“Dad, I love him,” I blurt out, cutting off Carrie. “I love him so fucking much.”
“No,” Quinn barks. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. Stop talking. Just. Stop. Talking.”
I swallow down my words, choosing to stare down at the floor, trying to hear past the blood rushing in my ears as panic unapologetically consumes me. In my head, this all went down a lot smoother. Not like this. Not with such angry disgust.
Alis doesn’t deserve this.
I don’t deserve this.
The thing between us isn’t wrong like they’re making it out to be.
“What’s happening?” Carrie demands, confusion written all over her face as she comes to stand beside me.
We’ve been pissed at each other for months, but she clearly senses an “us against them” situation. And, like it was on that boat this summer, she chooses my side, past arguments cast aside. Having my sister at my side gives me the strength to say my next words.
“I love Alis. He’s my boyfriend,” I explain, my voice tight with nerves, but relief flooding through me at saying them.
“He’s. Your. Brother,” Dad roars, his chest heaving. “Your fucking brother, Canyon.”
“Goddammit, Dad,” I cry out. “Stop being so melodramatic! He’s been my stepbrother for all of three days. If you’re going to try and make me feel bad for that, save your breath. You don’t give two fucks about that. You still see it as some personal vendetta against you. That’s why you’re pissed. It’s not, though. Are you even listening to me? I love him. I love Alis—”
Dad rushes forward, his blue eyes blazing with almost hatred in them. I nearly stumble back from the weight of it. Carrie stops him dead in his tracks with her words.
“Dad, I’m pregnant.”
All three of our heads snap in her direction. As soon as I see the guilty expression on her face, I know exactly whose baby, too.
“Damon,” I mutter out in disbelief.
Tears well in her eyes, and her bottom lip trembles. “It was just a meaningless fling for a couple of months, and now it’s over. God, I’m so stupid.”
My own troubles are quickly forgotten as I pull my sobbing sister into my arms. She whimpers out apologies to Dad and me both.
“My children have lost their fucking minds,” Dad snarls, storming out of the suite, slamming the door behind him.
Asshole.
“Come on,” I grit out, guiding Carrie out of the living room toward my room. “Let me grab a quick shower. Then, we’ll get you something to eat and talk about this.”
“We’re not done having the conversation about you and my son,” Quinn calls out to me. “Not even close to it being over.”
Ignoring him, I shut the bedroom door behind me and hug my sister to me once more.
“It’s okay,” I assure her, though I don’t know I even believe my own words. “Everything is going to be okay.”
It’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told her.
Nothing is going to be okay.
Everything is all fucked-up.
By the time I’ve showered and dressed, Carrie is no longer crying. She’s also no longer wearing her pajamas and is dressed, waiting for me on my bed. Seeing her face red and puffy from crying makes her appear younger than her sixteen years. If we were back home and not all the way in Canada, I’d drive my ass over to Damon’s and beat the shit out of him for this. As it stands, I’m in another country, unable to do anything but support my sister the best that I can.
We leave my room expecting to see Quinn and Alis, but no one is there. The door to Alis’s room is shut. I can hear his familiar voice through the wall, low and shaking. I ache to go in there, stand beside him against his dad, but I also don’t want to make things worse. They’re not yelling, which is a good sign. If anything, Alis seems fairly calm. Carrie needs me right now, and Alis will get me later. He would want me to go to her since Dad lost his shit.
We walk past Dad and Quinn’s suite down the hall to the elevators. Carrie looks a little green. I don’t know the first thing about morning sickness, but I’m betting it’s to blame in this situation. My stomach grumbles when I get a whiff of bacon and syrup as we exit the elevators. Carrie grimaces and swallows hard.
“What’s wrong?” I demand, halting to a stop.
“I can’t take that smell.”
I motion for a lounge down the hall. “Go grab us a seat in there. I’ll find something unoffensive and smuggle it in there. Give me five minutes.”
We part ways, and I stalk into the restaurant, a man on a mission as I head for the buffet. As much as I crave the juicy bacon, I’m not an asshole. If the smell turns her stomach, I’m not going to get any. Quickly, I load up a tray filled with fruit, muffins, hardboiled eggs, oatmeal, and some hash browns. I toss on the condiments, then grab a coffee for myself and an orange juice for Carrie. Several people give me curious stares as I leave the restaurant with my haul, but I pretend I don’t see. By the time I slip into the lounge, I’m thankful to see Carrie secured us a table in the corner hidden by some plants and high-backed chairs.
“We’re not supposed to eat in here,” Carrie says, eyeing my tray as though she expects to be assaulted by the bacon.
“Well, we’ve had a rough morning. They’ll get over it.”
She smirks as I set the tray on the coffee table and take the seat next to her. Her eyes light up at the orange juice. She takes several sips before picking up a muffin. Once she has something in her stomach, the color returns to her face, and she picks through the hash browns I’d actually gotten for myself. Since she shoved the oatmeal off to the side, I take that and dive in, eager to chase away the angry grumbling in my stomach. I polish off the bowl at record speed and eat one of the bananas before feeling satisfied. Grabbing my coffee, I settle back in my chair, lifting an expectant brow at her.
“I really messed up,” she mutters, her bottom lip trembling. “Like really, really messed up.”
“Both the Voss kids are fucking failures today. At least we’re in it together.” I playfully nudge her foot with mine, hoping to cheer her up, though I feel like crying right along with her.
“I can’t…” She frowns, staring into her orange juice cup. “I don’t want to get rid of it.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “What do you want to do?”
“Carry it to term. And then…” She swipes at a rogue tear before turning her blue eyes on me. “I had goals, Canny. Big dreams. I wanted to go to Julliard.” A ragged hiccup of a sigh escapes her. “And Damon…”
I fist my hand, swallowing down my anger. “He’s eighteen.”
Sadness is chased off by a fierce expression. “We both consented. It’s not about his age.”
Try telling the law that, sis.
“He got offered a scholarship to the University of Florida. It’s close, but he can’t play ball with a baby.”
At this point, I don’t feel sorry for Damon, but I bite my tongue. “So, what are you saying?”
“Does it make me a bad person if I want to put it up for adoption?” Her eyes grow watery again. She’s just a kid making a grown-up decision.