The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection. Kelly HunterЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      SCOTT REELED BACK in his chair. ‘What’s he got to do with anything?’

      ‘I don’t know, Scott. Why don’t you tell me what he has to do with you, with us, or indeed with anything? Because you’ve told me precious little so far. So—Hugo.’

      ‘Oh, I get it. Is this—? This is about…about Play Time. Stopping Play Time, right?’

      ‘Yes, Scott, it is.’

      ‘But…why? What was so bad? Do you want to…to go back and start again?’

      ‘No.’

      He blinked. ‘Okay, then, let’s skip it altogether and just go upstairs and—’

      ‘Hugo,’ Kate said again.

      He tried to smile, but didn’t nail it. ‘You don’t know what I was going to suggest.’

      Kate didn’t bother even trying to smile. ‘The fact that you said we should go upstairs—to bed, no doubt—tells me all I need to know. It tells me we don’t have a relationship.’

      ‘Sure we do.’

      ‘No, Scott, we don’t. We have a contract.’

      ‘You’re the one who wanted the contract.’

      ‘Semantics. With or without the signed piece of paper, we have an arrangement. An arrangement is not a relationship. And if you’re happy with that then I’m calling “Hugo”. As in enough. No more Play Time. No more anything.’

      Scott shoved a hand into his hair. ‘Kate, if it’s the subject of my brother that’s bothering you—’

      ‘Didn’t you listen? Hugo—as in I’m finished.’

      ‘—he has nothing to do with us.’ Right over the top of her. ‘I never thought you’d meet him.’

      ‘Well, I did meet him, Scott, so how about you explain now?’

      Silence. Scott’s jaw tightened.

      ‘Scott?’

      ‘You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met, Kate. I’m sure you worked it all out the night of the architect awards. Why do you need to wring the words out of me?’

      Kate stared at him.

      He stared back.

      And then he shoved both his hands into his hair. ‘Dammit—all right. It’s no big deal.’

      He took a moment. Placed his hands on the table, palms down. Very specific. Controlling them.

      ‘Very simply: my brother was the perfect child. Better than me at school, better than me at sport, better than me at everything. My parents let me know it in a thousand ways when we were growing up. And when Hugo hit the doctor target…? Big bonus points, there. Now he’s hit all the personal targets too—getting married, providing grandchildren. Long story short—Hugo is family all the way. And I’m…not. I’m number two. All the way.’

      Kate reached for his hand but Scott pulled it back, out of the touch zone.

      ‘All the way,’ he repeated. ‘Want an example, Kate? What about that time I was in the Whitsundays, goofing off, teaching holidaymakers to sail, making a fool of myself over a girl who didn’t love me? What do you think my brother was doing?’ But the question was rhetorical. ‘He was one-upping me spectacularly by sailing solo around the world.’

      ‘So what?’ Kate asked, but it was hard to get that out because she wanted to cry.

      ‘So what?’ Scott laughed—harsh and awful. ‘So sailing was my thing. Why did he have to take that too? I swear, if he knew I liked cooking he’d go and get himself a publishing deal for a cookbook.’

      ‘Hugo didn’t win the architecture prize. You did.’

      ‘Wait until next year’s awards,’ Scott said. ‘He’ll pull a rabbit out of someone’s hat.’

      ‘Exactly, Scott! Out of someone else’s hat! Unlike you, wearing your own hat. Because you can’t tell me you simply follow blindly—not your parents, not your brother, not anyone. Otherwise you’d be a doctor like the rest of your family—you’re certainly smart enough.’

      ‘There’s no mystery there, Kate. I just wanted to be an architect.’

      ‘I know that. And I know why. Because it’s you. Creativity—and order. The perfect career for you! And I think your brother hates how good you are at it. Because you can bet that although you could be a doctor if you wanted to—’

      ‘Not as good as Hugo.’

      ‘Maybe…maybe not—but you could be some kind of doctor. Hugo, however, could never be any kind of architect.’

      ‘You can’t possibly tell that.’

      ‘Sure I can—because he wasn’t the one in the navy blue tux that night. He doesn’t have it. It. That thing you have. And what does it tell you that he didn’t even have the grace to come over and congratulate you when you won that award?’

      Scott said nothing.

      ‘That he was jealous,’ Kate said. ‘Is jealous. Of you.’

      Scoffing laugh. ‘He has nothing to be jealous of.’

      ‘Really? Because the way I see it, you have something Hugo wants badly but will never, ever have. I’ll bet your parents don’t have it either. I’ll bet none of them even understands it—which is why it’s three against one in the Knight family. You have creativity, and charisma, and wit, and decency, and…and adventure in your soul, and so much more. That’s why you went to the Whitsundays, and why Hugo had to make do with what he thought was one better. Except it wasn’t one better. He had to follow you to one-up you. And he had to one-up you because that’s the only way he can feel better than you. He can’t bear your success because he wants it all—all for himself. He can’t be you, so he steals from you. But he can’t steal the one thing he really wants because that would make him…you. And, no matter what he tries, he never will be you.’

      Scott shook his head, wearing one of those smiles that meant nothing.

      ‘And the sailing thing?’ she said urgently. ‘I’d tell you to make it your thing again, if it bothers you, but you don’t have to make it your thing. Because it is your thing. It always was—and it will be waiting for you when you’re ready to let it all go and just be, Scott. Just be. Without comparing yourself to anyone.’

      ‘I’ve given up comparing myself, Kate.’ Scott took a deep, visible breath. ‘Number two is fine with me.’

      Heart. Breaking.

      ‘You’re not number two. Not with me, Scott.’

      ‘Not yet. But give it time. Someone else will come along. Someone older, like that Phillip guy. Someone smarter, like Hugo. Someone not as stitched-up and closed-off and conservative, like Brodie. That’s why you danced with him. Why you went sailing with him. I’ll bet you even told him about your custody case.’