Neither one of us said anything for too long. Only the steady in and out of our breaths crossed the cellular connection. I was scared to ask, scared to desire the confirmation of the fear that had rooted itself into my stomach, and Sonny? Sonny was probably nervous about answering any more questions I had.

He knew. He knew that I had an idea.

As much as I genuinely didn't want to know, the question just kind of came out in a gasp. "Is there—?"

My brother, my beloved half-brother, sighed. "I'm sorry, Ris. I didn't know how to tell you."

Of course he wouldn't. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

"Lu told me about it f**king forever ago. Your mom had been really sick back then, and you were just a kid—"

It felt like the blood instantly drained from my body. Back when my mom had been sick?

I must have made some sort of sound because Sonny let out a long line of colorful curse words that I would have appreciated if I hadn't just found out that my father had more kids while he was still married to my dying mother.

That time I did hear the ugly choking sound that exploded out of my mouth.

"I'm sorry, Ris. I know I should've told you but I couldn't," he murmured, his voice straining. "I love you, kid. I love you so f**king much and you've been through enough shit already, I just couldn't do that to you."

For being the kind of person that cried whenever I felt anything slightly more than normal, later on, I could wonder why I didn't burst into tears at Sonny's words. At his explanation. His truth and lies. At my father's indiscretions and mistakes.

But in that moment, all I could focus on was the burning that scorched my guts and throat. It was betrayal and jealousy and anger in its purest form.

"Talk to me," Sonny pleaded over the line, pulling me back from the insane thoughts going through my head.

I shouldn't be mad. I shouldn't feel anything.

But the problem was, that I did.

"Iris," he called out.

"Shit," I muttered into the phone, somehow managing to keep on the barely familiar drive toward Dex's place. "I just—I just can't wrap my head around it. How old...?"

He groaned, telling me that this definitely wasn't a conversation that was easy on him either. "I don't know for sure. I’m guessing like ten, eleven."

That son of a friggin' whore.

Lava-like anger flared through my chest again. When I was fourteen, I'd been in the middle of radiation. My Mom had been getting weekly chemotherapy treatments that ravaged her. And what had that ass**le been doing? Making babies? Babies that he apparently didn't take care of.

Another ugly choking noise sprang out of my throat no matter how hard I tried to repress it.

I mean, how the f**k could he have done that? Sure my parents were separated, but seriously?

"What’s wrong with him?" I gasped into the receiver.

"I don't know," Sonny replied, sounding way too glum. "He's f**ked up in the head, kid."

He was f**ked up in the head and he was a huge ass**le. A monstrous ass**le.

"I can't believe it." Because I could remember his face when he'd come down right before my mom died two years later. His face when he came into the hospital room to see her, was etched into my memory. There was no way he could have faked his devastation, but maybe that had been my problem.

I hadn't really thought about it. He'd been devastated for my mom. But I'd been in remission at the time of his visit and not once had he ever even made a peep about my arm. About my own situation. I'd caught him looking at the scarring from time to time, this man I wasn't sure what to think of, but he never said a word.

That reminder just refueled my resentment.

"Are you with Dex?"

I sucked in a deep, ragged breath. "No."

"Where are you?" he asked in a gentle voice.

"Driving to his house."

There was another infamous pause. "By yourself?"

Damn it. I could have lied to him or at least not mentioned the earlier incident but I didn't have it in me. If he'd finally confessed to the existence of our other half-sibling then I could at least tell him something. "He's pissed off at me." My voice was still too ragged. "I left Pins and stopped by your house without him. He got really mad."

The only response I got was a long, low groan. He was trying not to blow his lid. Sonny knew I didn't need or want to hear him bitching at me. "Goddamnit, Ris," he sighed. "Don't do that again."

"I won't." God, I sounded so meek.

Another long pause filled the line. A million thoughts being processed by two different brains, I could only imagine. "Look, I'll let you know how everything goes. I want to find him as soon as possible, and Trip's helping. Once I get back, we'll figure shit out."

I didn't know what shit there was to figure out but a small voice told me that he was probably referring to the child in Colorado that, at least at the moment, neither one of us were fans of. I'm sure that once I wasn't so mad anymore, I'd come to my senses. From what Sonny had said, our dad hadn't stuck around there for long either. That man was a creature of habit.

Damn it. I could feel myself getting pissed off all over again. Even more so than before.

"Okay, Sonny." I wanted to bang my head against the steering wheel, but there was still another five minutes of driving left ahead of me.

"Are we gonna be okay?" he had the nerve to ask.

My heart swelled, only momentarily eclipsing the fury I felt toward our ass**le sperm donor. My vow to not call him an ass**le had apparently disappeared at some point.

Will might not answer my emails or bother to pick up a phone and call me, but Sonny had always looked out for me. It had always been an even give and take between us. We weren't forced together by obligation, but instead he'd gone out of his way to be in my life and I'd gladly accepted it.

And I hoped—I knew—I always would.

"I love you, dude. We'll always be fine."

The long sigh he answered with was relief for both of us. He promised to call me again soon and let me know what he found out, and I promised not to do anything stupid again. If he only knew.

I pushed all thoughts of my dad out of my head over the last minute of my trip to Dex's. I didn't think of him as I parked the car and made it in. I didn't think of anything as I grabbed clothes out of my duffel and headed into the shower.

But about a minute after I'd stepped into the stall, I thought of him.

And I screamed.

Not like a horror-movie scream, but the same kind of scream I'd expelled when I knew without a doubt that there was no hope for my mom. It physically hurt me.

The tears that followed afterward were just as painful.

Sonny had told me once that I'd felt everything more with our dad because I was the one who'd had him the longest. More than Sonny by far. Will was only five when he'd left us, and I doubted he remembered much about the bearded man that used to tuck him into bed. The man he'd cried over for months. I'd been the one with the most memories. The kid who had cried over him for longer than a few months.

Those memories, right then, I damned. Because I was too old to feel so territorial, so betrayed. I had no right. I had no reason.