King of Harts

15

Adrian

Half-siblings?

Different fathers?

I feel like a fucking moron to not have known something so important and for me to find out because Emory shows up in tears, at the hands of her own father.

We're more alike than I thought, angel.

"Adrian?" Emory calls my name, reeling me back in and I catch her eyes searching for mine.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

"You didn't know?" She asks, just as shocked as I am and all I do is shake my head, my jaw tight, hating it more when she realizes I didn't know this entire time.

Because I should've known. All I do is study the woman and the most vital piece of information about her has been withheld from me for almost a decade. I should have fucking known.

"So, you don't know everything" she tries to tease and I admire her so much more for trying to make light of a situation. Even with her nose all red and her eyes all puffy.

God, she's gorgeous.

But I'm practically seething, hating myself for not knowing and hating my best friend just a little for never having said anything.

My mind rakes through every memory for some kind of sign or hint that I might have missed or brushed away but I can't seem to pin one down and I'm twisting my ring again.

The Hart siblings have always been just that, siblings.

Their father passed away and that was that.

Except, that isn't the case at all and there's another parent in the equation and the bastard sent his daughter to her half-brothers home in pieces.

I'm snapped out of my thoughts when Emory starts shifting in my lap again, making another attempt at an escape, but my arms wrap around her waist and those doe eyes go round.

"Where are you going?" I ask with no shame because right now I don't give a shit about boundaries anymore or waiting for her. I want her in my arms, in my lap and telling me everything about her so I don't have another misstep like this one.

"I just...don't think...this is appropriate" she whispers, afraid someone might be watching us, her cheeks glowing red as well as her ears.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" I ask and I watch her throat work as she swallows.

Christ, she's going to be the death of me.

"I know that you're uncomfortable-"

"That isn't what I asked and I'm about over you telling me what you think you know, Emory" I cut her off and she snaps her mouth shut.

"If you're uncomfortable, by all means, the couch is yours. I, on the other hand, have never been comfier" I shrug and lean back, spreading my arms across the back of the couch and wait for her next move.

A moment passes and then she starts explaining her day and I've never been more grateful to have a woman in my lap. To have this woman in my lap, all wounded and sensitive and seeking comfort from me.