Some shit went down? Like him being a fucking rapist? What the fucking hell is happening here?
The last of my patience finally implodes. “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on!” I yell like the petulant child I keep claiming not to be.
All eyes turn to me—David’s unknowing, Sammy’s uncertain, and Brody’s…
Holy shit. My heart freezes inside my chest.
Brody’s eyes…they match my brother’s identically. As in, not just their expression—though even that is unmistakably similar. But their shade—our shade—their shape…it’s absolutely uncanny, and I can’t fathom how I didn’t see it sooner.
I gape between the both of them, trying to work out the incomprehensible.
But Sammy must see my shock. “Dad’s affair,” he says hesitantly. “The woman got pregnant.”
Pregnant.
I look to Brody. “Your mom?” I gasp. I can’t believe what I’m asking him.
He nods.
My dad. His mom. Pregnant.
“But—” My mouth slams shut. But, what? But he’s a rapist? That doesn’t change the fact that if what they’re telling me is true, Brody is my half-brother.
David’s touch on my shoulder makes Sammy’s nostrils flare, but it soothes me immeasurably, and I meet his gaze. He shakes his head. “It wasn’t him, Bea.”
I blink at him.
“Liz just spat out his name. She didn’t think anyone would believe Bogart had to force her. And it wasn’t an attempted anything, either.”
Steven lays still on the ground, whether from alcohol, his joint, or a well-deserved concussion, and guilt seizes my throat as I process all of it. That Brody, my apparent half-brother, wasn’t stalking me or chasing me for some sinister reason. He just wanted to talk to me, probably to tell me the same thing David just did—that he’s innocent. But not only wouldn’t I give him the benefit of the doubt, I wouldn’t even hear him out. I befriended him, and then turned my back on him at the first sign of trouble. Even if that particular sign was a fairly extreme one.
But Brody doesn’t look at me with resentment. In fact, he looks like he’s the guilty one.
“I’m sorry, I…” My voice shakes. “I thought—”
Brody shakes his head fervently. “Not your fault.”
Isn’t it, though? I believed this horrible thing about him after not even hearing it from his accuser, but from a third-hand rumor. My stomach sinks.
“I should’ve—”
But Brody cuts me off. “I just found out about you after my mom died—and when I found out you’d be going here…Then when I saw you—”
“Stalked her,” David corrects him, firming his grip on my shoulder.
Brody doesn’t respond, but he nods subtly as if to acknowledge it. “And when Sam found me.” He looks to my brother. His brother. “But the timing…”
“I was going to tell you this weekend,” Sammy murmurs.
“I agreed to wait until you guys could talk.” Brody gestures to Sammy and me. “But I just wanted to get to know you, and then suddenly I’m being called in for questioning about some fucking assault on some chick I met for five fucking minutes…”
And I wouldn’t give him the time of day.
“Well, she wouldn’t talk to the cops to clear my name or to help them railroad me, as much as they wanted her to do the fucking latter. But I figured you’d heard when the DNA ruled me out, since you’d obviously heard when she accused me—within, like, minutes.”
But I didn’t hear. No one did. Liz wasn’t talking to anyone about it one way or the other. “I didn’t.”
Brody nods and smiles a little sadly. “Figured.”
