Page 61 of The Other Side of Green

I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it, Mom.” I gave her a squeeze. “Let’s get home.”

She cast her gaze at Lyra’s house. “Grams deserved better.”

I dropped my head again. “She did. I’m sorry.”

“Not just you. That woman Bernice. She’s always been a dot on the happiness of Grams’ existence. You know, I used to think she would have been happy if Bernice went off on a bender and never came back.”

Hell, I wished that for Lyra more than anything, but then we wouldn’t have known the possible truth? Was it the truth?

I tested my gut reaction, gently testing it, half unwilling to know the answer.

No. Lyra wasn’t my sister.

I’d been aware of her my entire life because she was meant to be mine, not because she was my sister.

I knew it. Had to know it. Had to believe it.

Now I just needed to get her to believe it too.

How? Who the hell knew? I’d need Google to help me with this one.

I turned to Evan. “Want to come back to Mom’s? Assuming that’s okay, Mom?”

Her eyes glistened. “Of course. I’d love to meet your new friends better. Hopefully it won’t end in a fist fight.”

Evan burst out laughing—such a dick. “He’d never be able to take me.” Punching me lightly on the arm, he turned for the Lennox house that stood like a big blot on the horizon at the end of the walkway. “I’ll just go and grab Rhian and give my apologies to Lyra.”

A cannonball rolled in my stomach. It should be me apologizing to Lyra… but I couldn’t. Not until I had something constructive to say.

Anything to say at all.

Lyra? Sister? No chance.

That she could even believe it without talking to me… well, that was something for me to think on.

“Jesus, Jack!” Evan scrubbed at his stubble on his jaw. Rhian snapped her gum, leaning forward onto her black leather clad knees.

Mom and Philippe had gone to the shop to buy groceries for dinner. Good thing too. I flexed my hand, my knuckles grinding from the impact of the wall.

“I mean, sister?” A tremor ran through me. My convictions at war with the possibility of the truth.

“Could she be?” Evan asked. He looked like he wanted to get up to save the wall, but respected his own face too much to get close to me.

“No, of course not!” I pounded the wall again.

“Does your Mom allow abuse of plaster and paint?” Rhian asked, falling back onto the bed in the guest room.

“Not helping.”

She smacked another bubble. Seriously, how old was she?

“Who said I was helping?”

“So why the fuck are you here?” My skin burned with heat, chest pounding, too fast. Was twenty-four too young for a heart attack?

“Okay. Tell me exactly what was said.” Evan held his hands up; in surrender or as a shield, who knew.

“His mom said my dad liked to pay for it.”