Page 298 of Mad Girl

“Yes. In the past, you made me apologize for hurting him, and now I’m making you. You’re not allowed to get away with saying cruel things to him, either. You’re his”—I’ll be honest, Casey, I had to stop myself from saying the word brother here—“friend. You need to stop being such a dick to him because you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?” he said, practically choking on the word. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to be in love with you? I’ll admit, I’ve lived a truly charmed and privileged life. I’ve never wanted for anything—except you. Everything I know about struggle and heartache and misery has come from loving you. Loving someone I can’t have, who doesn’t love me the way I want, who is kept and guarded by my friend. He gets to have you all to himself on a daily basis, but the only way I ever got to have you was in secret.”

I grabbed Michael’s hand. “I get what you’re saying, and it’s not fair, but none of that gives you the right to say such horrible things to him. You’re better than that.”

With tears pooling in his eyes, Michael turned to stare at the blacked-out TV.

“Our parents are finally talking again, and he’s staying for Christmas, and I want—” My voice broke. “I want everyone to be happy and stop fighting because of me.”

Michael pulled me close. “Okay,” he whispered into my hair. “I’ll apologize.”

That evening, you cleaned out the fridge. Straightened up the pantry. Made fettuccine Alfredo for dinner. Twice, my dad asked if you were okay, and you told him you were, then proceeded to spend an excessively long time washing our dishes by hand instead of loading them into the dishwasher. I offered to help, but you told me to go visit with the Harrises, who’d dropped by for a nightcap. But I didn’t particularly feel like watching the two of them grope my dad on Christmas Eve, so I sat at the island and watched you do the dishes, anyway.

At bedtime, I climbed under the blankets on my designated sofa while you switched off the lamps and sconces above the fireplace. Three nights earlier, I’d mentioned wanting to fall asleep to the soft, warm glow of the tree, so you left the tree lit. Especially for me.

You were always thoughtful like that. And yet, in the span of an hour that morning, not one but two people had hurt your feelings.

Across from me, you were lying with one arm tucked behind your head, staring at the ceiling, looking hopeless. And I couldn’t allow that. Not on Christmas. So I threw off my covers and shuffled around the coffee table. “Move over.”

You glanced up. “No,” you said, gaze sliding back to the ceiling. “Go back to your side.”

I lowered myself to the edge of the sofa. “Move over,” I said, nudging you in the rib.

“No.”

“You need a cuddle.”

Your jaw clenched. “I fucking do not.”

I pulled your face toward mine, then swiped my thumb across your chin. Exactly like you’d done to me on Halloween. “Sure you do.”

For the briefest moment, your guard went down and you let me see—the real Casey, utterly vulnerable and boyish, Casey at thirteen—before clenching your jaw again. Still, you twisted onto your side, allowing me to press the front of my body to yours. I tucked my head underneath your chin as you swallowed and said, “All that stuff he said about me? Hooking up with strangers? Doing lines off them? It’s true.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should care. That’s the kind of person I am.”

“The kind of person you were.”

“The kind of person I am. What do you think I was out doing on my birthday? While you were having a panic attack, I was out back at some bar, trying to have it off with some bartender I’d only just met.” A slight pause. “Until Hal came barging through the back door like some bloody black ops agent on a mission and hauled me out of there.”

“I don’t care.” Not true. I felt wildly jealous—and wildly thankful for Hal. I freaking loved that man, even if he had recently refused to give me intel on my dad. “You were sad.”

“It’s a horrible way of coping. Michael knows I hate that about myself, and he threw it in my face. And what he said about Nic? You know I wanted him to be my dad initially, and even though he isn’t, I let Nic sort of…father me, anyway. I seek Nic’s approval. I need it. I want him to care for me even though I’m not his.”

“He does care for you, Casey. My dad loves you the same way he loves Michael—which is a big part of the reason Michael said those horrible things to you. He worries you’re taking his place in my dad’s life.”

“Exactly. He worries I’ve taken his place in both your lives. So how do you think he’ll feel when I confess to being John’s actual firstborn? He’ll think I’m taking his place there, too.”

“But you won’t be. Your existence doesn’t negate Michael’s. You deserve a place in John’s life just as much as he does.”

“I doubt he’ll see it that way when he’s already accused me of taking everything else,” you said, voice laced with defeat. “You know, when I came over here, I never thought it would be this complicated to fit in with my biological family. I never considered the countless ways I might screw it all up before I ever got the chance to properly introduce myself to them. I’ve wrecked everything.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. I’ve kept this secret too long. Libby’s the mayor now, and Michael resents me. And then there’s the issue of your dad keeping my true identity from the Harrises all this time, which will cause even more conflict between the three of them after they’ve just made up. It’s wrecked. I haven’t even told anyone yet, and it’s already wrecked. I was meant to prove him wrong—I came here to prove him wrong—but I’m dangerously close to proving him right.”

“Proving who right?”