Dark Child (Wild Men 5)

Whatever this story is, he’s a part of it. In fact, as it turns out, he might be a much bigger part of it than I ever was.

“I don’t remember your mom,” I mutter as we trudge toward the river, on a barely-there trail among rushes and scraggly trees.

“We met her a few times.” Octavia studiously avoids looking at Ross, keeping her gaze on the path. “She came around our house to tell Mom to screw off and stop pro

ducing bastards. As if she produced them all alone.”

Ross’s jaw clenches. He kicks at a piece of trash.

“Anyway, I remember her. You don’t look like her,” she tells Ross. “Not much.”

We’re all basically carbon copies of our asshole common father.

“Dad says I have her mouth,” Ross mutters. Said mouth twists. “That usually preceded his beating the shit out of me.”

Ow.

“She was a good mom. She is. I mean…” He jams his hands into his jeans pockets. “Before she left.”

“Did she seem happy?” Cos asks.

“What?” He stops so suddenly Jarett and Gigi almost plow into his back.

“You know. Was she happy?”

“Would she be if she chose to leave?” he barks at us, and starts walking faster.

Good point. Who would be happy with a husband like Jasper Jones? Violent, unpredictable, a drunk and a sadist. Sleeping with other women. Having three bastards living around the corner.

As if reading my thoughts, Ross says, “I think there were more.”

“More what?”

He shoots me a scornful look. “Of you. More bastards. Dad likes to sow his oats.”

“Sow his oats.”

Wow. “And your mom knew about that?”

He shrugs. Kicks at a pebble. “Everyone knew.”

The ground is starting to get muddy, waterlogged, sucking on the soles of our shoes. I wonder how many brothers and sisters I may have out there—here in Destiny, or nearby towns.

Jeez. I’ve got nothing against an extended family. I’m big on family.

But it’d be nice to know who they are, and not meet someone with my face on the street some day and wonder. Wonder if he’s my brother. If she’s my sister. Someone who shares my love of music and sci-fi, someone who has my sense of humor.

Someone who suffered from Jasper’s cruelty as much as we have.

The water shimmers through the trees. The angle of the sunlight is different, all wrong, but the sense of déjà vu is dizzying for a moment, like a blinding reflection in the water.

Maybe that’s all it is.

Cos swings our joined hands, just enough to grab my attention, and arches her brows questioningly.

I force a smile that hurts my mouth, but it seems it’s reassuring enough for her to keep walking.

After all, this isn’t supposed to be a relaxed ride. Nobody expects me to skip around laughing and chasing fucking butterflies.