Not the Only One (Book 1 in the Four of Us Trilogy)

Forty

Brooke

"Luke, since when do you play guitar?" I asked as he hoisted the case into the backseat of his Ford Focus.

He grinned at me and pushed his hair off his forehead. "Since I was nine."

I raised my eyebrows. "Oh, wow...no wonder you picked that song up in like two days."

He laughed. "Yeah, it's a pretty simple melody." He shut the car door and leaned against it, crossing his feet at the ankles.

I shifted from foot to foot. "That was nice, what you did for Miles," I said, stepping toward him.

He shrugged. "It was no big deal."

"It is, though. I can't tell you how amazing it is to see the two of you talking...being friends," I said, reaching out for his hand. "It would be so easy for you to be a total jerk to him after everything...but you aren't. That shows so much strength," I said, and he looked down.

"I'll admit, at first, I only tolerated him because I was hoping to gather information with which to ruin him. But after I got to know him, and especially after the other night when he told us about his dad's abuse and finding out we're cousins, everything changed," he admitted.

I smiled, and we stood there in silence for a moment. I looked around. "Well, I better go. My sister is taking me out for an early dinner before her shift," I paused. "Luke, what do you think about prom?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Me? Well, I think prom is an antiquated tradition that's been created as another way to spend a bunch of money," he said, and my face fell a little.

"Oh. Yeah...definitely," I murmured.

"But," he said, taking my hand, "I wouldn't want to attend an antiquated money pit of a dance with anyone except you," he said, kissing the back of my hand.

I blushed deeply and grinned. "That's one hell of a promposal."

He winked. "Is that a yes?"

"Absolutely."

Miles

"Dad? I'm home," I called cautiously.

I hadn't spoken to my dad much since the day he came home and had a coronary when he saw Luke. I'd been walking on eggshells around him ever since.

"In my office," he called, and I dropped my backpack in the floor and appeared in his doorway.

"Hey, Dad," I said, leaning against the doorway.

"No practice today?" he asked, not looking up from his computer.

"No, Coach gave us the evening off since it's Friday," I replied.

Dad scoffed. "You're not going to win any state championships that way. Or is the team already out of the running due to your little choke?" he said, looking up at me with disdain.

My blood boiled. "Dad, that was almost a month ago. We've played at least ten games since then, three of them district games, and we won them all. But you'd know that if you weren't so obsessed with the one time I fuck up!"

When he looked up again, I closed my eyes. I had just made a huge mistake.

"What did you say to me, boy?" he asked, standing up and putting his fists on his desk, knuckles down.

I gulped. "Nothing, sir. I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For talking to me with disrespect? Sorry doesn't cut it anymore, Miles. You've been impudent to me one too many times, and I'm goddamn sick of it." He took his hands off his desk and walked slowly, calmly to face me.

I squared my shoulders, refusing to cower to him.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" His voice was deadly.

I spoke before I thought. "Nothing. I said I was sorry, and I don't know what else you want me to do." I knew I was pushing him, but I didn't care. I was so tired of living in fear, of wondering when the other shoe was going to drop.

His arm came up under my throat so fast, I didn't have time to react. He was at least three inches shorter than me, but it didn't matter. He had me pinned against the wall.

His eyes were cold, betraying not one shred of emotion besides pure anger. "Never speak to me that way again," he demanded, and when I started to open my mouth, he pressed his arm harder against my throat.

I closed my eyes, ignoring the pain that was shooting through my throat.

"Do you understand me?" he snarled.

I opened my eyes and stared into his, making sure he knew I heard him but that I was refusing to answer.

He clenched his jaw and pressed harder. If he pressed any harder, I felt like he'd snap my neck in two.

But I refused to speak.

I refused to give into him. He was an asshole that didn't deserve anything more from me—no more pain, no more tears, no more fear. I was so fucking done.

When he realized I wasn't going to respond, he flung his arm off my throat, and I stepped off the wall.

"Get out of my sight," he said, disgusted.

I turned and left the room without a word, and I didn't massage the pain out of my throat until I got to my room.

Rachel

I was in the bathtub enjoying a lavender bath bomb when my phone dinged. I dried my hand on the towel hanging on the rack above my head before grabbing it off the rug.

Hey baby, what are you doing?

A smile spread over my face.

Oh... just in the bathtub... ;)

Really

Yep...trying out a new bath bomb.

I have a bomb I'd like for you to try...

OMG!!! Miles!!!!

Kidding kidding...kinda. ;)

Hahaha...what's going on?

I just had another blowout with my dad.

Oh no. What happened?

He said something smartass, and I talked back. He pushed me against the wall and tried to get me to admit I was wrong. I refused and he backed off.

That's great, babe! I'm so proud of you.

Thanks. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that. I'll let you get back to your bath. I wish I were there.........

Me too..love you.

Love you more.

I loathed his father, and I've never actually met him. And I knew that while I never wanted to, it would happen eventually. How would I ever pretend that he wasn't a monster?