“Well, I sent you and your brother an email a few weeks ago.”
“We received it.”
Weston startled at those words. He looked so young. He was only twenty-two, fresh out of college. He was Nora’s age, for Christ’s sake. I was seven years older, and I’d never felt so old. I remembered being so uncertain at his age. How had he worked up the nerve to come to Lubbock?
“You didn’t respond,” Weston accused.
And it was an accusation. He looked hurt. As if he couldn’t think of a single reason that I wouldn’t want to respond to that email.
“Maybe we should take this outside,” Jennifer suggested. Her gaze was on the crowd of Wright Construction employees. They hadn’t yet noticed us, but it was a big enough disruption that they soon might.
“I can’t believe that you didn’t respond,” Weston said.
What was I supposed to say? That I didn’t believe him? I didn’t want to believe him? Fuck.
“And you thought the best response was to fly to Lubbock?” I asked in confusion.
“Julian,” Jennifer whispered. She nodded to him, as if to say, Look, he’s hurt.
But I didn’t know how I was supposed to take this. Dad had said that he wasn’t our brother. Mom had had no clue about it. We’d agreed to ignore the email. Jordan had that PI out there, but we hadn’t heard anything back yet. Now, Weston was standing right in front of me. Right when the rest of my world was a fucking nightmare.
I blew out a heavy breath. “Sorry, I’m just shocked.”
Weston nodded stiffly. “I didn’t fly out here. A friend needed someone to play keys at a few shows across the southwest. I’ve been out of Seattle for two weeks, touring California, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas. Abilene was our last stop. I was supposed to be on a plane home, but I was two hours from here.” He held his hands up helplessly. “I couldn’t do leave. So, I rented a car and drove into Lubbock. I just got here.”
Jennifer gaped next to me. Her hands shook on her camera. I wanted to wrap her up and protect her from this. I wanted her to shield me from what was coming. Because I didn’t know how to handle this. My charm couldn’t fix this.
“I think Jennifer’s right,” I forced out. “We need to move this outside or into the back room. This is a private event.”
Weston nodded, deflating at the words. “Sure. Sure.”
I wanted to know what the hell he’d expected to happen. How he’d even known that we’d be here. It had been a huge risk to just show up here.
We were heading toward the door when Jordan pushed his way through the crowd, angling straight for me. “Julian.”
I stopped at the door at the tone of his voice. He wasn’t exactly mad, but I could hear the tightly held control. The sound of him wanting desperately to punch something but not giving in to the temptation. The fact that I could even hear the threat in his voice was a bad sign.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”
“I’ve been texting you. What the hell have you been doing?”
“My phone is broken,” I told him. “I meant to go today—”
“Forget it,” he said gruffly. “Look at what arrived.”
He shoved his phone into my hand. A wave of déjà vu washed over me. The last time this had happened, my world had been turned upside down. Ashleigh had been trying to sabotage the winery, and I’d had to break off our two-year relationship. A part of me didn’t want to look, didn’t want to know. But I couldn’t walk away. Not with Jordan’s anger barely holding on to a thread.
The email was from Jordan’s PI. I read the email with cold dread coursing through me. Pictures were included at the bottom. One showed my dad’s arm around Weston Wright. Another with him talking to Weston and…his brother? Twin brother? Christ, they looked identical, except for the hair and clothes. Weston’s was longer, almost shaggy. The other guy had it cropped short. Weston wore what I could only describe as rocker chic. Something Campbell would be seen in. His brother was in a blazer, something I’d wear. But they were undeniably twins.
Looks like you were right. After I completed my investigation, I can confirm as best I can that your dad seems to have two boys, one being Weston, who emailed you. Doesn’t look like he’s on social, as you suspected. The other is Whitton Wright. I can’t confirm biologically, but he treats them like kids, and they have the last names. Also, there’s one more thing.
I scrolled to the next picture of a teenage girl in cutoff jean shorts and a crop top. Her long black hair nearly reached her waist. She was a dead ringer for Sutton, even a decade younger.
Looks like there’s a daughter, too. Harley Wright, age seventeen, upcoming high school senior. Didn’t dig too much on her, but she has the same last name. So, I’d guess that’s as much as you need to know.
The email went on with more pictures and more explanations of his methods. I didn’t need it all. I didn’t need any of it. I had everything I needed to know right here.
Our dad had other kids. Three other kids. Weston and Whitton being twins would have made sense. That was the same time frame that our parents had split up. It could have been an accident. Something we’d hate him for hiding from us, but at least he’d provided for them. Or something.
But Harley.
She was five years younger than her brothers. She was still in high school. Our parents had been together then. I’d been twelve. Jordan had been fourteen, a freshman in high school. Dad had still come to all of my soccer games. He’d attended everything Jordan had at school and in debate and all that. And he’d also cheated on Mom.
He’d cheated on Mom.
He had this other family.
These two boys and a little girl.
In Seattle.
He’d had them this whole time.
And he was still seeing them.
Still around them enough to have our PI take pictures of him with them.
And he’d lied about it.
He’d cheated on Mom and lied about it.
We’d asked him point-blank if Weston was his kid, and he’d looked us in the face and lied.
He’d fucking lied.
“What is it?” Jennifer asked softly, as if she could see I was about to explode.
“You have a brother and sister,” I said to Weston.
Jordan jumped when he realized who was standing in front of us. “What are you doing here?”
“This is Jordan,” I said by way of introduction. “Jordan, our brother Weston.”
Jordan stared in confusion. “But what are you doing here?”
“He had a gig in Abilene and drove over because we hadn’t written back.”
“Why do you suddenly believe me? And how do you know about Whitt and Harley?” Weston asked, equally confused.
“I hired a private investigator,” Jordan explained.
“What?” Weston squawked. “What for?”
“We didn’t believe you,” I said.
“Oh,” Weston said. “I, uh…why not?”
“Our dad said that you didn’t exist,” Jordan said indignantly.
“What?” he asked again. “He didn’t say that. I saw him two weeks ago!”