Own (Need #3)

by K. I. Lynn

  Then hopefully my nerves will calm down.

  It’s finally time. I get to meet the girl, to see if it’s true, to gain evidence to prove she’s my sister.

  “Yeah? Okay, I’ll go with you.”

  “No.” The word jumps from my mouth before I can stop it.

  Words before thought are never good. My heart hammers in my chest at both fear of her going with me and fear of her reaction from one little word.

  Her brow furrows. “No?”

  I blow out a breath and reach out to pull her back down. I place my hands on her thighs, but it doesn’t lessen her laser glare. The lack of relaxation and tense muscles makes me curse myself for not anticipating her response.

  “We’ve got to talk over court stuff and I’m taking a bunch of shit over. It’s not that I don’t want to take you, but next time and every time after that, baby.”

  “Oh, now you’re going to ‘baby’ me? What’s going on, Brayden?”

  Shit. Shit. Fuck.

  Lying to Kira is something I really don’t want to do, even one that in the end will help everyone in our family. Just a little longer. I need more. The phone records and conversations, the GPS tracker info, I have aren’t enough. I need to nail his ass.

  Sure, he wasn’t with Sonia when he fucked his cousin, resulting in my sister, but I know the information along with the rest will be what I need to convince her to get away from him.

  “Nothing. I just have some personal stuff to go over with my mom.”

  “Personal stuff.”

  “I’ll be back Sunday morning.”

  “Sunday?”

  There’s a tone to her voice I don’t like and need to diffuse. “I can probably come back the same day.”

  “What were you planning on doing Saturday night? Or who?”

  “What the fuck, Kira? Who? That’s insecure fucked up shit there.”

  “I’m just saying, it’s a little weird.”

  “I can’t just spend some time with my mom, who is helping me out a fuck ton because of that fucking fight over you?”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. Fuck. “So it’s my fault?”

  “Jesus. I can’t fucking not upset you right now. I’ve got stuff to go over with my mom, legal stuff, court dates. I need this shit behind me. Pay my debt to society or what the fuck ever and move on. The sooner this shit is done, the sooner we can leave.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know, baby, but think about it and we’ll talk about it more when I get back.”

  She doesn’t respond more than just a humming sound that makes my skin crawl. It’s not a good sign, but I can’t worry about that right now.

  I’ll fill her in, tell her everything, when the time is right.

  My gut is twisted the entire drive from Columbus to my mom’s in Indianapolis. It would be anyway at the impending meeting of a little girl who could be my sister, but even more so thanks to the way I left things with Kira.

  She’s pissed, and I get why, because I did lie to her. I just hate that she actually thought the reason might be because of another girl.

  Well, it technically is, but she’s twelve and shares half my DNA.

  I pull into Mom’s driveway and get out. The house is at the end of row of townhomes that are three stories high, and overlooks a pond. The front door is unlocked, and I curse internally, making a mental note to talk to her about that. She lives in a safe area, but she needs to make sure the door stays locked. I have a key, she doesn’t need to unlock it for me.

  I take the steps up two at a time to the second floor, the first mostly occupied by the garage. She’s standing at the kitchen island, sipping on a cup of what is probably her third cup of coffee for the day.

  “Hey, Mom.” I wrap my arms around her and kiss the top of her head.

  “Hi, my baby.”

  It feels so good to hug her. Mom is my constant comfort and companion. She knows a lot of my secrets and how to get them out of me. The only person who I can talk freely with about my feelings. About the ones I have trouble admitting to myself, let alone anyone else.

  “How’s school going?” She asks as we move to the family room. It’s open concept, so about ten feet from where she was standing.

  I plop down on her couch and nod. “Going good.”

  “Keeping your grades up?”

  I shake my head and try to keep a straight face. “Nope, failing everything.”

  “So, you’re on the Dean’s list?”

  I shrug. “The semester isn’t over, but it looks like it.”

  “Good. How’s Kira?”

  “She’s good. We had a small hiccup, but things are good.”

  She raises a brow. “A hiccup?”

  “A misunderstanding of what she is to me, what type of relationship we’re in.”

  “I’m sure it’s difficult for her. She’s more sensitive to the situation than you are.”

  “Are you calling me an insensitive jerk?” I ask.

  She lets out a chuckle as she takes another sip. “No, I’m calling you a man. You want what you want, when you want it, and don’t give a crap what other people think.”

  “True.”

  “But your love for her alters that, and that’s where you’re different from your father.”

  Comparisons to my father are pretty standard for my life, but considering how many of his traits I possess, I’ve gotten used to it. It’s nice when the attribute is in contrast to his.

  “How so?”

  “Your father only cares about himself. He puts himself first and everyone else second. Whereas you put Kira first. You always have, even when it wasn’t necessarily the right move for her.”

  I nod, and stare down at my hands. “So where are we meeting them?”

  “We’re going to their apartment.”

  “Where is that?”

  “It’s close. Carrie wanted Emily to go to a good school.”

  Carrie. It’s not surprising that I don’t remember her, but I’ll admit I’m nervous as fuck to see her.

  “Cookies?” I ask.

  Her lip twitches. “Nerves or do you just want a cookie?”

  “Nerves.”

  “Is it that bad?” she asks.

  “Because if Emily is my sister, how many other children has that asshole fathered and denied? And how do I find them?”

  She smiles at me. “You have such compassion. You have no idea how proud that makes me.”

  “It’s a trait I thankfully got from you.”

  Once done with her coffee, Mom moves to the kitchen to rinse her mug off. My leg is bouncing and my gaze locked on nothing, but my mind is. A cyclone of thoughts and what-ifs and possible outcomes.

  Color moves in front of my vision, forcing my eyes to focus again. It’s a dark brown cookie that I greedily snatch from her.

  “My precious cookie.”

  She laughs. “Of course I made you some.”

  Molasses cookies. Mom’s molasses cookies. They’re my crack. I would say they’re my kryptonite, but that’s Kira. Though we were Marvel lovers, who didn’t love DC’s Superman?

  I nibble on the edge of the cookie in both a nervous gesture and as a way to savor the flavor. Crumbling it away until there’s nothing but a bite left, and pop that into my mouth.

  “Can I have a dozen more?”

  “No, but when we get back I’ll send some home with you.”

  She’s got her keys in hand, purse on her shoulder, signaling she’s ready to go. I blow out a breath and stand.

  When we get down to the garage, I run over to my car and pull out my backpack. We take her car, and my leg bounces the entire time.

  “Did Dan call you?” Mom asks once we’re out of her development.

  I nod. “Yeah. He seems hopeful. I’ve already talked to my teachers. I just hate that this takes so long.”

  I’m thankful that my legal issues will be settled soon. One less stress on me.

  “I know I don’t need to rei
terate it, but . . .”

  “No more fuck-ups. Got it.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s a good way of saying stay out of trouble.”

  While driving we move through newer developments, fading into older, until we reach the center of the small city and its much older section.

  It’s here, in one of the side streets, that Mom pulls up to a small two story brick building. It’s not a house, but a small apartment building with a few units that looks like it’s sitting on the lot of an older home that may have burned down.

  The brick building is plain with no exterior detail. Basic.

  I blow out another breath as I climb out of the car and toss my bag over my shoulder.

  “1A,” Mom says as she glances around for the numbers.

  Rusted with the A upside-down, we head down the broken and heaved concrete. Mom reaches out and knocks on the door and my heart begins to fly in my chest.

  Seconds later the handle twists and the door swings open.

  Time stops. My eyes go wide, locked on to the exact same shade as my own.

  “Hello,” she says, a big smile lighting up her face.

  His smile.

  “Emily, who’s there?”

  “It’s nurse Abby and a cute boy!”

  A short brunette appears behind her. “Abby! Oh, jeez, is it noon already? Please, come in.” Emily’s mom, Carrie, ushers us with a rag in her hand.

  She’s not what I expect, but even I’m not sure what that is. Petite with brown eyes and matching her hair. I study her, trying to see any familial resemblance, but it’s difficult.

  Her face is round, not square, lips in the classic cupid’s bow. She’s pretty, but plain, and I can see the years of hardship etched into her features.

  Stepping into their home is like a gut punch. It’s a minimalistic style, but I have a feeling not by choice. None of the furniture matches, every piece looking like garage sale leftovers. It’s the basics: couch, coffee table, small dining room table with four mismatched chairs.

  I glance at Mom who plasters a smile on her face. Does it bother her to be here? Standing with a woman my father fucked while they were married?

  A woman who’s his cousin.

  How could this woman sleep with her own cousin?

  I try my best to refrain judgement, because I have a sinking suspicion it might not have been a choice.

  I stare at my mother again. It’s more likely she genuinely wants to help them and screw my father over at the same time.

  Maybe I got my vindictiveness from her. Compassion is her core, but you don’t piss my mom off.

  “Wow, Brayden, you’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you,” Carrie says. Her posture is stiff and she holds out her hand, then drops it, seemingly unsure how to welcome me in this mess.

  My mouth opens to ask when that was, but I immediately shut it. About thirteen years ago, when Emily was created.

  Emily’s arms wrap around my waist with a force that jostles me from the unexpected attack.

  “Emily! You don’t do that to strangers.” Carrie chastises.

  “But he’s not a stranger. He’s my brother, isn’t he?”

  I ruffle her hair and smile down at her. “I hope so.”

  She beams back at me and when I glance back up to Carrie, she’s got her hand over her mouth and tears filling her eyes. “I didn’t tell her that. I told her she might have a brother, but I didn’t tell her your name or that you were Abby’s, I swear.”

  There’s a panic filling her. Almost like she’s trying to diffuse an accusatory situation.

  Looking back to Emily, who’s still locked on to me, I tickle her side, making her squeak. “It’s the eyes, isn’t it?”

  She nods, the ear-to-ear grin still lighting up her face. “They’re like emeralds.”

  “I may be your brother, is that okay?”

  The nod picks up in speed. “It would be awesome! I’ve always wanted a sibling.”

  Carrie pulls one of the dining table chairs over and motions for us to sit on the couch. Emily plops down between us, her thin body like a rail.

  “Where to start?” Carrie says with a nervous laugh.

  The whole situation is a bit awkward and I’m doing everything I can to relieve the tension I know we’re all feeling. I know what it’s like for me, but what has she been through?

  “How about the beginning?”

  “Right. The beginning. That’s a good place.” She blows out a steadying breath. “Well, I’m the youngest child from the youngest sibling, whereas your father is the second oldest of all of us.” She gives a small smile. “I was only twenty when Emily was born.”

  The math flies through my mind and I curse under my breath. She’s only thirty-two.

  “You’re younger than my father was when he . . .” My hands start shaking and I have to lace my fingers together to get it to stop. He was thirty-five at the time. “How?”

  “Everyone has their own version of what happened that day.”

  “Everyone?” I ask.

  She nods. “Your father. My parents. Me.”

  “What’s your version?”

  She glances to Emily whose brow is scrunched up in another facial characteristic of my father. “Baby, why don’t you go play in your room for a little while?”

  “But I don’t want to. I wanna stay here.”

  Her small hand grabs onto my arm and I wonder how much she knows or understands of what’s going on. She’s not a small child, she’s in seventh grade.

  “Just for a few minutes, sweetie, then we can go get some lunch,” Mom says to her with a warm smile.

  “Okay.” Emily gets up and trudges to her room.

  When she hears the click, Carrie starts in with the story. “It started with me trying to sneak some booze from behind the bar at the family reunion in 2002. Steve had been watching me the whole night.”

  “You weren’t the only one. With so many people, I don’t even remember you being there,” Mom says.

  Carrie nods. “He made sure we didn’t interact, but I think he forgot we’d been introduced the year before, and I knew right away who you were. Anyway, I was trying to sneak that drink and he noticed. He pulled me into an empty room and handed me his drink. Being one of my older cousins, I trusted him, completely.”

  I don’t like the way her tone dips or the fact that she had to point out that she trusted him.

  “Two drinks later, the world was spinning and I felt so weak. He starts getting a little touchy feely. He rubbed his hands up my arms, telling me how I’d blossomed into such a beautiful woman.”

  I almost can’t remain in my seat. My heart pounds with disgust and rage. “He drugged you?”

  She nods her head, her face twisted in what I can only guess as a mixture between embarrassment and pain. “When he kissed me, I managed to pull back and asked him if he was crazy. Told him we couldn’t do that, we were cousins and he was married. But he was persistent and I . . . I just didn’t have the strength to fight him back.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see my mom cover her mouth with her hand. Her eyes are shining with horrified tears.

  “He drugged you and raped you,” I whisper, trembling from head to fucking toe.

  I shouldn’t be surprised.

  I shouldn’t.

  I am. I’m shocked.

  Heartbroken.

  “Is it really rape when I didn’t really fight back?” Carrie whispers tearfully.

  “It is. It fucking is,” I hiss under my breath. I have my fingers laced together so tight that my knuckles crack from the pressure. This is a story I don’t want to hear but need to, and then go find something heavy to bash his skull in with.

  “The most I could do was beg him to please pull out once he was finished. He swore he would.”

  Of course, he lied.

  My stomach turns. Even in my time using girls to get off, I never did anything like that. Shit like that is fucked up.

  “I wish I could say that I hat
ed it, that he raped me, but no matter what anyone says, I can’t fully go with that version of the story. I just lay back and let him. And even worse, I didn’t feel disgust until later on.”

  “When the drug left your system, Carrie,” my mom says softly.

  “He drugged and assaulted you, Carrie, and it wasn’t right.” The words are strained, hissing out from between my clenched teeth. “You couldn’t stop him. He made sure you were drunk and high. He was probably drunk too and was looking to nut off and you became his target.”

  Fuck. How many girls has he roofied? Assaulted?

  I have to believe this is an isolated case. I have to. If I don’t, I’m going to go mad at the reality of who my father is.

  Besides, someone would have reported him if there had been more. Right?

  “And you fit his type perfectly.” Mom’s gaze, which had locked on the coffee table, moves to Carrie. “Young, pretty, and not to sound mean, but were probably putting off a desperate for attention vibe.”

  I nod in agreement. “His M.O. He preys on the weak and lonely. You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

  Carrie reaches up and swipes a few tears from her face. “I wish it was that easy. The problem is, everything that happened after that. When I found out I was pregnant . . . my parents threw me out. The rumors flew after that. People called me a whore, even people I didn’t know. I had to get out of the area.”

  “Is that when you moved here?” I ask.

  Carrie nods. “No money, college drop out, and no support. It’s been hard, but I’ve managed.”

  “Brayden?” Mom reaches out to me but I jump up from the couch. I know she can tell just how close to the edge I am.

  Would I kill my own father if it wasn’t against the law?

  Hell. Fucking. Yes.

  Guess we’re both monsters.

  My lip curls up in a fight to rein my anger in. “I want to make sure he pays for it, monetarily as well as his beloved reputation.”

  Carrie shakes her head. “I don’t want him to ever see her. He hasn’t in twelve years.”

  Mom leans forward and takes Carrie’s hand. “With the results showing paternity you’ll be able to get some financial support you desperately need to give Emily what she deserves, but there is the chance the court could grant him visitation. Whether he chooses to use that visitation or not is unknown.”