On My Knees (Stark International Trilogy 2)

“They sure as hell shouldn’t,” Ethan agrees. He looks at me. “But I’m fine now, and you’re a big reason why. You and Mom and Dad. And it just bugs the crap out of me that the people in the world who mean the most to me don’t get along at all.”

“Ethan …”

“Come on, Silly. You know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I know.” The truth is, it’s been a very long time since we’ve really talked. But when we were kids, we had no secrets. And I liked that. I miss that.

“Parents fuck up their kids, Syl. It’s what they do. And I know it must have been worse for you. You had to deal with all the shit that went along with me being sick. And you did the modeling thing and that’s cool and all, but it’s got to have been hard work, right?”

I can only nod. He really doesn’t know the half of it. And as I sit there and try to keep my shit together, Jackson reaches over and takes my hand.

Just casually holding hands with his girlfriend. And yet the strength in his touch keeps me sane and steady. My white knight, I think. Always ready to rescue me.

“So you’re working your ass off, and Mom and Dad are getting the money. For me. Did you even get to keep any of it? I mean, like in a college fund or something?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t want the money.” My voice is soft, but earnest. “I did it for you.”

My voice hitches, and I hope that he doesn’t notice.

“Yeah, well.” He shrugs, and there is a weirdly awkward silence. “Look, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s cool. The bottom line is that I love you. I mean, you’re my sister, so there’s that. But you’re also my hero.” He glances at Jackson. “Sorry for the syrupy sweetness, but I’ve been away for a long time.”

“I think that kind of sweetness is very appropriate,” he says, then kisses the top of my head even as fat tears spill out of my eyes.

“You’re not allowed to make me cry.”

“Sure I am. That’s what annoying little brothers are for.”

I laugh—and I cry a little more, too. But it’s a good kind of crying and I wipe the tears away. And as I do, I realize I’m smiling. Despite the fact that we are heading to my parents, I’m actually smiling.

And that’s the crux of it, just like I told Jackson. Maybe I could have walked away. Maybe I could have said no to Reed. But I didn’t.

So yes, I whored myself out.

But I don’t hate myself. Because sitting across from me is the reason I did it.

And I love him desperately.

So I’ll hate Reed for what he did to me.

And I’ll hate my father for not protecting me.

My brother, though, is innocent. And he never needs to know.

twenty-five

The house in Irvine is picture-perfect.

The lawn is manicured. The trees just tall enough.

The cars are tasteful and expensive, but not too showy.

The pool guy comes every Thursday. The cleaning lady every Tuesday.

My mother volunteers at the library. My dad is enjoying early retirement after several long-shot real estate investments paid off spectacularly.

All in all, they’re an upper-middle-class couple with a Norman Rockwell home on one of the prettiest streets in one of the prettiest towns in the country.

Too bad what’s inside these walls isn’t as pretty as the outside. Because even though Vivaldi is playing over the wireless speakers and the dining table has meat loaf and potatoes, I feel as though I’m trapped in that house in Amityville, and any minute now, blood is going to pour out of the walls.

Frankly, that couldn’t be any worse than the horror I’m currently experiencing.

My mother has moved from asking me when Jackson and I are getting married to asking me what I do at Stark International. Which would be a reasonable question if this weren’t the third time she has asked me that in the last ninety minutes. Everything I say to her seems to go to some other place, and it has been that way since Ethan got sick. As if once he got ill, she had no energy to devote to the other child, and so she tossed platitudes my way and hoped that I wouldn’t notice.

And that strange disconnect continued even after Ethan recovered. By that time, I was on my way out the door, but even when I would come home from boarding school, she never asked about my schoolwork or my friends or anything. And if I volunteered information, she would listen, but she wouldn’t really hear.

It’s something I realized early on, and I used to test her on it. I’d tell her something specific. Once, we were sitting down for lunch and I told her, “Donna bought a horse, and then she fell off and broke her leg.”