She stares at me, unblinking, and I nod. “Fine. It stops. Can we go out and grab some breakfast now? I’m starving.”

“Let me take a fast shower then we’re out of here.”

I watch her disappear into her bathroom. I lie back and shoot off a text to Bobby.

Me: What time are you going to be back in the ’Sades?

Bobby: On the way home now, babe. We should be there in maybe two hours if we don’t hit more traffic.

Me: Can’t wait.

Bobby: Me either. Be ready to hit the road for Santa Cruz the second I get there.

Me: The second, huh? Wouldn’t you like a 30 minute layover before you start driving again?

Bobby: 30 minutes? Layover’s definitely longer than that.

Me: Says who?

Bobby: Says you. Love you.

Ding.

I check to make sure Zoe won’t catch me—bathroom door closed and water running—then I go to her laptop on the desk and click on her Facebook page. I check the messenger. Yep, new incoming from Natasha.

I open the chat box and my body grows cold even though my heart is pumping so quickly I almost can’t breathe.

Two pictures in a collage side by side.

Where the fuck did Natasha get them?

One of Alan and Khloe.

One of Alan and me.

Headline: Which one does Daddy love?

Khloe captioned: Billion dollar baby.

I’m captioned: Zero dollar baby.

Closing caption: We all know what you are, Kaley.

That’s it. I’m not putting up with this shit one second longer. How the fuck did Natasha get that picture of Khloe? Nope, I don’t care what Zoe says. I’m having it out with her today.

I grab Zoe’s tote. Please, Zoe, I hope you put your phone back in here. I rummage through her stuff, then anxiously toss everything out onto the bed.

An envelope floats to the floor, I pick it up and then my eyes go wide.

She got the kinship lab results and didn’t give them to me. How could Zoe do that? Ripping it open, I sink onto the bed. I pull it from the envelope and then stare at it, stunned.

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

This can’t be right.

It’s not possible.

Krystal’s voice rises in my memory. I didn’t just open them. I used them for their intended purpose. One of those is Eric’s. One of those is Ethan’s. One of those is mine.

We’re not half siblings.

None of us.

We all have the same mother and father.

What have my parents done?

How is this possible?

Alan looked me in the eyes.

He said it wasn’t true.

My heart shatters.

For a moment, I believed him.

CHAPTER 23

I race through the Malibu house, setting up my cameras on tripods to make sure I catch every inch of footage of what I plan to have go down here, and repeatedly run through my mental checklist.

Load tweets into my Hootsuite so they auto-release.

Schedule Facebook post every thirty minutes.

Make sure the streaming live video feed works.

Record YouTube message for Kaley’s World.

Don’t think of anything else.

You’ll fall apart if you do—but, fuck, how could my parents do this?

No, don’t think about that.

This has to be undeniable.

If it isn’t, Alan will finesse his way out of the truth.

How could he do this to my brothers and sisters? Deny them like he’s always denied me?

Me I could forgive—never hurting them.

No, Kaley, focus on the tasks in your head.

I want the aluminum bat Aarsi had.

Position spray-paint cans from Zoe’s house so they’re in every room.

How long until Alan’s security busts in to stop this?

Denial is a terminal addiction—make it a tab on my website.

It’s Tuesday.

Is Alan back in California?

I wonder if he’ll see this.

His security sure as fuck will since they’re spying on me.

Oh, he’ll eventually see this.

I go back to my laptop, trying to ignore Zoe’s fretting as she wanders in circles, and rapidly click away the necessary posts to make what I want to have happen here.

Zoe grabs my arm. “Kaley, just talk to me. I’m sorry I didn’t give you the lab results when they came. I didn’t know what to do. I was waiting until Bobby was back.”

I ignore her and whirl to face the great room, trying to figure out the best location to shoot the short video to launch this.

I turn the camera toward the far wall near the table with the weird family photo array atop it. Yep, know why those pictures are there now.

“You’re scaring me,” Zoe wails. “What are you doing? What is this?”

I look at her. “Stand here in the foyer. I don’t want you in the video.”

“What video? Nope, I’m not moving until you explain what this is.”

Oh fuck, Zoe, don’t get in my way now.

I shake my head, trying to figure out how to explain this in Zoe terms. “Have you ever seen that movie 8 Mile?”

She nods, sniffling and nervously gnawing her lower lip. “Eminem, right?”

I close my hands on her arms—crap, she’s shaking like an earthquake—and fix my eyes on her. “Remember the last scene. Focus, Zoe. Listen. I’m explaining. When Eminem battles and gets up there and tells everyone everything about him and then he tosses the microphone and says, ‘I’m outy. Tell these people something they don’t know about me’?”

The panic on her face rapidly increases but she nods.

I brush the hair back from her face, hoping to calm her. “That’s all I’m doing. I’m outing myself. I’m tired of the lies and the secrets. The tabloids. Natashas of this world. Alan. My mom. I’m just putting it all out there and maybe someone will hear me and it will get better and go away. I’m going live with the truth about everything. I’m outing myself. And if you’re really my friend, Zoe, you won’t stop me.”

She anxiously studies my face. “I don’t think you should do this. We can still get out of here. You’ve only wrecked one wall. It’s paint. It can be fixed, right? Isn’t that enough? It’s there. The truth. Alan will see it. Let’s stop this now. Let’s go.”

I go back to the camera and check the positioning through the viewfinder. “I can’t leave, Zoe. Not until I’m done.”

I hit record and hurry into the shot, kneeling down facing the camera, unable to hear the words in my head as I speak them.

Then I see the shot widen by the auto-programming, so the first tag on the wall I did with the spray-paints from Zoe’s garage will show in the film.

I stare into the camera. “This is the last episode of Kaley’s World. I’m pretty sure I’m going to be silenced after this. Shut down after today’s live feed. But I’d like to send one last message to my dad, Alan Manzone. I’d like to call the remainder of this feed ‘Denial is a Terminal Addiction.’ So here is our live family therapy.”

I hurry to the computer, stop the recording, and quickly edit the video. I add the frame with the link for the live feed. I load it on YouTube, Facebook and my Kaley’s World website. I see the Hootsuite notification that the auto-tweets have started. I check my phone to make sure the live feed is up and streaming. Yep, Alan’s house.

I grab the bat and the spray-paint. Showtime. Try denying this, Daddy. And then there is nothing—not in my head, not in my heart, and not in the room—except a blinding, raging need to swing the bat and cover the walls in spray-paint with the thoughts I don’t even recognize as my own as I destroy everything in my father’s house.

*  *  *

My body is limp, drained of strength and tears, but the bat keeps going. It’s like it’s running on its own and I can’t stop it. Not even now when there is nothing left to destroy in Alan’s bedroom.