Page 95 of Resist

I can’t help scoffing. “You have two jobs and a healthy bank account. I think you’re doing fine, Sterling.”

His face darkens, eyes falling to his plate.

“Sterling?”

When he lifts his head to meet my gaze, it’s like a mask has fallen. His face is pale, his eyes, tired. “I never wanted to do what I do now. When Mom... got sick, my career was born out of necessity, desperation. The responsibility of a household falling on the shoulders of a teenage boy. I never wanted to gointo the stock market, or become a venture capitalist. But once I started, I discovered I was good at it, and taking risks paid off and kept a roof over our heads while Mom suffered. It put both Tessa and I through college. It kept food on our table. It kept my grandparents from drowning with us as a noose around their neck.”

He drops his fork onto the plate with a clang. “I did what I had to do, because if I didn’t there was no one else going to save us. But it’s not necessarily what I’d have chosen to do myself.”

Every word he says etches into my heart.

“I was always the helper, never able to be the burden. I was always the positive, smiling face, I was never able to fall apart.”

The gashes in my heart deepen as his face fills with pain.

“I was always what other people needed me to be. The man of the house, the big brother, the provider, the rock to lean on. But I’ve never had a chance to figure out what I need, what I want, and be okay with needing it and wanting it.”

He shrugs. “I always thought it would be cool to write a book. Like a cross between Schitt’s Creek and Star Trek.” His face turns a dark shade of red.

“It might suck, but it could be fun. I wouldn’t know because I never let myself pursue it very far.” He flashes me a disarming grin. “I could have brought a book to your publishing house for you to slam the door in my face and crush my dreams.”

My heart aches for everything he’s lost. I’ve felt so much sympathy for his mom since I heard what Dad did to her, but it hadn’t crossed my mind that both he and his sister would have faced severe hardships because of him as well.

I hate that he thinks he has to be everything to everyone. “Sterling?”

His lips quirk at the sound of my voice.

“Last night when I showed up broken on your doorstep, did you judge me for not being okay?”

He shakes his head slowly, seemingly not knowing where I’m going with this.

“Did you think less of me because I was a hot mess? Because I was upset, and not my usual adorably chipper self?”

He snorts, probably at the use of the word chipper. I don’t blame him, I don’t exactly have a sunshiney disposition.

“No, I didn’t think less of you for being raw and vulnerable.”

“And people who loveyouwon’t love any less if you ask for help, or need to be vulnerable, or aren’t feeling like your normal self sometimes.”

He purses his lips. “This isn’t about me.”

I purse mine right back. “Maybe it should be.”

He shakes his head. “This is about you. What you’re going to do to get out from the shadow of your father’s past.”

“I took Michael’s list of victims.”

Sterling’s head snaps up. “He kept records? Like a list of his conquests?”

The cinnamon roll sticks to the roof of my mouth. “That or blackmail fodder.”

He shakes his head, distress creeping into his features. “Assholes.” He’s not wrong, but my heart sill pinches at the negative connotation with my father.

It’s going to take a little getting used to. And a lot of therapy. I cover my face with my hands and groan. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I have an idea.”

“I’m listening.”