Chapter 30

CHAPTER THIRTY

Lucas

"Let's start with your childhood."

For fuck's sake. The absolute last thing I want to do is dissect my entire-fucking-childhood, but Wyn isn't someone who will accept a vague answer. She's rolling up her sleeves, prepared to disembowel my entire fucking life, then pick it apart and study it under a microscope.

"My childhood was…whatever. My parents were too busy to deal with Christian or me, so they paid someone else to do it," I say. "So, yeah, we were raised by nannies, mostly."

The bathroom light doesn't quite reach her face, so I can't see her expression. "Well, I hope they were kind nannies, at least."

I shrug and smooth the backs of my fingers against the soft skin of her arm. She's so focused on what I'm saying, I don't think she even realizes I'm doing it. That alone encourages me to keep talking. "Some were. Others weren't. Doesn't matter. It is what it is," I answer.

She makes a scoffing sound. "God, I hate that fucking phrase— it is what it is . Yeah, what it is is shitty."

"Listen, my brother and I weren't angels. When we got old enough, we gave those nannies hell." I smile, remembering some of the shit we pulled. "One nanny was so fuckin' horrible, we swapped out her vitamins for edibles. I guess she took two the next morning because she was so fuckin' baked, she started freaking out about imaginary sounds coming from the attic. My parents ended up firing her later that day. We had a replacement within two hours, and that next one was even worse."

She shakes her head. "So I'm guessing you're not very close with your parents."

I watch my own fingers as they trace a pattern on her arm. It occurs to me that whenever Wyn is near me, I need to be touching her. I'll find any reason to draw her into my sphere—like the waves being pulled to the shore. It feels natural and necessary for some confusing-as-fuck reason.

"My parents are whatever," I say dispassionately. "Christian and I see them when we need to see them. Weddings. Christmas. Events where they can parade us around, and pretend we're a happy family. But they don't know shit about my brother or me, nor do they really care."

The silence stretches between us, and I swallow, a heavy feeling taking root in my chest. I've never admitted any of that to anyone. I've never even talked to Christian about it. Usually, we just play along with my parent's narrative that we're close and happy. But the truth is, our parents don't really give a fuck about us. And the feeling is mutual.

"They support you financially, though, right?" Wyn says. "So they must care."

She's reaching, looking for evidence that my parents haven't totally emotionally abandoned their sons.

"Christian and I have trust funds that were set up by our grandmother. We had access to them as soon as we turned eighteen." I shrug again. "So, yeah, I don't need shit from them."

My chest constricts remembering my grandmother. She was the only real maternal figure in my childhood, and I miss her warmth. She knew Christian and I had been cast aside, and she set that money aside so we'd be cared for after she was gone.

"Your grandmother sounds like a smart lady," she says.

"She saw the writing on the wall. She knew Christian and I would be on our own," I say, my voice catching. I clear my throat.

"Is that the grandmother you shared with Gabriel?" she asks, probing a little deeper. I can tell she's being cautious.

"Yeah, but Gabriel was illegitimate, so my grandmother never really recognized him. She held tight to old ideals." I lean forward, and brush my lips against Wyn's arm, savoring her warmth. "Gabriel was always angry about that. He felt rejected, I think."

"For sure." She nods while looking down at her hands, pinching the edge of the comforter. "He was angry about a lot of things."

I drag a hand down my face and sigh. "Yeah, I blame myself for that."

Her brows pinch together. "Why, because you didn't talk to the senior counsel for him?" She shakes her head. "He was angry at the world long before any of that happened."

"Because…" I shift, taking her hand in mine, so I can toy with her fingers, rubbing the pad of my thumb over her trimmed nails. I look up at her, and she's watching me. "When Gabriel and I were sixteen, we were training for this major competition in Hawaii, and uh, during a session, I was trying to push him off a wave. I got too close, he had to ditch his board, and then…I don't know what happened. He was pulled under the massive wave, and my fin must have caught him in the chaos because when he finally resurfaced, his Achilles tendon was fucked. Cut straight through. It was gnarly." I shake my head. "He never surfed again after that."

"It was an accident, right? That kind of shit could happen in any sport. It's the risk you take."

"Nah, I was being reckless, cocky. And because of me, he lost the one thing that would have given him some recognition in this fucked up town." I shrug again. "It's all he ever really wanted, and I took it away from him."

Even now, the guilt over what happened that day suffocates me. It's ever-present. That's what makes this shit with Wyn so damn difficult. Deep down, I still feel like I'm taking something away from Gabriel, as irrational as that logic is.

We lapse into silence and then she says abruptly, "I need to use the restroom."

"Then use it," I reply.

She climbs off the bed, and my hungry gaze eats her up as she walks away. But for a split second, as I watch her leave, I feel real fear. She's the only person on this planet who's managed to crack open my shell and get a glimpse of the real me inside. The me that I hide away from everyone.

I should tell her the truth about how fucked in the head I really am, but I can't. She'd never forgive me for what I had to do.

Which is why she'll never find out…