I rolled my eyes. “She has one job.”
“This isn’t you.”
“Bullshit, this is the me you’re going to get—”
“I met with the board.”
This time I looked up into his green eyes, my all-too-familiar rage building like a pulse at my temples. He wouldn’t. He didn’t. Betrayal wrapped around my neck like a chokehold. “You did what?”
“The board, they’re worried you’re losing your grip, they wanted to see if I could force you to take a quick vacation.”
I snorted out a bitter laugh. “I was in a coma for four weeks. Thanks, but I already took enough time off.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t.” I jutted my jaw out, as if that would make me taller, and stood chest to chest with him.
“Guys.” Izzy was suddenly at our sides. Her hand was on my shoulder, and I hated that I missed the way she used to touch me. I’d lost her the minute I brought her into this family when I thought I could balance my need for my father’s approval with her love.
I had lost everything.
Everything.
My body swayed with exhaustion as she locked eyes with me and said, “Not here, not today.”
“Tell him that.” I gritted my teeth and glared at my brother.
Bridge shook his head like he was disappointed in me, again. I couldn’t take it, I wanted to strangle him, to scream, to run headfirst into the nearest cement wall and just let it all disappear.
Maybe then I’d feel something.
Maybe something would knock sense into me.
“Jules.” Izzy cupped my face with her hands. I clenched my jaw and drew back a few inches. Her touch was almost painful, because it was no longer just for me.
And now, she only had eyes for my brother.
Now she was pregnant with his child.
Now my life, the life I had planned with her, was as dead as the mother I never got enough time with.
My resolve was cracking.
My anger snapped into a downward spiral of sadness that had me wanting to run in the opposite direction so she didn’t see the break in my defenses.
“Take the vacation,” she whispered, her eyes full of unshed tears. “You can’t go on like this.”
“I can,” I lied, wanting more than anything to look away from her perfect mouth, and the way it pressed into a firm, disapproving line that reminded me of all the reasons I was never good enough for her, and all the reasons my brother was.
“No.” Her voice was soft, and then a solitary tear ran down her cheek, dripping onto the hardwood floor in slow motion. That tear was for me, it was for us, it was a tear that said so much more than words ever would.
Sometimes I hated myself.
Some days I hated her more.
Bridge looked ready to pummel me, probably because his wife was crying and I was the reason.
I hung my head, breaking eye contact. “Will three weeks get you guys off my case?”
“Yes.” Bridge breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll tell the board, they’ll be thrilled you’re actually taking the mental health days.”
I nodded, dumbly wondering what I was going to do alone in my new apartment for three weeks, when Bridge pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to me.
It was an old Polaroid of us at the cabin in Vermont. Our dad had had the place remodeled a few years back to make it look more modern, but a lot of the furniture was still the same, right along with the memories of my mom taking us sledding, making chili, and laughing late into the night around the campfire that we’d proudly built just for her. Our cabin was our escape from it all—Dad always cut his time there short and would often make excuses about having to go back to the city.
And we were always so thankful that he was gone. Once he left, our time there felt almost magical. The cabin was our own personal Disneyland, the happiest place on earth.
Some of my best memories were made there with my mom and Bridge.
It hurt so much to stare at the photo of Mom standing between my brother and me, her smile healthy, bright.
Tears stung my eyes. “The cabin?”
“You can do whatever you want.” Bridge sighed and held the picture out for me to take it. “But they just got snow, and I know it would make Mom happy for one of her boys to be back there, celebrating, not mourning her death, but celebrating her life.”
I cracked then.
With anger.
With sadness.
I took the picture and shoved him away. I didn’t want his embrace, and I didn’t want his love.
I just wanted to be alone.
The cabin . . .
Was the perfect place to start.
Chapter Two
KEATON
“Who is Keaton Westbrook?” I said it out loud about a dozen times as I gripped the steering wheel of the rental car and made my way down the dark road to the cabin I’d rented.