Stealing Her (Covet 1)

I couldn’t speak.

I couldn’t form words or sentences.

He’d never been so brazen.

Ever.

Not in my home.

Our home.

Tears streamed down my face, increasing the more I stared at her, the more she stared back at me, as the static tension of the room crackled with the need for something to fill its silence.

“Get. Out,” I rasped.

Minutes went by.

The door slammed.

I stared at the bed I was supposed to somehow sleep in, next to the empty space for a man who might or might not be returning to it.

And I felt like a fool.

For all I knew, Julian was dead.

And he’d taken every shred of dignity I had left.

I closed my eyes and wept.

Chapter Four

BRIDGE

I hated hospitals.

I hated the way they smelled.

I hated the futile promises doctors made. And most of all I hated how much it cost for my mom to get the help she needed. Hospitals sucked the souls out of the sick, they gave them false hope, and they smiled while doing it.

So being at that hospital, with a father I wanted nothing to do with, wasn’t my first choice for a Tuesday.

I was still in my workout clothes and Nikes, looking every inch lower class next to my dad, who was in his three-piece suit wearing fucking sunglasses inside like the sun was shining too hard on his perfect face.

We walked in silence down the hall to the ICU.

Julian was in a private room; that’s all I knew, that’s all my dad would tell me. But we were twins. I knew in my soul he was in pain, I knew in my heart something was very wrong, because for the first time in my life I didn’t feel him.

And that thought was terrifying.

He could be the worst person on this planet and I would still hate that feeling, the feeling of losing something that was mine, losing my brother.

We stopped in front of the room.

I swallowed and stared at the metal door.

“Go inside, I’ll wait.” My dad crossed his arms.

I’d told him I had conditions.

And this was one of them.

I wanted to see him for myself.

I wanted to see that he wasn’t dead.

I wanted to tell him I was sorry.

I wanted to ask for his forgiveness.

I wanted to mend all the broken bridges between us.

Most of all I wanted him to know I was doing this for him, for his legacy, for the one thing he wanted the most in this world, the one thing I loathed.

The company.

And even if he woke up hating me, I would walk away knowing I did everything in my power to help him in every way I could.

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

The room smelled like antiseptic.

The lights were low.

And he was hooked up to so many machines my eyes blurred with tears. One machine breathed for him; every second or so it made a noise that had my stomach clenching.

He was alive.

Barely.

His face was covered in bandages, and one of his legs was broken, I knew he had several broken ribs and a collapsed lung going into surgery.

“Hey, Jules.” My voice sounded so loud in that room. “You look like shit.”

I figured if he could hear me, he would at least smile at that.

“You’re also all over the news, which should make you really happy since you love the attention, but that’s not why I’m here. Dad came to visit and he said . . . some things.” Shit, how was I even supposed to do this? I cursed and spun around, putting my hands on my head.

“I know how important this job and following in his footsteps is to you, and I guess I just somehow needed you to know that I’m going to work my ass off so that when you wake up, you have everything you’ve always wanted. I just need you to know that it’s not for me, it’s for you. I swore I would protect you and I failed. I can’t fail in this. I won’t,” I rasped. “But I really need you to wake up soon because I have no idea what I’m doing, and I have no idea how to do this other than to make it look like you’re okay, so that you can have everything you’ve always wanted.” I sighed and then looked at him one last time. “I never stopped loving you. I want you to know that.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and hung my head, then turned around and walked back into the hall.

My dad was talking to one of the nurses. She looked at me and I just shook my head. My dad went to great lengths to make everyone think he only had one son, so I was used to that look of confusion. I never told anyone who my father was and didn’t even use the Tennyson name. It disgusted me. It represented what my father did to my mom, what he did to Julian, our family.