“Came, when I was old enough,” she continued, her voice so low that Bryson had to concentrate on her lips to hear her.
“My body just responded, even if my mind said no.”
Bryson shook his head. “But, Dri I, like, wanted to hurt him. I really wanted it.”
Bryson remembered the late nights, the thrill it gave him to mark Regan. How he felt when he knew something would scar.
“Why wouldn’t you want to hurt him?” she asked.
He hesitated. “Maybe I should have been less willing, made him force me more, not played into his hands so easily.”
Adria put a finger to his lips. “And what would have happened to Kaydon or Seth if you had? How would things have gone differently for you? You did what you had to do.”
He took in a steadying breath. “It doesn’t make what happened feel any better.”
“And why would it? It’s still a fucked-up, shitty thing. But it’s Regan’s fucked-up shitty thing. Don’t for a second think he changed you. When push comes to shove, you protected. Regan only hurts.”
The two of them just stared at each other for a long while.
“We should shower,” he said.
Adria’s eyelids were heavy. “You had your shot at being in charge, I’m back now and there is no way I’m getting out of this bed until morning.”
He laughed.
Her eyelids fluttered closed, and after a breath she opened them. “What about your dad? What do you want to do?”
Bryson hesitated. “Truthfully, I don’t know.”
Adria nodded sleepily.
“And my mother, what do you want to say about her? I trust you.”
She snuggled deep into his arms, and the words died on his lips.
She doesn’t love you.
She doesn’t care about you.
She is hiding something from you.
Bryson couldn’t tell her.
Instead, he said, “I love you, Adria.” She made a content sound, her breathing slow.
CHAPTER 56
The kitchen was dimly lit, and Adria glanced back, watching the sun rise behind her. A haze was in the air as she made her way to the kitchen. Adria looked down and saw her hands. They were small, but her brain registered that this wasn’t real.
She was vaguely aware that she was dreaming.
This time, when she moved into the kitchen, it was like a play that hadn’t started.
Her mother was cooking breakfast?
As soon as she thought about it, her mother was there. Her dark hair was up in a high bun. Adria watched as she hummed a tune while stirring something on the stove.
Except her mother hadn’t been here. It was smokey because no one was around to stir the dish.
