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Pain flickered in my father's eyes and he shook his head before leading me into an empty room and out of earshot of everyone else.
"You need to stop this witch hunt," he commanded, closing the door behind us. "It's hurting me, it's destroying you, and it's killing your mother." He sighed wearily, looking at me like I was a stranger. "I'm getting worried about your state of mind again. You've made so much progress. All these years without incident. Don't tell me that you're going backwards."
"I'm not going backwards, and I know that it sounds insane," I urged, knowing that I sounded like a fucking lunatic, but I couldn't stop. "I know that it sounds completely fucked up, Dad, but I swear I'm not crazy." The look my father gave me assured me that he believed that I was very much crazy. "Chris's injuries don’t line up with the collision," I continued to argue my point. "Not even close."
When I thought about his autopsy report, of the sight of my brother laid out on a slab in the morgue, blue skinned, void of life, and barely recognizable, a pain more severe than I'd ever experienced pierced me directly through both lungs, making it impossible to breathe easy.
"He was beaten to a pulp, Dad," I choked out, feeling the tears fill my eyes. "He was butchered." I sucked in a sharp breath before saying, "Dad, I think she killed Chris and crashed his truck to cover up what she did."
"Holden," Dad strangled out, scrubbing a hand over his face. "You need to stop."
"I can't! And I'm not losing my mind, okay?" I choked out, feeling jittery with anxiety and pain. "He was my twin. Chris was my… and I felt it. In here!" I slapped a hand over my chest, shaking from head to toe. "I knew he was in trouble that night. I could sense it, but I couldn’t stop it. And now I can't rest until I find out what happened to him because I know if the shoe was on the other foot, Chris wouldn’t stop until he had justice for me."
"No!" Holding a hand up, Dad shook his head and dragged in several shaky breaths. "He was killed in an accident." A tremor rocked through his hand as he continued to point at me. "They hit a tree, Holden. A tree. It was winter time and it was raining hard that night. Chris wasn't wearing a seatbelt. Romi was inexperienced and lost control of the truck. Yes, she shouldn't have been driving in the first place, but that was your brother's decision. Chris was showing off to his girl. They were fooling around like young lovers do, coming back from a date, and it went wrong." With a heavy sigh, he added, "It was an accident, son. That's all it was – a tragic accident."
"That's what it says on paper. My brother's life and death wrapped up in a brown folder on some cop's desk with a neat little bow on top," I shot back, flinching at the words young lovers and hating myself for the burn of resentment I felt towards Chris still simmering inside of me, the voice that insisted she and I were young lovers first.
Until they forced my hand and took her from me.
Until Cal Dillon ruined my life.
"Enough," Dad warned, narrowing his eyes.
Swallowing down a surge of bile, I forced out the words, "I knew him better than any of you. Never once since we got our licenses did Chris ever take risks like that. Me?" I held my hands up, both literally and figuratively. "Sure, I'm a reckless asshole, but Chris was good. He was sensible – and smart, and he never once in our whole entire lives rode in a car, driver or passenger, without a seatbelt."
"He did that night," Dad replied, tone thick with emotion for the first time in months. "And you need to accept that."
"No." I shook my head, knowing that I never could. "I don’t think so. And here's another thing he never did," I continued, unable to drop it now that I had his attention. "He never let Romi drive his truck. Not once since we got our licenses two years ago. She's a fucking terrible driver and Chris knew it. Again, that was me." I slapped a hand against my chest as I spoke. "I was the one who took risks. It was my damn truck she used to practice in."
"What's your point?"
"My point is I was the bad twin, Dad. I was the one caught smoking weed. I was the one drunk off my ass every weekend and being escorted home by Sheriff Steiner or one of his asshole deputies." I continued to tap my finger against my chest as I spoke, incriminating myself further, and listing all of the reasons why my parents had never been able to love me. "I was the one failing classes and fucking around with Romi. I was the disappointment, Dad. Me. Not Chris."
"Holden –"
"I was the one whose nose Cal Dillon broke when he found me and Romi fooling around in the tenth grade," I cut him off and continued, needing to get it all off my chest. "I was the one he warned off his daughter. I was the one who almost ruined your business relationship with him. I was the one you let Cal and his heavies beat senseless until I promised to stay away from Romi, and yet he was absolutely fine with her dating Chris. Why do you think that was, Dad?" I demanded, vibrating with tension. "I'll tell you why. It was because Chris was good and wholesome and pure and the whole damn world knew it! Shit, you and Mama spent your lives comparing us to each other and telling me that he was the good one out of us. You never made it any secret that you only wanted one child. One son to carry on the business. He was your firstborn. He was even named after you! I was the mistake. The unwanted addition in the two-for-one deal. The one all fucked up in the head. I get that, okay? I even get that he was the one Cal wanted for Romi. Your heir and his heir –" I blew out a frustrated breath and buried down all thoughts of her before I erupted and burned down the world. "I'm not dumb," I said, a little more in control now. "I understand how the world works. Hell, I could even understand you not wanting to avenge me, but Chris? Dad, it's Chris. Fuck business and fuck the Dillons. Take all of that out of the equation and tell me why you won't do something?"
"Because he's dead, Holden!" Dad roared, raising his voice to me. "Because he fucked up, okay? Because he was stupid and reckless and got himself killed, dammit!"
"He didn’t get himself killed," I roared back. "Romi got him killed. There's a difference."
Furious, my father stalked towards me and shoved me hard against the wall.
Out of respect to him being my father, I allowed him to do it without retaliating.
"He was my son and I loved him and now he's dead." His words were harsh but my father had never been one to mince words. Keeping me pinned to the wall, he hissed, "There is nothing there, Holden. I've checked. I've had my men look into it. I have spent a fucking fortune combing through every report, every interview and witness and there is nothing to be found." His pale greyish/blue eyes, so similar to Chris's stared back at me. "It was an accident."
"No." I shook my head, unable to accept it. "You're all wrong."
"It. Was. An. Accident," he repeated, tightening his hold on my shirt as he held me in one place. "And if you can't accept that, if you can't get a handle on your emotions and leave that girl alone, then I'm going to have to intervene before you do something drastic again."
I narrowed my eyes. "Intervene?"
"You're not coping," he said simply. "There are treatment centers out there for teenagers in crisis –"
"Fuck that," I spat, shoving him off me now. "I'm not crazy."
"But you are confused," he argued. "And with your mental health track record –"
"That was different," I snapped, furious with him for bringing up something I could barely remember myself. For continuing to blame and punish me for something I had no memory of doing. "I was a child," I added, forcing my voice to remain steady. "I don’t even remember."
"I'm aware that you were a child, Holden," he agreed evenly. "But your mother and I were there and we remember it clearly."
Didn’t they just…
If it wasn't being rammed down my throat at any given minute, I would swear it had never happened at all. But my parents were always quick to remind me of what a complete and utter fuck up I was.
Surprisingly, it was my father who was more affectionate towards me – and that was saying something considering I could count on zero fingers the number of times the man had hugged me.
Usually, the mother was the loving one in the family and the father was the hard-ass.
Not my mama.
However indifferent my father was towards me; my mother was worse. She was openly cold to me growing up, not bothering to hide her intolerance, or the fact that she favored my brother.
Terrified that her precious Chris would be infected with the same evilness that had possessed his twin, my mother kept us apart for as long as she possibly could – which happened to be up until kindergarten in her case.
Social status was important to my father, so Mama was forced to send me to keep up appearances and let the people of Pocketful believe we were the perfect family.
Like hell we were.
I had no memories of my early years. Like nothing at all before the age of three or four. Where most kids had flashbacks or fond memories of their toddler years, I was null and void inside. Too doped up on whatever medication my parents had been instructed by the doctors to dose me with, I was kept out of sight and far away from other children.
Gradually, over time, I was introduced to my twin brother and allowed to have fifteen-minute playdates with him each day, supervised by our nanny, Miss Cherry. Mama didn't want to risk being near me; God forbid, she accidently found room for me inside of that Chris-shaped heart of hers.
Yeah, I remembered that much. I remembered the isolation and the loneliness in those early years. I also remembered Chris being the first one to ever put his arms around me.
At the time, I didn’t have a clue of what he was doing and had stiffened and recoiled from his touch. When he explained that he was giving me a hug because he loved me, I was still just as confused. But then he did it again and again, doing it at both the start and end of each playdate, and I grew used to the warm feeling that spread over my skin when I saw him.
Affection, I'd learned to realize.
Hell, even though we had lived next door to each other since birth, I was five years old before I saw Romi Dillon for the first time.
Five.
Chris had told me all about the pretty angel with the golden hair that lived in the big house next to ours during our playdates, but I'd never seen her before that day. I'd only heard the sound of her laughter when she played outside with my brother.
When Mama finally let me outside to play, the week before our first day at kindergarten, I was cordoned off from Romi and Chris and told to stay away.
When I finally saw the angel for myself, with hair like the sun and pretty red ribbons, I remembered feeling so mad with Mama because Chris had five extra years to play in the sun with the angel while I was kept in the darkness.
Sure, as the years passed by and my freedom increased, I received the same nice clothes, cars, and technology as Chris because, like him, I was a representative of our family and needed to fit the bill of overly-indulged rich boy, not because I was a wanted member of the family.
I'd never been wanted by my parents a day of my life. Chris had been the only one to give a damn about me and it had been that way since as far back as I could remember.
"Well, I'm not sick now," I spat, clearing my thoughts. "I'm grieving my brother."
"Exactly," Dad replied. "You're grieving Chris, which means you're my only son now, Holden, and I need you healthy and well."
"Yeah, you only need me because Chris is dead," I sneered, trembling.
He didn’t deny it.
It should have hurt, but after a lifetime of playing the role of the black sheep, I didn’t bat an eyelid.
At least the man was honest.
Shaking my head, I moved to the door. "I need to not be near you right now."
"I want you to make peace with Romi," he called after me and the words stopped me dead in my tracks.
"What?" I deadpanned, keeping my back to him.
"Romi," he repeated. "I want you to make up with her. Call off your dogs at school. Put an end to the charade. It's done now. Chapter closed. We're moving forward."
"You must be outta your damn mind," I accused, swinging around to glare at him. "She drove my brother to his grave!"
"And her father is my best friend and business partner. They live right next door, Holden."
My eyes bulged in my head. "So, what – your relationship with Cal Dillon is more important than your son?"
"Chris is dead," my father replied wearily. "It was an accident. Romi is sorry. We need to forgive and move on. For Christ's sakes, the girl is like a daughter to me. I don’t want her suffering like this."
"I'll never forgive," I vowed bitterly, gripping the door handle so hard my knuckles turned white. "And I'll never move on."
"Don’t pretend like you're not still in love with her," he countered, changing gears and hitting me where it would hit me hardest. In my Romi Dillon shaped Achilles heel. "It's been as clear as day since you were five years old and harping on about how you were going to marry the princess in the castle next door, with the red ribbons and the golden hair. You might have buried those feelings under your hurt, but I know you well enough to know that they're still there, festering inside of you." Shrugging, he added, "Forgive her and who knows? Maybe you can finally have what you've always wanted. Swallow your pride, forgive her, and you might just get it."
"Are you fucking with me right now?" I choked out in disbelief. When he didn’t smirk, I threw my head back and laughed humorlessly. "Jesus Christ, you're serious."
"Cal and I have been talking," he explained calmly. "He confided in me that Romi has been depressed –"
"As anyone with blood on their hands should be," I interrupted, unwilling to give an inch. "Am I supposed to feel sorry for her? Because I'll tell you right now that I don’t and won't, ever."
My father sighed. "Let's just say that you're not the only one whose father is considering treatment centers."
"He wants to send Romi to rehab?" That stopped me in my tracks. "For what?"
"She's disturbed," Dad replied evenly.
I narrowed my eyes. "Bullshit."
"Why in God's name would I make that up?"
I shrugged. "Right now, I wouldn’t put anything past you and Cal."
"Well, after today's antics, I'm sure he'll be making those arrangements for her as soon as possible," Dad said.
"Wait." My heart stopped dead in my chest. "He's actually going to send her away?"
When my father nodded in confirmation, a tirade of emotions flooded my chest, worsened by the memory of that day two years ago. "He can't do that," I argued, pressing my fingers to my temples as a migraine threatened me. "We had a deal."