“Aren’t you curious?” he asks. I narrow my eyes, not following. “How he died? Your beast.” I remain silent. “He was stabbed in a bar fight, about a year and a half ago. Strange, right? That he died just like in your fairytale, by a blade.”
“Why do I get the feeling you know more than you’re saying?”
“Don’t I always?” Brendan smirks like he is a vault of secrets, and has swallowed the key. “Is it better, knowing he’s dead?”
I shake my head. “Doesn’t bring back my grandmother. Or erase what he did.”
“I’m sorry about your grandmother,” he says sincerely.
“She hated lying, more than anything.” My voice is weak when I first speak. I glance up at him quickly, then back down at the floor. “We made a promise to never lie to each other. And she said breaking a promise was worse than a lie, so I never did. Even when I wanted to. It doesn’t mean I always told the truth. But I never lied to her.”
I swipe at the tear that snuck out of my eye. “That night … it was the last time I ever lied, to anyone. I chose to keep the truth to myself instead. And maybe that’s worse, I don’t know. It’s what I do. I either tell the truth or keep it trapped inside. But I never lie.”
“I know,” Brendan replies, like this all makes perfect sense. After a weighted silence, he says, “I would have killed him myself if someone else hadn’t already.”
I snap my head up and stare at him, questioning if I heard him right. He tilts his mouth into his notorious smirk and I shudder.
A knock breaks our connection.
“Here’s one of your sworn protectors now,” Brendan announces. As he walks to the door, he continues talking. “These Harrison men have all vowed to protect you, haven’t they, Lana? It’s a little strange if you ask me. You have your own legion of knights, all within one bloodline.”
Before I can react, he swings the door open. “Sir William. Please do come in.”
Joey enters, shooting Brendan a suspicious glance. When he spots me, a gorgeous, dimpled smile ignites. A jolt of electricity stirs in my gut. I know it's a lie. But my body doesn't seem to care.
I stand, and he walks toward me. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I say, looking directly into his brilliant blue eyes. I’m trapped within their gaze, unable to look away.
Joey brushes a hand along my cheek, and I inhale sharply.
“It’s like you can’t resist,” Brendan observes in complete fascination. “It’s a little disturbing.”
The arrogant lilt of his voice breaks us apart.
“Uh, so,” Joey clears his throat uncomfortably. “What is it you wanted to show me?”
Brendan retrieves the photograph from a hidden compartment beneath his roll-top desk. He hands it to Joey silently, like he’s waiting to see how he’ll react. I figure there’s a reason for this, but then I remember Brendan has a thing for theatrics.
Joey examines it for a second. “Um, so, what am I looking at?”
“You tell me,” Brendan insists. I roll my eyes.
“We don’t know who everyone is,” I explain. “We were hoping you could tell us.”
Joey scans it again. “Well, you know my dad, my mother, and that’s Parker.” He points to each of them. “That’s my Aunt Cassandra,” he indicates the woman we didn’t know, the only one who doesn’t appear to be pregnant. “Um, I’m not sure who this is next to your mother.” Joey looks up at me.
My gaze switches to Brendan. He nods, granting permission.
“That’s Brendan’s mother. She grew up on the island.”
Joey directs his attention to Brendan. “Your mother?”
Brendan nods. Joey appears confused. Join the club.
“What about the other two?”
Joey narrows his eyes, like he’s trying to place them. “Um, it’s hard to tell who the woman is. The guy … looks familiar. I’ve never met him, but … I know I’ve seen him before. Maybe in other pictures.” He pauses in contemplation. “I can’t place him. Sorry.”
“Do you know where this was taken?”
“Our family estate on Nantucket. My great-grandfather built the main house, and then my grandfather added houses for each of his children, so we could all vacation together.”
“What are you, the Kennedys?” Brendan jeers. “Except your family’s compound is on Nantucket instead of the Cape?” There’s an undertone of hostility in his voice that draws my attention. Where is this coming from?
“Brendan,” I say in warning, not wanting him to piss Joey off and keep him from cooperating. Brendan walks to the bar and pours himself a shot.
“Drink?” he offers Joey.
“No thanks,” Joey replies.
“Do you know who this guy might be, the one cut off, running to get into the picture?”
Joey presses his lips together in contemplation. “It could be my Uncle Kaden. His house is on that side of the property. And it would make sense considering.”
“Considering what?” Brendan demands impatiently. I shoot him a look, silently questioning his irritation, and he shakes me off. What is going on with him?
Joey pulls out a folded envelope from his pocket. He smooths it out and removes a small stack of papers, along with a photograph. He hands the photo to me.
“That’s my uncle,” he tells me quietly, like he wishes he didn’t have to say it.
In the image, my teenage mother is sitting on a guy’s lap. He appears a little older, maybe early twenties. His face is tucked into her neck, kissing her. Her tranquil blue eyes are sparkling and her smile is so bright. She’s so … in love. I’ve only ever seen her this happy with Nick.
“My mother was dating your uncle?” I ask, trying to digest this. My eyes widen at the unspoken conclusion. “Is he …” But I can’t say it.
“Your father?” Of course Brendan can. Joey flinches. I think I might throw up.
Joey and I stare at each other for a moment. “That can’t be right,” I gasp, swallowing against the bile in my throat. There’s no way I’m related to the Harrisons … no way.
“Would explain a lot,” Brendan remarks. “Except the incest part.”
I glare at him. He laughs like this is the most amusing thing he’s ever witnessed.
“Maybe not,” Joey finally says, but still not sounding all that confident. He spreads out five pages on the coffee table. We bend down to examine them. They’re DNA tests, more specifically paternity tests. My eyes flick between them, my brain too freaked to comprehend what I’m looking at.
“I found these in my father’s office. I made copies. They were in a hidden locked drawer, kind of like yours.” He looks to Brendan.
Brendan picks them all up and shifts through them. “There aren’t any names. Only patient numbers.”
“And?” I demand, my heart racing and my palms slick with sweat.
“These three,” he stacked them on the table, “all have the same father. And these two, aren’t a match to the donor.”
I swallow.
Brendan lets out a heavy breath, like he’s preparing himself. “Was your aunt pregnant at the time this picture was taken?”
Joey does a quick calculation in his head and nods. “She was like, four months pregnant with Lily.”
“She’s Lily’s mother?” I gasp. Joey nods again.
“So, there are five pregnant women in this picture. And five DNA tests. Anyone want to take a guess who the kids are, and more importantly, who their fathers are?” Brendan flips through the pages again. “The tests were for three boys and two girls.” He holds the pages up to the light. “The birthdates have been redacted for some reason. I’ll have to search for the originals to tell us when each was born.”
“How?” Joey asks.
“You don’t want to know,” I tell him. His mouth rounds in a silent, Oh, understanding it’ll be illegal.
“So the girls are you and Lily. So, unless your aunt was having an affair, we can still assume Lily’s your cousin,” Brendan says, his eyes shifti
ng to Joey. “And one guy impregnated three women in like, what, six months? What was he thinking not wrapping it up?” Brendan lets out a humorless laugh.
My brain finally starts connecting everything he’s saying.
“But if my father is Kaden, then that means Cassandra had an affair with this other guy, making me your cousin” I give Joey a quick glance. My throat constricts like it doesn’t want me to say the rest out loud as I face Brendan. “If not, then I’m your sister.” Even Brendan appears disturbed by this revelation. My knees buckle. I collapse in the chair with a heavy plop.
“This is fucked up,” Joey says, running a hand through his hair.
“Undeniably,” Brendan agrees, finishing another shot. “Good thing you didn’t give in to temptation and sleep with me.”
I make a disgusted face at him.
“Why do you even have this picture,” Joey looks at it again, “from Labor Day weekend … Oh, no.” Joey’s face pales instantly. He shakes his head like he’s hoping whatever it is isn’t true. “I didn’t recognize him because I never met him. Because he died the weekend this was taken.”
“Who are you talking about?” I demand. Joey stares at me with wide eyes, like he’s silently apologizing. “Whatever it is can’t be worse than finding out I made out with my cousin, or that I’m … Brendan’s sister.” That was so hard to say.
“I know who that man is. Which means, I know who the third boy is.”
Brendan and I stare at him, willing his mouth to move. But as soon as it does, I wish I had stapled it shut.
“Vic.”
My journey in creating this story, is much like Lana’s discovery of love—I discovered what it was to be a writer again. To live within my words and not want to let them go, even as I typed the last letter. Lana’s journey isn’t over, and neither is mine.
I am surrounded by the most wonderful and passionate women. They were there to remind me of just what I’m capable of accomplishing. They never once stopped believing in me. Their love helped me fall in love with writing once again. It was a long four years, but here we are. And I am very much in love.
This story is for all of my friends who talked me off the cliff or screamed right alongside me…
Elizabeth – You have endless patience. You taught me how to keep swimming. You sacrificed for this story, not because you had to, but because you love me and what we do. I love you and couldn’t do this without you. We are capable of miracles—truly beautiful magic. You are the other half of my love for writing. Together, we are one.
Kim – You listened. You read. You advised. You encouraged. And loved. If I could give you a hug of love and gratitude every day, I would!
Kathleen – You encouraged me. You guided me. And you were always there to listen, even during the times I questioned everything. You are the voice I search for when I’m lost.
Tarryn – Your love of words. Your passion. Your love of me. There’s a madness to being an artist, and you get my crazy.
Jenn – You answered every time I asked, “What the hell am I doing?” You understood the frustration, the pain and longing to be in love again. And you didn’t give up on me. That was exactly what I needed.
Dina – You offer unwavering support, no matter what I choose to do with my life. Because you know exactly who I am and love me all the same. You are my truth.
Thank you Kate, Leah and Paola for being the friends every woman deserves. I am grateful to call you mine. I trust you.
I was supported by a full team of patience who cheered me on until the very last second. Thank you to Nina, Ellie, Janet, Nadege and Regina for taking this story and making it brighter, for everyone to see. I mentioned the endless patience, right?
I write for me. But I am an author for all of you. Thank you to every reader and my Dolls who have allowed me to do what I needed to create this story, no matter how long it took. I’m enveloped in your love every time we meet. You make my heart sing! I will always find my way back to you, I promise.
Rebecca Donovan, the USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling YA author of The Breathing Series and What If, lives in a small town in Massachusetts with her son. Influenced and obsessed with music, Rebecca can often be found jumping around at concerts, or on a plane to go see one. She’s determined to experience (not just live) life. And then write about it.
Knowing You_The Cursed Series Part 2 Page 31
