Sanctuary Found (Pelican Bay 2)

It was an odd thing to feel so rudderless. Growing up with parents who never seemed to have a plan meant that was all I’d ever wanted to have.

Graduate West Point.

Serve my country in active combat.

Work my way up the ranks to general with a post that preferably kept me as far from Pelican Bay as possible.

But all that had changed when I’d learned of the accident that had taken my mother’s life, left my father paralyzed from the waist down, and put my little brother in a coma that would take him a full month to recover from.

I could still remember the sounds of the machines surrounding his motionless body as I’d sat by his bedside day after day waiting for him to wake up. I’d begged, bargained, and cursed him more times than I could count, all in the hopes he’d just all of a sudden open his eyes, see me staring at him, and give me some sign that he was back and he was there to stay. I hadn’t cared what condition he’d been left in, I’d vowed to take care of him no matter what.

And then one day my wish had come true and Dallas had opened his eyes. There’d been no recognition in them for the few seconds he’d managed to keep them open, but as they’d drifted shut and I’d told him I was going to be right there by his side when he woke up again, he’d squeezed my hand just a little. And that was when I’d known everything would be okay.

Only it hadn’t been.

And I hadn’t kept my silent promise to him and God that I’d always take care of him if he would just wake up–not once I’d learned the truth about what he’d done.

I’d broken the promise I’d made to him when we’d been children, too.

Because I’d never had his back again after that. I’d merely walked out of his life, leaving him to care for our disabled father, and I’d never looked back. Not until after our father had died two years later. And then I’d been a man on a mission.

I’d let all the rage and hatred and betrayal mix into this dark, ugly thing inside of me that I’d never been able to let go. Instead of just walking away from Dallas again, I’d needed him to hurt like I hurt, so I’d used one of the few weapons I had against him.

Our parents’ inheritance.

Which, in hindsight, had been utterly ridiculous because Dallas had never been enamored of the money, not like our parents had been. Yes, like me, he’d enjoyed the things like getting a new car when we were old enough to drive and being handed a stack of money if there was ever something in particular that we wanted, but he’d never really flaunted the fact that we were so much more well-off than the kids we went to school with. Even when we’d moved to Pelican Bay and our parents built the atrocious house overlooking town, Dallas hadn’t advertised the fact that he came from money. His focus had been baseball, baseball, baseball.

Like me, his plan had been to get out of Pelican Bay and away from our parents all along. And just like me, his entire life had changed in an instant when fate had finally caught up to our parents and their incessant need to drink. But unlike me, Dallas hadn’t had a way out anymore after the accident. He’d been abandoned and betrayed by those who should have been watching out for him. His career had been left in ruins, and the town that had once adored him had turned on him instead. All the support that should have gone to Dallas had been showered on me instead.

I’d become that “poor Kent boy” who’d lost his family and Dallas had become a whole host of other things.

Killer.

Disappointment.

Freak.

I hadn’t stuck around at the time to know those were the titles that had been cast upon my brother after the “truth” had come out, but I’d learned them easily enough in the few weeks I’d been back in town. Up until last night, whenever I’d run into someone I knew, they’d tsk-tsk and tell me what a shame what had happened to me was.

I’d become the saint and Dallas the villain and our parents had been the martyrs.

And it had all been a big fucking lie.

One I’d perpetuated.

I shook my head as the perpetual nausea in my belly grew. If I’d only heard Dallas out…

Even if he hadn’t told me the truth when I’d confronted him, if I’d looked hard enough, I would have seen it in his eyes. I would have known there was no way he could have done what our father had said that he had. But I hadn’t been able to get past the sense of betrayal that he’d done the one thing he’d promised me he’d never do–that we’d promised each other we’d never do–drive drunk.