I spun around and headed up the stairs, back into the school. We were taking Christian to dinner, but I needed to take care of one more thing before I moved on.
Even though there was still the unresolved issue of someone being in my apartment, I wasn’t going to waste one more minute of my life being scared. I wouldn’t move. I wouldn’t sleep with the lights on.
And I wouldn’t run to Tyler for protection.
I’d lock my doors, be aware of my surroundings, and never let anyone hold me hostage again.
If someone wanted to hurt me, they would find a way.
But what I really needed to do was get rid of the letters. And I wanted Tyler there when I did it.
Walking down the dim hallway, I veered right and slipped into my dark classroom, going straight for my wardrobe to retrieve my handbag and then to my desk for the folder of papers I needed to grade tonight.
But I glanced up and jumped, surprised.
“Jack?” I gasped, seeing my brother in the back of the classroom with his arms folded and staring out the window.
I’d thought he’d left.
Putting my stuff down, I slowly rounded my desk, watching him. “Jack, what are you doing here?” I asked.
He didn’t move, only stared out the window, looking deep in thought.
“The cameras still follow you around,” he mused. “Even now.”
What?
And then I remembered the interview he’d been here for earlier and how strange it was to be back in front of a camera again.
I studied Jack, but it was already growing dark outside and there was no light in the classroom. I couldn’t make out his face.
I inched toward him, shrugging. “I don’t mind it so much anymore,” I confessed. “It was to help the school.”
But then he turned his face toward me, and I saw pain written all over his expression.
“Dad loved baseball.” He spoke in a sad voice. “I was the oldest. Why didn’t he name me Easton?” he challenged. “Or any name related to the sport for that matter?”
I narrowed my eyes, half confused about why he was talking about this now and half wondering where it was leading.
Our father had named me after the Easton baseball bat. I never told people that, because I found it embarrassing, but Jack was right. Our father loved the game.
He even wanted me to play when he started noticing I had a penchant for sports, but my mother thought tennis was close enough and had a wider range of opportunities for a woman. Instead of swinging a bat, I swung a racket.
“Well, at least you got to play baseball,” I told him.
He shook his head and turned his gaze back out the window.
“I got that job at Greystone because of you,” he bit out. “Marek put in a word for me. A perk when your sister sleeps with powerful people, I guess.”
My heart began racing, and I froze. “Jack, what’s wrong with you?”
My brother never said things like that to me. Plus, he looked like he hated me right now.
He turned, locking eyes with me. “I was happy,” he told me. “When Chase Stiles drove you inward, started messing with your game…” he explained. “I was happy about that, Easton.”
I felt my stomach roll, and I backed away.
“I hated seeing you hurt,” he choked out, tears caught in his throat, “but I loved seeing your career go to hell,” he admitted.
His face grew hard, and his eyes pierced me. “I loved seeing our parents lose their grip on you as you got more and more defiant,” he bit out. “I loved seeing you fail.”
“Jack.” I could barely breathe.
I shook my head, trying to take short breaths, but barely any air was getting in.
He stepped forward. “I love you,” he professed. “I do, and I want good things for you, but, God, Easton,” he gritted out, tears pooling in his eyes. “I hated you, too.”
I let my eyes fall to the ground. What the hell was going on? in Jack had always supported me. Always tried to protect me.
I thought he was okay. I thought the amount of attention I got or the fact that our parents treated me just a little bit better was something he’d moved past.
But deep down it was still there. I couldn’t believe he’d never let on about any of this to me before.
I closed my eyes, feeling weary. “I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it. If I were in his shoes, I’d no doubt have a lot of resentment, too.
He sniffled, evening out his expression. “It’s not your fault,” he maintained. “It never was. You didn’t make our parents favor you. You didn’t excel at tennis out of spite.” And then he spoke slowly. “You’re a winner, Easton. Everything I want to be.”
I moved to go to him, but he backed up.
“It was me,” he shot out.
“What was you?” I breathed out.
“The cabinets, the calls, the treasure box – it was all me,” he confessed.
What?
Rage curled my fingers into fists. He’d opened all of the cabinets, the shower curtain, been in my closet, opened my window, and smashed the box, tearing up all of the letters.
“Why?” I cried. “I don’t understand.”
“Because it was supposed to be my turn!” he shouted, glaring at me. “For the past five years, it was my turn to have the attention. You leaned on me!” He hit his chest. “You needed me.”
I slowly shook my head, backing away from him. My face cracked, and tears started streaming down my cheeks.
I swallowed, choking out my words. “How could you?”
“I wanted you to be okay.” His voice was barely audible. “I wanted you happy with friends and loving the life you lived, but…”
“But?” I pressed.
He hesitated, looking up at me.
“He’s going to be a senator,” Jack stated. “If your relationship went the distance, you’d be back in the limelight.”
“You were trying to get me to shrink away again,” I cried, turning angry.
But he went on. “And then Newsweek and the interview today…” he pointed out. “It doesn’t matter what you do, you’ll always outshine me!” He hardened his jaw, scowling. “Why couldn’t you just stay quiet? Why couldn’t you just be normal like everyone else? Just be my sister! Let me have something!”
I continued backing away, thinking about him doing those things. He’d known it would hurt me.
“You made me think someone was in my home,” I charged. “In my things! You terrified me!”
He closed his eyes, looking like he was ready to break.
“I often wondered what made Chase Stiles give up,” he rasped. “Why did he take his own life?”
I stared at my brother.
“He knew he was going to hurt you,” he concluded. “And he didn’t want to.”
Yes. The final stage of stalking was physical violence. Chase’s abuse had been growing more and more threatening, and Jack was probably right. I didn’t know why Chase killed himself, but I did know he was losing his grip. Or what grip he had left.
And my brother? Would he go that far?
He seemed to see the flash of awareness and understanding in my eyes, because he rushed forward.
“I would never hurt you.”
But it was too late. Spinning on my heel, I ran out of my classroom and into the hallway with Jack yelling behind me.
“Easton!” he called.
But I raced down the hall, needing to get away from him.
I wasn’t sure if he would hurt me, but up until this morning I wouldn’t have thought he could’ve done any of the things he’d done. I had thought, next to Tyler, Jack was the person I could trust most in the world.
Why would he have wanted me to live in fear?
I ran outside, but Jack’s voice was right behind me. “Easton, stop!”
He grabbed my wrist, and I cried out, stumbling in the heels and slamming with all my weight against the wrought-iron railing of the staircase.
“Jack, please!” I cried, grabbing on to his hand with both of my own as I screamed, falling over the side.