He does, and then he just sits there. His hands are in his lap, and he’s picking at his cuticles. It’s a habit that he broke when he was a freshman in college, and seeing him doing it now only reinforces what I’ve already figured out—whatever he has to tell me, it’s bad. And while I’d started out thinking that this was about me or our father, now I’m wondering if there’s something else on his mind.

“Are you in trouble?” I ask.

“No—no, I’m fine. Well,” he adds with an odd little shrug, “I’m not fine. But that’s not the point. Oh, hell. Listen, I want to say I’m sorry about that. About Jackson’s little girl, I mean. It’s just that you surprised me. And I was on edge after the stuff with Dad yesterday, and—shit. Dammit, I wasn’t going to say anything about that. Fuck.”

“Is he sick? Come on, Ethan, you’re scaring me.” I may not have the greatest relationship with my dad—hell, I may not have any relationship with my dad—but I don’t wish him ill. If for no other reason than I know that losing our father would hurt Ethan.

Beside me, my brother takes a deep breath. And then, very fast, he says, “He told me.”

For a moment, I truly don’t have any idea what Ethan is talking about. But then the horror sets in. My stomach twists into a knot, and my hand slowly rises to my mouth. I want to cry out, to protest, but I can’t seem to form words.

“Oh, god, Syl. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his forehead in his hands. He’s breathing hard. He may be crying.

“Why?” My whispered word is muffled behind my hand, and I’m surprised I can even force it out. I’m no longer real. I’m ice. I’m frozen. Trapped someplace harsh and unfair. Someplace where secrets are revealed and nightmares are relived and it never, ever stops no matter how much you think you’ve gotten past it all.

That one word keeps running through my head—why why why why why—and there’s nothing else. Just darkness and betrayal and the haunting pull of my nightmares.

It’s not until I feel Ethan’s hands on my shoulders and hear him saying, “Syl? Dammit, Syl—oh, hell, oh, shit,” that I realize I’ve gone away. And although I don’t want to, I know I have to come back. Because this is Ethan and I love him, and I never wanted him to know how much I suffered. But now he knows, because his words have kicked me under.

Breathe, dammit. Just breathe.

“Syl.” He puts his hand on my shoulder, then leans over so his whole arm can go around me. “It’s okay. It’s okay. And I’m so sorry you went through that, and I’m so sorry it was because of me, and—”

“No.” The word bursts out of me from the dark place, so forcefully that my throat hurts from the effort of it, and I sit up straight. “No, don’t you dare feel guilty. Dammit, Ethan, I didn’t want you to ever know. Why did he tell you? Why would he put that on you?”

“He—he said he didn’t really understand what was happening—”

“Bullshit.”

“He said that now you were being blackmailed. That Jackson told him. Is that true?”

I nod.

“He said I needed to know—”

“No! I never wanted you to know!”

“He said I needed to know in case it came out,” he continues, his voice soothing. “He said it might because it was Reed who took the pictures, and with the murder the police or the press might find out. And if it goes public you’d need me.”

“That’s bullshit,” I say. “He doesn’t care about what I need. He never did. He’s protecting himself. Making sure you learn the truth about the money from him and not from the tabloids.”

“Syl, no. He’s really sorry. He wants—”

“No.” I scream the word then slap my hands over my ears. “I don’t care what he wants.”

Beside me, Ethan sags. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, then pulls me awkwardly to him again. He rocks me gently. “I’m so, so sorry.”

I let him hold me for a few minutes, because I love him and I know that he’s hurting, too. But I need to be alone.

I pull out of his embrace, then blink at him through my tears. “Ethan, I—”

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” he says, and I am grateful that at least I do not have to explain that I need him gone.

“I’ll be okay. I just need—I just need to sit here for a bit. Please, Ethan? I’ll be okay.” I’m not actually sure that I will. I’m holding on by a thread, but the last thing that I want is for him to see me snap and fall. “Please,” I repeat.