Page 80 of Alphas Like Us
Torun.
And I have an ultra marathon to train for—IpromisedSullivan that I’d race with her in Chile. I’m not missing it for anything. Not even a broken collarbone. And that—that is the last thing I need to surface in front of my dad and uncle. They’ll bombard me as soon as the wordultraleaves mymouth.
My dad’s brows scrunch at me. “Did your mom and I not teach you the art of being a couch potato? Jesus Christ, I’ve truly failed as aparent.”
Ryke almost laughs, but he turns more to me. This time, I don’t look away. And he tells me, “You’ve got time to rehab. Your dad is right. With these first few fucking weeks, you need to take iteasy.”
I freeze even more than I already am. Ryke is offering advice like this is just another day of my life. Not the day after his daughter…I shake my head,confused.
Almost wishing he hated me. “You’re not upset?” Iask.
His brows furrow. “Upset?”
Farrow wraps an arm around my side. He knows. He knows that I’m beating myself up about this, and I can’t help it. I can’t stop the fucking guilt from attackingme.
“Winona was in that car with us,” I tell him. “She has agash—”
“It’ll fucking heal,” Ryke says, scowling hard at me. Now he’spissed.
“It’llscar—”
“Don’t do this to yourself, bud,” my dadinterjects.
Ryke adds, “You couldn’t have protected her from a car crash. That’s not on you. Don’teverput that fucking weight onyourself.”
Ibreathe.
Farrow watches my expression, and I think he knew I needed them. He’s been urging me to see Ryke, maybe because my uncle is the only one who could come close to absolvingme.
But I’ll always wonder if we could’ve prevented the crash someway. Somehow. Stayed in the alley, waited out the storm. If Charlie or Farrow had driven from the get-go. If we pulled over sooner. Anything,anythingdifferent and maybe they’d beokay.
* * *
It takesa lot of energy just to leave Farrow in the kitchen with my uncle and dad. He’d tell you he can handle the probing questions and sharp sarcasm from my dad, but I’d much rather be there to take half theheat.
Still, I have a goaltoday.
One that has to be donealone.
Walking down the second-floor hallway, I come to a stop at a door-less room. My fifteen-year-old rapidly growing brother is sprawled on his bed. He’s already six-foot-one, and the day before the auction, he texted me a selfie of pieces of toilet paper stuck to his shaving nicks. His message:Razor vs.Man.
He’s growing up, and he’s going to fuck-up. And as his older brother, I’m trying to figure out how to minimize that damage and protecthim.
I haveto.
In his bedroom, Xander has on bulky headphones and flips through a thick fantasynovel.
I knock on thedoorframe.
He glances up and slides his headphones to his neck. His straight brown hair is tucked behind his ears. “Hey, I didn’t know you were coming over.” His amber eyes light up like he’s genuinely happy to seeme.
My stomach twists because the conversation I’m about to have—it’s not going to be pleasant. And I’ve been sprinting around inside my head, trying to determine the best way to phrase this stuff without it soundingaccusatory.
But it is an accusation, any way I turn it. He did something wrong…he’sdoingsomethingwrong.
Before I say anything, I walk further into his room. Distracted at the sparkling clean area. No heaps of clothes on the floor. No soda cans stuffed under his bed or empty pizza boxes littering the ground. It hasn’t looked like this inmonths.
The metal of his life-sized armored knight seems polished. I look at my little brother. “Did mom cave and clean your room foryou?”
