I chuckle, low and threatening. "So, you didn't know you could be a dad, too?"
Just as soon as the question leaves my lips, all the blood drains from Owen's face. His skin takes on a sheen of green, giving him a sickly look, as he backs away from the railing and takes a seat on the patio furniture he has up there.
Without asking for permission, because I refuse to ask for shit when it comes to him, I make my way inside and up to his room. What I see when I step into his bedroom makes me pause.
Bottles on top of bottles linger on the floor. His room looks like a cyclone hit it. There are whiskey, cognac, scotch, and bourbon bottles all empty and laying around like he couldn't give enough effort to throw them away. Take out containers litter every surface imaginable. Pizza, Chinese, Steakhouse—pretty much any restaurant venue you can think of.
The stink is what hits me next. It's musky and smells like mold, probably from the takeout containers. Lord only knows how long those have been in here.
And he's probably the only one who knows the reason his bedroom is in this current state.
Pushing it all to the side, literally and figuratively, I slide open his door and make my way outside to a scene just as daunting.
"O, man, the fuck is going on with you?"
"Harloe had a kid, you say?" He answers my question with a question. “Look at the results yet?”
I toss the envelope onto the table between us. His eyes flick down to it, barely giving it a second glance, before darting up to mine as he takes another pull off his beef. A beer that seems to be one of many.
"You know good and damn well, I have.” Not. But I’m not going to tell him that. I want the truth, and something tells me this is the only way I’ll ever get it. Call it a hunch, but something tells me there’s more to Owen’s story. “Now, tell me the truth. All of it. Every single detail."
His body stiffens, and then his eyes lock with mine. A range of emotions plays over his face, before finally, he settles on one I know all too well. Guilt. That’s been my life’s blood ever since I saw the little man for the first time.
I don't say anything, giving him nothing, as I continue to glare down at him. Tense, silent, minutes fill the humid Georgia air, and not even the warm breeze, with the scent of lilac and honeysuckle, can make me break character.
Again, his eyes flick down to the envelope, and he swallows hard. A cold, distinct feeling starts churning in my gut the longer he says nothing. So much so, I have to put a hand over it and clench my fingers around the part of my shirt that's covering my stomach.
Shit is clearly going on with Owen, which is probably the reason he's been trying to reach out. Even though he knew I didn't want to speak to him, he's been calling me nonstop for weeks. Between him and Cassandra, my phone has been busier than a whore on Saturday night.
"Do Mom and Dad know?"
My fury finally boils over. All the pain and suffering caused by his hands. The future that was jerked away from me and left me unable to heal from the knife he plunged into my back and never took out.
Slamming my hands down on the table, I yell, "Goddammit, Owen! Fucking tell me! I can't live like this anymore; the pain is eating me alive!"
Between one heartbeat and the next, Owen shatters my entire world for the second time. The sound of his sigh releasing into the evening air weighs my body heavily with pain. It sinks into my skin like a hot brand, permanently marking me, making me just as cruel and ugly on the outside as I am on the inside.
"Knew you’d find out the truth,” he releases on a sigh. “Never could stop digging.”
“O,” I grind out, my fists clenching beside my thighs, stewing for a fight.
“Nothing happened between us, Hunt," he finally says, whispering his ugly truth out into the world. "She never slept with me, and I never touched her."
With his confession, I lose all sense of reality. Pain is my motivator, and exacting revenge is my goal. I slam my hand on top of the offensive envelope—the piece of paper that no doubt proves Harloe's innocence and Maverick’s biological dad—and rip that fucking thing to shreds. I rip it up until it's nothing more than unintelligible pieces of parchment, completely unreadable.
"All this time, I had a son I didn't know about." My emotions run unchecked. "Harloe never cheated on me, and I was cruel to her because I thought she had."
"I'm s—"
"You ruined my life!" My crazed yell is the only warning he gets.
I throw the torn pieces of paper at his face, overturning the table to get to him. My hands ball into fists, and the force of my assault makes us tumble to the floor as I knock him out of his chair. Straddling his waist, I rear my arm back with a guttural yell and start taking all of my frustrations out on him.
"Family is supposed to mean everything!" I scream, hitting him again and again. I crack him in the nose, blood spraying everywhere as it crunches on contact.
"You took everything from me!"
The sound of shit crashing in his room doesn't even pull me off him. I reign down jab after jab, beating him black and blue. It's not enough, though. Nothing ever will be.
Harloe and I had a future. A future we both were looking forward to—college at UCLA, marriage, kids, and spending the rest of our days growing old together.
He ruined it all.
Owen pathetically cowers, trying his best to cover his face with the back of his arms. But I don't give a shit. As long as he gets what he deserves, I don't care what I'm hitting.
Out of nowhere, strong arms band around me and pull me off him. Struggling and fighting their hold, I grunt and growl like a man possessed. He still hasn't had enough. No matter that he's lying on the floor covered in his blood. I need more.
He took my life, so I need to take his.
"What the fuck is going on here?!" the sound of my dad's razor-sharp voice pierces through my haze of anger. But not enough for me to stop fighting. I still twist and turn in his arms, desperate to gain freedom.
Growling, I roar, "Let me go! He fucking deserves everything!"
"What in the world?!"
My mother darts to her knees, hunkering over Owen. He groans in pain as her worried hands trail over him. Shouldn't be too surprised, she's always loved Owen more than she loved me.
Her eyes meet mine the moment she sees Owen is fine. Her lips are thinned into a tight line. "You'll tell me what is happening this instant."
Ignoring her, I ask a question of my own, heaving for air. "Why are you two here?"
"Hunter!" she reprimands in a shrill tone. "Answer me right now!"
I'm still gasping for air, my body shooting high from adrenaline. My dad must see I'm no longer fighting him, so he releases me slowly. Turning on him, I see his wary expression. He's not even paying Owen any attention. His gaze is firmly on mine.
"Son?"
I grit my teeth to push through the pain slamming into my chest. "He lied about Harloe." I breathe deeply in through my nose, before pushing onward. "Harloe had a baby, and thanks to my goddamn brother, I wasn't there for her when she needed me the most."
"A baby?" my mom gasps, eyes jerking to her husband. "Landon."
"Hunter," my dad ventures, hesitant in speaking, like I'm a spooked cat or something. "What did Owen lie about?"