Page 16 of Just Say Yes

Sylvie frowned but stayed silent.

I could hear people talking downstairs, so I stood and tried to brush my feelings away. “I’ll figure it out.” My words sounded far more defensive than I’d intended. Shame and guilt coursed through me.

Sylvie rose and squeezed my hand. “I know you’ll figure it out. You always do. We’ll see you down there.”

With a gentle hug, Sylvie slipped out of my room. I stared down at the crumpled note in my hand.

My fingers itched to type in the numbers and accept his invitation. Besides, I kind of liked sports. Sure, I didn’t really care who played or won, but there was always something magical and exciting about watching a game in person—the energy of the stadium, the crowd cheering, extra-cheesy nachos and a cold beer.

Plus, the people watching was fun.

With a resigned sigh, I dropped the sticky note into the drawer of my desk and shoved away the gnawing disappointment that Logan Brown was probably no different from the rest.

As I walked down the grand staircase, I followed the din of voices until I reached the solarium at the back of the house. Faded, golden light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. The landscaped backyard stretched beyond the windows, and I recalled the bridal shower I had helped throw for Abel and Sloane.

My eyes landed on my oldest brother. He’d been so damaged and jaded after his time in prison, but his love for Sloane had pulled him out of his darkest days. All my siblings, plus Bug, moved to the dining room and sat.

Despite the crowd, the room felt too quiet, too still, considering everything that had happened.

The air was thick with unspoken words as we stared at the basic urn that held our father’s ashes.

He was dead. We all knew that, but the weight of it hadn’t settled yet. I looked at each of my siblings. The years of pressure and disappointment, and downright abuse served by the hands of our father, were palpable.

No one knew what to say. The past few years, cracks in my father’s flawless mask had become caverns. Sadness washed over me as I realized he’d done so much irreparable damage to his own children that not a single one of us knew what to say.

My thoughts wandered to his other wife and adult children we’d learned about. Hisrealfamily. I’d been stunned to learn that our mother was his mistress and that when she’d attempted to leave with us, he’d killed her. We’d lived our whole lives believing his lies—that she’d simply walked away from us because we were unlovable. He’d made himself out to be a hero, when really, he was a monster.

They can have him.

“I can reach out to his other family.” My voice was soft but determined. “Maybe they’ll want the ashes ... his wife, or ... someone.”

The room went still as my words hung in the air. Every pair of eyes turned to me, some surprised, others relieved. I looked at the urn and swallowed hard. I didn’t owe him anything. Not forgiveness, not kindness, not this. But maybe giving him to them was the only way to truly get rid of him—for all of us.

My brother Royal leaned back in his chair, giving me a long look. “You’re a good person,” he said quietly.

A tiny pang of guilt shot through me.

I wasn’t doing it out of the goodness of my heart. We had suffered enough at the hands of Russell King. Our town revered him, and I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone mourning his death.

Not after what he’d done.

Aunt Bug sighed from the end of the table, her hands nervously twisting the edge of a kitchen towel. “I always tried to keep you safe, you know,” she said, her voice cracking with the years of weight she’d carried. “Even though I didn’t want to believe he took your mother ... I tried my best.”

My heart twisted as the strongest woman I had ever known nearly crumbled.

“But you’ve always been our mom,” Sylvie said, her voice firm, cutting through the heavy silence.

There was no hesitation in her words, no doubt. The rest of us nodded, and a chorus of agreement filled the room.

“Bug, you were more of a mother to us than anyone else ever could’ve been,” Abel added, and for once, his usual gruffness softened.

Whip grinned despite the tension. “Yeah, you definitely fed us more sugar than was good for us. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

God, I loved him and his knack for cutting tension.

I sent him a grateful smile, which he returned with a wink.

Together we chuckled, the mood lightening, and Bug’s eyes misted over as she looked at each of us, her makeshift children.

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