Page 84 of Blood Money

“Me? I didn’t do anything. Why would you even think that?”

“Well, you had no qualms about leaving me—knowing I’d be hurt—so it wouldn’t surprise me at this point.” He shrugs.

I close the door and step closer to him. “Look, I get it. You hate me, but you can’t hate me forever. One day you’ll realize the very reason I stayed away is because I fucking cared.”

He narrows his eyes and bumps his chest against mine. “Bullshit.” He shoves me this time so hard I stumble back. “Bullshit!” The suffering in his eyes is undoubtable as his hands start to shake, and his face scrunches up in a grimace.

“Carter—”

“No! I don’t want your excuses! You left me.”

You left me.

The words are daggers to my heart.

I shoot my eyes to the ground, too ashamed to look at him. I never wanted to leave him. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t have, but I was just a kid. A kid with no idea how to even cope with the loss of our mother or the damage it created with Mac. But I never fought to stay either.

“Do you know what he did to me?” he asks with a frown, maintaining the harshness in his tone.

I stay silent because I don’t even want to say it—I don’t need to. We both know, and that’s enough.

“Answer me!” he screams.

I shake my head. “I know.”

“Then why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you try to help me?” Tears well in his eyes before falling down his cheeks. He swipes them away aggressively.

I step forward and try to pull him into me, but he pushes me again. “Fuck you, Cyrus. Fuck you!”

Before I can open my mouth to try and plead my case any more or apologize, he swings his fist toward my face. His knuckles connect with the peak of my cheek, and I can feel the skin split. Tiny barks, but I hold up my hand to silence him. If this is what Carter needs, I’ll give it to him. Another strike but this time to my stomach. I double over and grip my center on instinct, but I don’t fight back.

“Hit me!” he screams, shoving me even further into the house before I fall flat on my ass.

“No.” I refuse to be the man our dad was.

“Get up and hit me, you fucking coward!” Spit flies from his lips as he yells, and his fists shake.

“No,” I repeat.

His chest heaves as he stares down on me. “Get up!”

I drag myself to my feet and stand in front of him, wiping the blood from my cheek with the back of my hand. “I’m not him, Carter.”

Like realization registers in his brain, he opens his mouth, then quickly closes it before dropping his hands. “Why? Why’d you leave me?” More tears streak down his cheeks as his voice turns to a low whisper.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

He shakes his head. “I was hoping when you showed up that you would tell me that—that there would be some crazy fucking reason as to why you stayed away. Why you let him hurt me.” He pauses and searches my face. “But the truth is, there isn’t. He may have forced you to go, but you’re the one who decided to stay gone… and that fucking hurts.”

I nod, scrubbing my hand down my face. “I know, but I’m here now.”

Another head shake. “Yeah, and for what? ’Cause it surely wasn’t me. You need to start admitting shit to yourself because it wasn’t me that kept you away—it was him. You were a scared little boy who didn’t want to face daddy. None of this was about protecting me. It was about protecting yourself.”

“Carter—”

“No.” He holds up his hand. “I’m done. Done fighting. Done being angry. I’m just done with it all. You wanna fix this?” He motions between us. “Then fix it, but start with yourself.”

Once every word has left his mouth, he moves to the small table by the door and picks up my keys I left, then hands them to me. “Now, get out of my house and take your dog.”

I fix my eyes on him as I grab the keys. “I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing I can even think to say because he’s right.

I spent my entire time away making sure when I came back, I would be ready to do what Carter had already done—what he was forced to do because I wasn’t here. Yeah, I thought about Carter and missed him, but my hatred and fear of Mac was stronger. And telling myself staying away would protect him was nothing more than a lie to make me feel better.

“Goodbye, Cyrus” is the only reply I get as he ushers me and Tiny out the door and closes it.

Patting my leg, I instruct Tiny to follow me down the steps and pull the phone from my pocket. Hitting the last number I called, I bring it to my ear as I let Tiny in the back and slip in the front. He answers immediately.

“Bradley? Meet me at the Annalee.”

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