I took a step toward him, but Stewart didn’t lift his hands again. “What the fuck are you talking about? Of course you lied. How the hell could you even suggest I would ever do anything to a kid? I don’t care how mad you were at me. That is beyond sick. And now you’re going to stand there and tell me you didn’t lie?”
“I never said that.”
“Oh fuck you.” I had to smash my fist into my own thigh to keep from hitting him.
Stewart took a step forward, his initial fear gone, apparently, and closed the distance between us. He reached up and grabbed both of my shoulders. I tried to shake him off, but his grip was too tight. “Randall, I never said that. That wasn’t me. That’s what I was talking about, that I never meant for things to go this far.”
It took a second for his words to sink in. “What do you mean, exactly?”
There was a knock on the door. We both ignored it. “I never said those things. I would never. I simply confirmed that we had a sexual relationship during massages when he asked. That’s all I ever said. I promise. I would never hint about you and kids. Never.”
“You never said that….” It was all happening too fast; my brain couldn’t keep up. “Wait, you said, ‘he asked.’ Who asked? What are you talking about?”
“He called me asking if I was an escort like that blonde bimbo had said. He asked if I would go on record saying that you’d hired me. I just told him the truth. That I wasn’t some fucking whore. That you were.” His bravado faded out on the last words. His gaze again tentative. “Sorry.”
Another knock, followed by someone saying something. The words were muffled.
“Who, Stewart? Who asked you to go on record?”
Stewart looked at me like I was an idiot. “Your brother.”
“My….” I shook my head. “My brother? Are you sure?”
He let my arms go and shrugged. The knocking on the door increased. “Yeah. I think so. He’s the guy who was married to that blonde bitch.”
“The blonde bitch?” No way. As much as Dustin hated me, I couldn’t see him doing this. Kayla had said he was even upset about all the rumors. “You mean Kayla?”
“I don’t know her fucking name.”
Chapter Thirty
I RANback to the apartment. At full speed, not even stopping for the crosswalk sign, but weaving between the cars. Nor did I bother going back inside. I dug my keys out of my pocket, got in the car, and took off.
My brother.
Surely Stewart was wrong. He had to be. Kayla was certain Dustin was upset about the rumors too. And she was rarely wrong about things like that. But Stewart wasn’t lying. Wasn’t even his overly dramatic self, at least after telling me not to kill him. The moron.
Married to the blonde bitch.
There was no other choice. Of course Stewart wouldn’t like Kayla. There wouldn’t have been another blonde bitch there.
My brother.
Dustin.
My own blood did this to me.
I supposed I should have seen this coming. It should have been obvious.
My mother disinherited me.
My father disowned me.
Why wouldn’t my brother discredit my name and reputation?
And still, despite it being obvious, I couldn’t make it truly fit together in my mind. Of course, that could’ve been due to the rage.
I was over the bridge and on Mercer Island in record time. It was a small miracle I didn’t get pulled over. Which was fine; I was due some miracles. Pulling up to my brother’s house, I realized another miracle. I never turned on my headlights, and the sun was long gone. No ticket, no car wreck. I prayed the good fortune would hold.
