Pushing the Limits (Secrets Kept 2)

The woman who would be devastated and confused and probably disgusted over the fact that I was in love with her son.

“Almost two years,” Jayden replied…then smiled. Wait…did that asshole know?

“Two years!” Helena exclaimed. “Good God, Lane Michael Ryan. I can’t believe you kept this from us for two years!”

“A year and a half, and I know. I don’t know why I did. I can’t explain it.” Lane’s gaze flittered toward mine and then away. He was so goddamned sexy. His hair was almost at his shoulders now, this land between wavy and curly, messy and not. It was a darker blond than it had been when we were kids. His brows were the same shade. Lane had a straight nose, a little on the thin side, and perfect bow-shaped lips I’d thought too much about kissing over the years.

“It’s okay, Lane. You’re telling them now.” Mister fucking Perfect put his hand against Lane’s cheek, turned him, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. I really, really wanted to stab him with my butter knife.

Lane pulled away, gave Jayden a small grin, then turned to me. “How’s work going, Isaac?”

“Great. Landed a huge client last week. I’m on my way to making partner. I’m living my best life.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” Jayden asked.

“Isaac doesn’t want a relationship,” Lane answered for me.

I did, actually, but I wanted it with him.

“My brother is correct.” I made sure to stress the word brother to solidify what everyone thought we were, what I needed to remind myself we were supposed to be. “He knows me better than anyone. We used to tell each other everything, but I guess those things change when you grow up. But yes, he’s right. No relationships for me. Guess I’m not made for that, but I do enjoy myself in other ways. Had a fantastic threesome just the other night.”

Helena gasped.

“Isaac! What the hell has gotten into you?” Dad’s words were sharp, his disappointment clear.

Jayden’s brows drew together.

Lane just…looked at me, a softness in his brown gaze I wouldn’t want directed at me by anyone but him. Because I’d always felt safe with Lane in a way I never had with anyone else. After all these years, I would have thought this would go away. That keeping my distance and not trusting him with my secrets would sever this need I had for him, but it hadn’t. It was still there, as powerful as it always had been, simultaneously breaking me down and building me up.

Every set of eyes at the table was trained on me, confusion, disappointment, and concern in their stares, except Jayden, who I was pretty fucking sure hated my guts as much as I hated his, and who was enjoying this entirely too much. There was something about him I didn’t like, but it was probably just the fact that he was sleeping with Lane.

“Shit. I’m sorry.” I rubbed a hand over my face, wishing I could sink into the floor and that I hadn’t just let the smarmy motherfucker sitting across from me win. My insides ached, the anger and hurt turning into the fire of my words. I wouldn’t have said those things otherwise, and my pride helped tamp down the urge to make a scene. “I have a lot going on, and I let it get to me.” I leaned over and kissed Helena’s cheek. “I apologize. You definitely shouldn’t have to hear that from your favorite son.” The playful words nearly stuck in my mouth, but these were moments where I shined, so I tried to play off that—to be charming and pretend I wasn’t falling apart. Pretending I was okay when I wasn’t, the way I used to do with Dad.

She chuckled. “Oh, stop that. Are you going to play the favorites game again?”

“It’s not a game,” I told her, showing her that charisma people were used to from me. “We all know I’m your favorite. Poor Lane has come to terms with that years ago. Admit it, brother. I’m the best son.”

I waited for Lane to answer, silently pleading with him to pretend I hadn’t made an ass of myself. Lane was the only person who never let me get away with my shit, who never let me lie about how I felt. I used to love that about him, but now I needed the opposite.

“Remind me again, who got grounded more when we were kids?” Lane asked.

Dad and Helena laughed.

“Oh, we’re playing it that way? Who got mud on the white carpet in Helena’s favorite room of the house?”

“Who broke the kitchen window with a baseball and the living-room one with a rock, in the same month?” Lane countered.

I gasped. “Playing dirty, are we? Who asked me to hide my report card so they could pretend we hadn’t gotten ours yet because they’d failed math?”