Page 164 of Please Open Me
Mason wasn’t happy in her marriage. She wasn’t loved. Not the way she deserved to be. And when she sat across from my sister’s desk this morning, hands folded over the swell of her stomach, voice shaking but certain, she said the words I’d been waiting months to hear.
I need a divorce.
And I should’ve been the responsible one, right? The good brother, and polycule member who went above and beyond to keep everything together, and maybe suggested she really think this over. But that wasn’t in me. Not when I’d seen the way she flinched when Lucian touched her, or how her smile never quite reached her eyes anymore.
Lucian didn’t deserve her. And I wasn’t sure he ever had, but I’d hoped she’d never be the one to see it.
My mind kept spinning as I inadvertently drained my entire pale ale. My eyes widened as I tipped the bottle from side to side, making sure it was actually gone.
“You thirsty?” Cameron asked.
I covered my mouth and stifled a very unsexy burp.
“I, uh, yeah.” Was it improper to get drunk at five pm?
Would anyone judge me if Iaccidentallygot plastered at a family dinner? And if anyonedidjudge me, could I blame it on being young? The frontal lobe didn’t fully develop until age twenty five, so I had a year left to do stupid shit.
With that in mind, when our waitress dropped off our basket of fried green tomatoes and calamari rings, I asked for another beer.
Lucian said something snide about me regretting that in about an hour, and the second the kids looked away I flipped him off. You know, brotherly love.
“Real mature,” he mumbled, grabbing a thick slice of tomato.
“Thanks,” I said, mouth intentionally full of food.
After decades of being forced to be older than I was, it was nice to act my age.
Cameron smirked as he tore calamari rings into teeny-tiny bits for Rosie, who undid all his work but shoving fistfuls in her mouth all at once. The waitress brought my second beer and an apology about our actual food taking longer than expected. But, I didn’t mind, because despite the fact I was forced to sit with my brother, this moment was perfect.
At least–it was until it wasn’t.
The hair on the back of my neck prickled far before I had concrete evidence anything was wrong. My head whipped around, instinctively searching for danger, and then, I sawhim.
Alex Hensle stood in the far corner, arm wrapped around what appeared to be a barely legal man.
For a second, my brain refused to believe it.
Alex Hensle.
My saliva thickened and without thinking, I shifted closer to Cam. Cameron noticed immediately, of course he did. He always fucking noticed everything.
Cam’s hand brushed my knee under the table, “What’s wrong?”
His whisper warmed my ear, but that did little to dispel the chill clawing its way up my spine.
Alex looked exactly as I remembered him.
Perfectly quaffed dark hair, well maintained beard, expensive clothing, and that razor-sharp smile. The kind everyone else always mistook for charming, but I knew was the trademark of a predator.
My stomach twisted into knots, but it wasn’t because of him. Instead, the boy beside him was my undoing.
He couldn’t have been older than eighteen. He was baby faced, and scrawny, with unruly ash-colored hair. A ratty hoodie swallowed his narrow shoulders, and the sleeves were rolled up just enough to reveal yellowed bruises along his wrists, finger shaped ones at that.
“I–I need to go to the car,” I whispered, feeling like I was going to vomit or pass out.
And, while I was sure someone would ask about this later, right now I just didn’t have the mental energy to deal with my rapist. Especially when he courted around what looked to be a mirror image of my much younger self.
The ride home was tense, mostly because Cameron wanted to know what was wrong and I couldn’t bring myself to tell him.
