I huff. “I’m sitting right here.”
Ansel turns in Cade’s arms to glare at me. “Yes, and you should be upstairs groveling on your knees.”
“Why?”
“Like he’s five,” Cade repeats, smirking at me over his boyfriend’s head.
I make a note to give Cade every shitty job for the next six months. The really boring ones. As punishment.
“Small words,” he continues. “Speak slowly.”
Make that the next year.
Ansel breathes out through his nose. “Fine. Neo grew up in group homes.”
I nod, unsure why he’s bringing this up. I already know everything there is to know about Neo’s past and upbringing. It’s why I’ve quietly set up a new arm to the charity, focused entirely on funding a few non-profit group homes.
“He never had a place of his own,” Ansel says. “Never felt like he had a home, somewhere he belonged. On the rare occasions that he was fostered, it was always with the reminder that it wasn’t forever. That he’d been taken in for them to earn a paycheck, and that he’d be gone the instant enough of them cleared.”
The unsettled sensation is back now, spreading through my body until it’s all I can feel.
“God, seriously. You still don’t get it? Well, here, let me spell it out for you. Neo grew up being told that he was animposition,” Ansel spits out the last word like it tastes foul in his mouth. I can’t blame him. I’m starting to loathe it myself. “That he should be grateful for just having a roof over his head. He was never wanted. He was tolerated.”
There’s another feeling in me now, one that’s more familiar. I grip onto it with both hands. “Are any of them still alive? Anyone who made him feel that way?”
I may have to kill them all.
“One of them is,” he says slowly, pulling out of Cade’s arms and drifting closer to the desk.
“Tell me his name,” I demand, shoving to my feet, my heart beating wildly. “Now.”
Cade shoots me a glance, but it’s not threatening. I’m not good at reading expressions, but I think it might be…pity? That makes no sense. Why would Cade be pitying me right now?
Then Ansel gives me the name, and everything becomes clear. “Wylder Buckingham.”
My knees lock, and I stare at Ansel, my lungs struggling to draw in breath, my entire body warm with shame. “What?”
“Youcalled him an imposition,” Ansel says. “And, in doing so, you reminded him that he doesn’t belong here just as he was starting to feel like he did.”
I blink. “He was?”
“Yes.” Ansel’s tone softens slightly, like he can tell how much of a revelation this is. “He was. I know he lives to prank you and wind you up, but that’s how he shows he cares. He doesn’t understand healthy or normal ways to seek attention. This is what he knows.”
I turn that over in my mind. It doesn’t excuse Neo’s behavior, but it does explain it. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I won’t say that again.” I sit down and pick up my pen to start writing, only looking up when Ansel makes a disbelieving sound. “Was there something else?”
“What is wrong with you?”
“Right now, nothing.”
Ansel sighs. “Cade, I know he’s your brother, but my god.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“You need to apologize,” Ansel says slowly. “Right now.”
My nose wrinkles. “Why? I didn’t mean to insult him.”
“But you did.”
