Marked, and cherished.
As long as he’ll have me.
28
Hunter
“That’s beautiful, Hunter.”
Miss Jaela, the art teacher, was giving me a warm smile.
I’d stayed in the art room instead of going to recess with the other kids.
I was eight years old at the time, and already, I’d realized I was too different.
“It’s a witch in a forest,” I told Miss Jaela. “My dad says painting is for girls.”
Miss Jaela frowned. “It’s for anyone. And you’re very talented with color. You make wonderful things.”
Everything in life felt like black and white, to me.
Dad was angry or he wasn’t.
I was bad or I was invisible.
I followed rules or I broke them, and paid a price.
With paint, it was different. I entered another world.
And everything black and white turned to vivid prisms of color. Finally, I could be free.
I’d almost forgotten what that could feel like.
I’mby the fireplace next to Rayne when we get the news.
Westongets the news, really, but his phone is playing over the speaker, and all of us hear it.
One of the lawyers handling our father’s estate has called us.
And she tells us she has something serious that we need to be aware of.
“While your father was alive, many individuals were under contract not to speak a word of this to either of you,” the lawyer says.
I glance up at Rayne, then at Wes, furrowing my brow.
“Yes?” Weston says.
She pulls in a breath and sighs. “This may come as a surprise.”
“We’re ready,” Weston says.
“Weston, you and Hunter have a brother.”
I feel like I’ve just missed the last step on the stairs.
“What?”
The lawyer pauses a moment, like she knows how shocking this must be. “When your mother left your father, it wasn’t just for irreconcilable differences. He was with another woman. While your mother was pregnant with Weston.”
