Page 139 of Wicked Minds
Royce shoves an ice-cold beer into my hand and gestures for me to sit at the island before he leans against the kitchen counter, watching me as I settle on the bar stool beside Logan.
It’s nice having the three of us in the same room together and not barking at one another, but I’m under no illusions that this is going to be a friendly discussion. There will be no apologies and friendship bracelets. Their priorities have forever changed… which I can now finally understand and grimly accept.
I take a sip of the bitter beer, the coolness barely touching the scorching heat tearing up my insides as I feel both of their stares on me.
“So everyone is Team Riley now that we all know about Aurora, yes?” Logan questions with absolutely zero tact.
“Aurora?” I croak.
“Riley’s daughter,” Royce supplies, as if I couldn’t possibly piece that together for myself.
Jesus.Hearing her name aloud brings it home, and I nearly fall off my stool.
Is this real? I subtly pinch my inner arm to make sure I’m not actually passed out in my office after one too many whiskeys.
“Is this fucking real?” I say aloud when the pinch doesn’t change my reality. Swiping my hand through my hair, I glance at Royce and practically beg for him to laugh and call April fools, even though it’s only January.
When he only stares back at me, I drop my stare to the countertop, shaking my head. “How?” I ask no one in particular. “How is any of this real? She has a kid?” It still blows my mind. Except I saw it. Iheard it.Mommy.“It’s definitely my dad’s?”
I feel a little sick even asking that question, what with Gran’s words floating around in my head.Another innocent girl got hurt.
“Dude,” Logan growls, that one word dripping with warning as he tenses beside me. “Sheis the spitting fucking image of you.”
“He’s right,” Royce agrees more calmly, but a warning still rings in his words. “Ask Riley to show you a picture. The second I laid eyes on her, I put the pieces together.”
“If she’s not your dad’s, then she’s yours,” Logan says far too casually. “Either way, that kid has Van Doren DNA in her blood.”
“Fucking hell,” I rasp. Somehow, that knowledge has me struggling even more. That was the last wall standing in my way, the one thread I was clinging to that would make all of this not real.
I almost fucking wish she was mine. It would be an easier pill to swallow than the reality.
“You realize acknowledging this means accepting that your dad has been lying to you?” Royce says with an edge in his voice.
“No shit, Sherlock.” I swipe a hand down my face, completely wrung out.
“I know you were struggling the other day when we talked,” he hedges, waiting until I lift my head before he continues. “This is the proof you needed to see for yourself who your dad truly is. What he’s capable of.”
My bark of laughter is ice cold. “Thanks, but I didn’t need the proof.” I drop my head between my shoulders, and the room goes silent. I know they’re waiting for me to explain, except I need a moment to gather myself before voicing it all aloud.
“I found a box in Gran’s room at the nursing home,” I begin thickly. “It had photos. A journal of my mom’s.” My jaw pulses, and I can’t look at either of them. “My dad… he abused her. Beat the shit out of her. Sucked the life out of her.”
“Jesus,” Logan gasps.
Finding some inner strength, I lift my head and pierce Royce with a deadened stare. “You said earlier that I wasn’t losing my shit because I hadn’t fully processed what she told me or wasn’t taking her seriously, but it was neither. I already knew.” I shake my head. “I didn’t need her proof. I… I never wanted this.”
His features are etched in pain as he nods.
“Just when I think it can’t get any worse…”
“That’s… Fuck, that’s…” Logan shakes his head, at a loss for words. “I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry you had to find that. That you had to learn all this about your dad. That you felt like you couldn’t talk to us.”
I lift my shoulders in a casual shrug. It is what it is, and I get it. I get why they were on Riley’s side in all of this.
Taking a swig of my beer, the bitter liquid does jack shit to lessen the turmoil shredding my insides. I feel ill. Drained. Like I’ve just come off a four-day bender.
Pushing off the counter, Royce comes to lean his elbows on the opposite side of the breakfast bar, his expression drawn. “I’m sorry, Gray. And I’m sorry for asking this, but I need to know that you’re done tormenting her. Either be there for her or stay out of her life. She’s got enough other shit going on. She doesn’t need to be the target of your baggage too.”
“What do you mean she’s got enough other shit going on?”
