Page 111 of Trailer Park Billionaire
“Who’s there?” I ask, wiping the tears off my face.
“Boo,” the voice answers.
“Boo who?”
“Exactly. Stop crying and let me in.”
I wipe some snot away with the sleeve of my sweater and drag myself up. Carefully, I crack the door to peek through.
It’s Robyn.
I open wider. She looks at me like I was left out in the rain for too long. Her gun is secured in what appears to be a crocheted holster.
She notices my look and explains that it’s just a water gun. Then, after shooting me right in the boobs twice, she asks whether I’m okay.
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice sounding like sandpaper and sorrow. “I just need some time.”
Robyn nods. She doesn’t believe me, but she also doesn’t press. Which I appreciate.
“What did you do with him?” I ask.
She shrugs, entirely too nonchalant for someone who just held a man at (fake) gunpoint. “Told him if he comes near you again, I’ll come and find him. He got the message.”
“Thanks.”
Robyn shrugs again and pats my shoulder. “I’ve got booze and snacks at home if you’d like some company,” she says. “Also an actual taser in case you decide you want to go find him and get some real revenge for whatever he did.”
I nod. I don’t have the strength to joke back, but I’m grateful for the effort. She gives my arm a gentle squeeze, then leaves with one last look that says:You’ll be fine.
“Oh, and, hey,” she adds before she’s on her way, “if you ever need me again with water guns blazing, our secret code word from now on is ‘peaty.’ Like ‘peaty whiskey.’ Alright?”
I repeat the words and shut the door again. And this time, instead of sliding down onto the ground, I go straight to bed.
38
BEN
Idon’t say a word as Robyn marches me down the hall at water-gun-point. It doesn’t matter that it’s not real. Nothing feels real anymore. Not the cold hallway, not the wet sting in my eyes, not the water soaking into my shirt.
My fucking brother?
The only thing that does feel real is the gaping hole in my chest.
I should have known this would happen. You can only lie for so long before the truth catches up, and when it does, it rips everything apart. But knowing doesn’t make it hurt less. Knowing doesn’t stop the image of her face—tear-streaked, furious, shattered—from playing on repeat behind my eyes.
My fucking brother gave her that black eye?
I should have told her.
Instead, I let her fall for someone who doesn’t even exist. I let her trust me. I let her feel safe with me. And then I became exactly what she’s been running from half her life.
Robyn jabs the water gun into my back again. I don’t move. I’m not resisting—I just feel… heavy. Like I’m carrying the wreckage of everything I ruined.
I am the wreckage.
The liar. The thief. The St. Clair.
The man who brought his family's curse straight to her door.
