STRIPPED (The Slate Brothers 3)

“Oh,” I say, breathing slowly. I lick my lips, then dare to ask the question. “Do you think he did it, Tyson?”

Tyson closes his eyes, and there’s a sharp clip to his voice. “I don’t know. I truly don’t. But everyone thinks I should know how I feel about his guilt or innocence. My mother, the lawyers, my father, the press— even you. Everyone thinks I should be able to answer that question, and I don’t know why. My father is more than my father— he’s Dennis Slate. He’s a whole person, and he’s bad and he’s good, and how can I know which one he’s more of when to me, he’s just always been my father? That’s why I won’t testify for him or against him— why I’m only willing to tell the whole truth about him and leave it at that.”

I nod, and after a long, long while say, “The kid whose kidneys I got? He died in a drunk driving accident.”

Tyson looks startled by the change in topic. “That’s awful.”

“He was the driver. He killed two other people who were in the car with him. And then I got his kidneys and survived. He wasn’t perfect, and I’m not perfect, and I’m alive because he did something horrible, and now I’m supposed to never do anything horrible to make it worth it, and it’s all just so complicated. No one is a single thing. No one is all good or all bad,” I say, shaking my head. I’ve never told anyone this before— not even Trishelle. I didn’t know myself until I tracked down my donor’s family years ago, and learned that the kid who I’d always envisioned as a straight-A student with a bright, sunny future, was far from it.

But did that mean his life was worth less than mine? Did that mean it was okay for my family to celebrate as his cried?

“The woman that died,” Tyson says slowly, “she was related to the girl my brother Sebastian married. Her aunt. I’ve always wondered how Ashlynn can be with Sebastian despite who our father is. Especially when our lawyers paint her aunt as this hussy who had random sex and did drugs and was happy to have an affair with a married man. But…Ashlynn shows up and sits with her parents and the prosecutors, and for a while, Sebastian would show up and sit with my family and the defense. And then they’d leave together, like they’d never been on opposite sides.”

“That’s amazing. I mean, it’s great, but also amazing that they can both…be like that,” I say, staring straight ahead at the concrete wall.

“I think they’ve always been more at peace with it than I am— the idea that a person can be more than one thing.” He turns to me now, and there’s a gentle note in his gaze that wasn’t there a few moments before. “I said you’re perfect, Anna, and I meant it— but you’re also imperfect. And brave. And sexy. And smart. It’s all of those things that I want. It’s all of those things that I had to have when I saw you that first day in the gym. Everyone is so eager to be defined as one thing— football player, or cheerleader, or businessman, or movie star, or whatever. But you…I could tell right away that you weren’t trying to define yourself. You were trying to escape definition, and you have.”

I smile back, the hurt from earlier ebbing away as his gaze warms the entire car. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, Tyson.”

He takes my hand and kisses along my knuckles lightly, then exhales. “Let’s get out of here. I hate this place.”

“No argument here,” I answer, happy to go somewhere else— anywhere else— with Tyson. I don’t know what we are, exactly— I know I’m not his minder, or his girlfriend, or his sex partner, or just a friend.

What we are, I think, might defy a single definition just as much as who we are does.

Chapter 16

“This is insane,” I say, shaking my head at the view. It’s a week after the court hearing, and Tyson and I are in the luxury box at the top of the stadium. The view of the perfectly curated football field below is practically Photoshopped, it’s so amazing.

“Told you,” he says with an almost-smile, watching as I lean toward the glass. The room itself is gorgeous, with leather chairs and enormous televisions, wine cabinets and cigar cases. It doesn’t look like the sort of place you go to watch a football game— it looks like the sort of place you go to negotiate peace treaties or merge billion dollar companies.

We’re here because I’ve never been to a football game. Or at least, that’s where the trip here started— I said I’d never been to one because the crowds made me nervous, and Tyson suggested I watch the next game from a luxury box, since he could get me one without much trouble. I get the impression he wants to know I’m watching him play, wants to know that I’m in the stadium with him, and idea that makes my heart stir a little.