“I just don't get it. I just don't get why Lacey would go with him,” he says softly.

This is going to be the worst part. I take a deep breath, praying that this goes smoothly. I haven't been able to come up with a satisfactory way of telling him any of this, but at the end of the day there’s no way to sugarcoat it.

“Zeth, Lacey went with Charlie because he told her she was his daughter.” I stop there, let that sink in. Zeth continues staring at the floor, his eyes locked in one place, unblinking. He's holding his breath—I can tell by the rigid angle of his shoulders and the way the muscles in his jaw are jumping. “You said Lacey was your sister just now. How did you know that?”

“My mother,” he says. “She's the spitting image of my mother. All that blonde hair. Her smile. The fucking sadness in her eyes. She showed up on my doorstep one day with no explanation or reason and just moved herself right on in. Who else could she be? I don't just let random, broken women insert themselves into my life without purpose. I didn't know for definite, of course. But I did know. I just figured she'd tell me her story when she was ready.”

I can’t believe it. All this time. All this time and he's known all along. It makes perfect sense, really. They've shared such a strong bond; the bond of a brother and sister. He's cared for and protected her for months and months. Of course he's known. I take a deep breath; I'm going to need it to get this next part out. “Well if you know that Lace is your sister, and Charlie is saying he's her father—”

“Don't. Don't say it,” he says. “I remember my father. He was a weak piece of shit who never took care of my mother or me. He let drunk and dirty bastards fuck my mother for money and he never lifted a finger to help her. He was the worst kind of man alive, but he wasn't Charlie fucking Holsan.”

“Are you sure? I mean, what's your earliest memory? Can you say for definite this guy with your mother wasn't just one of Charlie's men? That's what he's saying, that your mother left with one of his guys and ran away with you.”

Zeth does think on this for a moment. And then, “I can't remember anything before the beach. That was my earliest memory, the day my mother got hurt.”

I don't want to press him about that. It sounds like a seriously painful memory from the way he chokes over the words. He looks completely destroyed over the fact that what I'm telling him could potentially be the truth.

Charlie Holsan might be his father.

He sits upright, visibly drawing himself together, and then turns to face me. “It doesn't matter who he is. He's a fucking psychopath and there's no way I'm leaving Lace with him for a single day.” He seems stronger now, a little more resolved. “I understand if you want to back the hell away from this situation.”

“Why? Why would you say that?”

“Because this isn’t what you deserve, is it? No one should have to deal with this shit. And I’m a fucking coward. I’m sorry, Sloane. I ran after I heard what you said to that guy on the phone,” he says. “I heard you, and it scared the shit out of me because I believed it. I know you love me, and I don't deserve that. I didn't want to stick around and hear you say it to my face because I don't know—I don't know how to even say those words. I don't know what kind of man you think I am. I can never fucking reconcile the fact that when we met I tied you to bed and screwed you, and now you're here, wanting to be with me like what I did wasn't the shittiest thing on the face of the planet.”

My heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest. What he’s saying is true. I understand how on paper this whole thing is fucked up beyond measure, but that’s just how life is sometimes. Fucked up. “I hated you,” I whisper. “Afterward, for two weeks, I hated you. I imagined your face, what you would look like, and I imagined what it would feel like to hurt you. For a long time I wanted to cause you pain, but then—then I realized it wasn't you I was angry at. It was me. Because despite the situation and despite not getting the information that I wanted about Alexis, I'd enjoyed being with you.” I can't help but stifle an ashamed laugh. “I enjoyed your hands on me, Zeth. I enjoyed you being inside me, and that felt so, so wrong. I was supposed to be devastated over my sister and instead I was replaying our meeting and—and missing it.”

Zeth just looks at me. He really looks at me, as though he's peering into my soul and finally seeing himself reflected right back at him.

“I'm sorry for the way that happened,” he tells me, and he means it. “But I am glad it happened. And I'm glad you’re here.” He reaches up and brushes his fingertips over my swollen lip again. “I'm going to take this away,” he says. “I'm not going to let his mouth be the last one that touched yours for long, Sloane. I promise you that. I just need a bit more time.”

I nod, knowing that he's telling the truth. So many cards have been laid on the table in the last few minutes; everything feels different now. I feel like…I feel like there’s hope. Zeth gets to his feet, holding his hand out to me.

“There’s one last thing you should know about the way we met,” he tells me. I take his hand, letting him pull me up. He gathers my wrists behind my back, locking them together in one of his strong, powerful hands. The action is barely effective, though. He’s gentle, clearly taking my sore arm into consideration.