Page 100 of Don't Say You're Sorry
“I won’t be calling you anymore. And, if you’re even listening to these messages, I hope this is the last time you’ll ever hear myvoice. You hear me? I hope I never see you again.” He’s quiet for a long time before he says, “Goodbye, Adam.”
I get up to my feet and stumble.
“Where are you going?”
“Wait here,” I say.
He doesn’t.
I barge into Axel’s room again, coming up short when I find it empty. It’s almost one in the morning, and his bed is still made.
Sidestepping Easton in the doorway, I head downstairs.
“Adam, stop,” he says from behind me.
“No.”
I find my older brother in the kitchen with Carter. They’re standing side by side, leaning on their elbows on the kitchen counter, their heads close as they talk quietly, the only light coming from the strip lights beneath the cabinets.
Easton comes up beside me and wraps his fingers around my wrist. Carter straightens up when he sees us, and Axel follows suit, his shoulders dropping as if he’s accepting his fate. He looks miserable, and it makes me even more furious with him.
He knew how miserable I was in London, and he did nothing. More importantly, he knew how miserable Easton was. He must have read those messages. He must have listened to at least some of those voicemails. He must have heard it in his voice—how much pain he was in—and the bastard didnothing.
And he called Easton his brother? Told him he loves him? I almost laugh at the thought. If he cared about him—if he cared about either of us—he never would have kept these from me.
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He has nothing to say to me. Figures.
I pull my wrist out of Easton’s grip, take three steps toward my brother, and punch him in the face.
Easton curses under his breath. Carter looks stunned, keeping his big mouth shut for once. Axel wipes the drop ofblood from his nose with his thumb, rolling his shoulders as if he’s preparing for another hit. Good. I’m glad he got the memo.
Just as I’m about to punch him again, two things happen. Easton’s arm locks around my waist from behind, and Carter steps in front of me, blocking my view of Axel.
My nostrils flare as I struggle to catch my breath.
“Move,” I say to Carter.
He shakes his head. “One’s enough. You want to hit something? Hit me.”
I consider it for a moment.
He raises a brow. “Go on. I don’t bite. Well, not you anyway. Easton wouldn’t appreciate that, and I like my teeth where they are.”
As if proving his point, Easton tightens his grip on me.
Carter grins.
I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to diffuse the situation with his stupid fucking jokes. And to my surprise, it’s working.
I sink back into Easton’s chest, and he drops his mouth to my shoulder, his fingers brushing my abs beneath my T-shirt. My heavy eyelids threaten to close. Carter chews the inside of his cheek, and it’s only now I realize my face is wet with tears.
Dropping my head to look at Axel’s phone, I forward all the messages to myself before deleting them.
“I’ll never forgive you for this,” I say numbly, tossing the phone on the island. Axel can’t see me—Carter still hasn’t moved—but I know he hears me. “Pack your shit and get out.”
Carter looks down.
Easton tugs on my waist, and I let him take me back upstairs. We go to his room, and he flicks the lights on, carefully taking my hand to examine my knuckles. He won’t look at me.
