heather and Tristen talked about that guy who used to be in Tristen’s unit? The guy who, after his discharge, always went off the rails when his counselor put him on new antidepressants?" I’m referring to a conversation Rhys and I had eavesdropped on years ago and were not supposed to hear. We got caught lurking on the stairs while Heather and Tristen were in the living room and got a massive tongue lashing never to repeat a word about that to anyone. I see a flicker of recognition in Rhys’s eyes—he remembers—so I continue, "That’s what I think happens to Nate whenever he gets new meds."
Rhys purses his mouth in a slash of disbelief. "Don’t you think that’s a little farfetched? That you’re looking for an excuse?"
I understand where he’s coming from but can’t suppress the anger that his statement sparks inside of me. "He’s going to pay no matter what, Rhys," I snap. "But there is a difference between intentionally committing a crime and being helpless to meds fucking with the chemicals in your brain."
Rhys winces at my outburst. Up until now, I’ve taken the brunt of his anger and suspicion. I feel like I deserve it after hanging out with my brother while my loved ones were worried out of their minds. But I’m tired, and my patience—even for the boy that I would do almost anything for—wears thin. It’s past two in the morning, which makes it after five for Rhys, and as if on cue, Rhys starts yawning.
"Can we talk about something else for a bit? I don’t want to fight anymore," I murmur.
Rhys’s face immediately softens, and he smiles. "Of course, babe."
With that small gesture, my chaotic world falls into place, and for this brief moment, we’re just us again. We’re in th
e little bubble we created every time Rhys snuck into my room at night. I settle deeper into the couch and lean my head against the back of it. Rhys rests his chin on his stacked fists on the tabletop and softly smiles at me. At that moment, everything else is forgotten, and my heart is full. We talk about frivolous things. Magnolia's took Wes’s favorite drink off the menu—some Christmas-y hot cocoa concoction with a bunch of seasonal flavors—and he's outraged. He threatened the owner to start a petition, who just responded that it'd be back next Christmas. I laugh out loud because that's typical Wes; the poor guy does not like change. At. All. Rhys is looking forward to a new video game that's coming out in a few weeks. It's "the shit," and all the guys from school are taking bets against each other on who will get the higher score. Boys. But that's what I needed to hear—something that has absolutely nothing to do with our situation.
Chapter Nineteen
I wake up with a start and grab the computer right before it completely slides off my lap toward the floor.
Where is my bed?
Rhys! The video-chat. We were talking and must’ve fallen asleep? I hit the space bar on the laptop—nothing. I press the power button—again nothing. The laptop is dead. No, no, no. I didn’t say goodbye.
I jump up without thinking, and this time, the laptop does hit the ground. Shit. I pause for a second and then dismiss the device, charging out of the room.
"NATE!" I stop outside the door in the hallway. Silence. I run to the library, but there is no sign of him. The clock on the shelf shows 10:37. Oh God, I slept for-like-ever. Fuck, what if George took Rhys back already?
Racing downstairs to the kitchen, I keep calling my brother, but he is nowhere to be found. He always comes to me when I’m looking for him. Where is he? Finding the kitchen empty as well, I spin in a circle. My entire body is vibrating from the inside out. Back in the hallway, I start flinging open doors along the way, but all I find are either empty rooms or bare-looking guest rooms.
On the second floor, I find Margot’s bedroom—the room she believes is hers and Nate’s. I recognize it from the brief view on the security feed. It’s the only room I’ve found so far that looks somewhat lived in with a white, fluffy duvet draped over the four-poster bed and about a hundred throw pillows accurately positioned. Three picture frames are on the dresser across from the bed. I take a step closer; all the pictures display Nate and Margot. In the one closest to me, both are wearing formal wear. Nate wears a sleek, black tux with a crisp, white cufflink shirt, while Margot looks stunning in a strapless, floor-length, blood-red sheath dress that clings to her every curve. The second picture was taken at a—is that a racetrack? Margot is dressed to the nines in skinny jeans, knee-high stiletto boots, and a cropped leather jacket—everything black. She looks like a fashionable assassin. Nate, however, is wearing a black-and-gray racesuit, standing next to a dangerous-looking motorcycle. He races? Squinting, I can make out the letters MV and, further up, F4, but because of the angle, the rest is unreadable. Let’s be honest; even if I could read it, I know as much about motorcycles as a third-grader does about the stock market. The last picture was taken at a New Year’s party. A ginormous "Happy New Year" banner is in the background, and they’re kissing. But something stands out to me; besides the kiss in the third photograph, they all look staged. Nate’s words echo inside my head: I don’t believe in a soul mate, that there is the one. Margot and I work well together. My mind completes the unspoken part of the statement; they don’t love each other. Knowing how I feel about Rhys, that realization makes me sad for my brother.
