“Oh, Jesus,”Wes mutters, suddenly here, somehow standing directly in front of me.
He’s blocking my view of Dad as I let go of the plate the cake was on and let him take it from me. It clatters onto the counter somewhere before I hear a spitting noise, followed by Mom’s disbelieving voice.
“Brielle! What has gotten into you? You—you don’t do these things!”
My fingers are coated in cream cheese icing. The sticky feeling all over my skin only drives me further into the pool of crazy I’ve created around myself. I press them to Wes’ shoulder and try to push him out of the way, but he remains in place, his expression hard-set. The icing spreads across his shirt, painting him in his own birthday cake.
“Let it go, Mom. Just let it all go. I’m taking her home now,” he barks, ignoring my efforts to get at Dad again.
His heavy hand wraps around my bicep and remains there as he pulls me out of the room like a naughty child. With a shrug, I try to get free, but he only tightens his hold. My senses are overloaded, and feeling the tight grip of his fingers is doingnothing more than making him the focal point for my anger instead of the man we’re leaving behind.
“I don’t need you to walk me out. And I don’t want a ride,” I snap.
When I pull my arm this time, it’s hard enough that he has no choice but to release me. I roll my shoulder and glare at him and his dirty shirt.
“You came with me, in case you forgot. And I’m not leaving you here. You’ll stab him next, and that won’t be as easy to pretend didn’t happen as smashing a cake into his face.”
“How could you not tell me?” I shout, whirling around and jabbing my finger into his chest. “You let me spend months—no,years—pushing you toward him while he was cheating on our mother? I feel like such an idiot! A pathetic, naïve idiot!”
My eyes burn with hot tears as I push him away again and fist my hair. The French braid I was so proud of mastering this morning is ruined now, but I can’t stop tugging at it. My feet carry me toward the front door, and somehow, my knees don’t give out.
“How was I supposed to bring this up? ‘Oh, hey, by the way, not only is our dad an asshole to me about what I do for a living, but he’s also having an affair?’ That’s not just something I mention on the low, Brielle,” he says from behind me.
I rip open the door and yank it shut behind me. No slam follows. Wes’ footsteps do.
“There was never going to be a proper time for something like that. You were just supposed to tell me because we’re family! We deal with a situation like this together, as a team, not individually. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have even bothered with this party! With any of this. He doesn’t deserve my efforts, and as far as I’m concerned, neither does Mom.”
“It’s not her fault. She’s been with him longer than we’ve been alive,” he says, not scolding, but close.
Either way, it pisses me off. “She lets him walk all over her. It’s how things havealwaysbeen between them.”
“Love does stupid shit to people all the time. It still doesn’t change the fact that she’s not responsible for his actions. This was Dad being Dad. Point fucking blank. I don’t know why you ever thought he would turn out as anything other than a piece of shit when that’s all he’s ever been toward us.”
“Don’t lecture me about love when you’d rather be alone forever than find someone to spend time with.”
It’s a petty dig. So, so petty. To the point I feel close to throwing up when his jaw gets tighter and he laughs darkly under his breath.
“Don’t come to me on some high horse. I might not know shit about love, but at least I’m not so desperate for it that I’ve allowed myself to be used multiple times. Maybe you should take a second to consider why I didn’t tell you about this in the first place before you go attacking me for keeping it a secret.”
“Get away from me, Wesley.”
The crack in my voice is ten times worse than I could have imagined. Every single thing he said hits too deep because he’s right.
My dating history is littered with men just like our father who see my last name and see an in with Wes. It’s never about me or the abundance of love I have to offer someone.
Not until Roman.
I almost blurt out my secret right here and now, just to see if I can hurt him as much as he’s just hurt me. But the words don’t form. It doesn’t matter how angry or upset I may be, hurting my brother like that isn’t possible for me.
“Go!” I yell instead when he lingers.
His face pales. “I’m not going to leave you here and go home like nothing is wrong.”
“I’ll call Aubrey. I don’t want to be near you right now.”
“I shouldn’t have said all that.”
I bite the inside of my cheek when a tear pools beneath my eye. Giving him my back, I pull my phone out with filthy hands. The smears of cake on the screen make my stomach roll. I try and clean it off on my shorts.
