Page 4 of Broken Brothers

“SARAH!”

She buried her head in her hands, at least an acknowledgment that she had heard me but not one she could stand to face me for. Still, I remained by the edge of that riverbank, paralyzed and stricken with horror. This is what being honest had got me, huh? This is what telling the truth did?

I couldn’t take it anymore. I sprinted after Sarah, my own tears threatening to pour out of me. I refused to let that happen, not in front of a girl, not in front of Sarah, but it took a lot of effort to prevent those from appearing. Gasping for air, I saw Sarah just at the edge of the woods.

“Sarah!”

I shouted loud enough that my voice probably carried to the Hunts’ house, but I could no longer care. I had to do anythingand everything to get Sarah back, no matter who heard or saw or told on me.

Finally, at the clearing, she paused.

Do not blow this. Do not lose this chance. Go, now!

“Sarah,” I said, grabbing her hand. Much to my hope, she squeezed back—not as much as she might have before, but enough that I knew she hadn’t just gone all cold-hearted on me and quit. “Please. I know I’m not a Hunt. I know that I was not born of Mrs. Hunt. I won’t pretend that. But I am family to them. Ask them. I’ll take you right now. They’ll tell you I am as much a part of the family as Morgan. I swear to it. It’s even better, actually, because I have more charm than Morgan. So you get—”

“Chance, stop,” Sarah said. I could feel her wanting to pull her hand away, but I wasn’t ready to let go. “My family is also going to adopt a little girl soon, you know. I don’t have any other sisters.”

I paused and gulped. I had a bad feeling where this was going.

“But she just isn’t as much of a family member as we all are. She just isn’t. I’ll still love her, but she’s not a Hill. You’re not a Hunt. You probably came from a lower class family, and that’s OK. You’re in a great spot. But…”

I bit my lip. I wanted to retaliate and say all sorts of ferociously negative things, but there was one thing I knew that meant I could not attack Sarah.

“How much of that is what your father told you versus what you think?”

Finally, she looked me in the eyes. Her eyes, bloodshot and still wet, told me the answer. She didn’t want to believe her Dad. She wanted to make her own decisions. I would bet she even still liked me.

But we were 12, not 22. We weren’t adults. We had to follow our parents rules.

And I knew no matter how much Sarah wanted to rebel, there was no chance of that.

“Goodbye, Chance,” she said.

With that, her hand left mine, leaving mine hanging, alone.

2

She’s gone.

Just like that.

One confession, and I’m worthless.

What a fucked up world. What a fucked up girl. All because I’m not truly a part of a rich family.

Fuck girls. Fuck money. Does it really matter that much, Sarah? Does it really mean a damn thing, Mr. Hill? Does it?!?

In anger, I screamed, turned to the nearest tree, and kicked it as hard as I could. I had hoped for some sort of cathartic release, but the only thing I released was an onslaught of pain from stubbing my toe.

The worst of it, though, had only just begun.

Because in the distance, perhaps drawn in by my screams and cries of frustration, came Morgan, my “brother.”

I wouldn’t ever admit to the tears making tracks down my face, just like I wouldn’t admit to my new shoe getting scuffed from kicking the tree. There were a lot of things about the scene that had just transpired that I was never going to admit to, especially considering that Morgan was, well, a real member of the Hunt family.

I lifted my hand resolutely, swiping furiously at the tears that had leaked out, and tried not to glare at Morgan. Truthfully, my brother was my best friend, there was no denying that, but there were some things I just didn’t share with anyone. And that was especially true after what had just happened.

In fact, I pretty much decided right then and there I would never say anything with the power to humiliate or emotionally blackmail me with. Not that I ever considered Morgan capable of the latter, but I would still never say a word for quite some time, if ever.