9. Chapter 9
nine
Boston
“Boss?”
Cassie’s voice seeps through the dark like a whisper.
I try to open my eyes.
But I can’t.
I’m sinking.
Heavy-limbed yet weightless, floating in black.
Her voice fades.
And the silence swallows me whole.
“Boston, please open your eyes.”
My mom. She’s far away.
My body feels poured from concrete. Too heavy to move.
“God, what did you do?” she sobs.
Warmth brushes my cheek. Her hand, maybe. My skin there is stretched too tight. Raw. Everything hurts.
I try to speak, to tell her something. Anything.
But I’m dragged under again.
It keeps happening: voices breaking through the dark, hands on my skin. Cassie. Bronx. My mom.
I surface for a second.
Then slip.
Like I’m trapped under tar, trying to claw my way out.
“Boss? Boss!”
Tiny hands pat my face when I finally force my eye open.
Cassie’s face fills my vision.
“Mommy!” Bronx cries. His voice is too loud, shrill in my ears. My skull pulses in protest.
My mom rushes in. “Oh god, Boston.”
She clambers onto my bed, then flings her arm across my chest and sobs into my shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Bronx asks me, patting my mom’s back.
“Yeah,” I croak.
Lie of the fucking century.
I feel like I got trampled by a herd of elephants. Every millimeter of me throbs. But Bronx doesn’t need to know that.
Cassie studies my face, her eyes darting from one aching spot to another. “You don’t look okay.”
I hate that they have to see me like this.
“What time is it?” I rasp.
My mom lifts her head, her eyes bloodshot and puffy. “Just after seven.”
“In the morning?”
She stifles a fresh sob. “Evening, baby. You’ve been asleep all day.”
All day?
I sit up slowly. Nothing feels broken, but I’m sore all over. My left eye won’t open. My jaw, nose, and cheek throb like they have their own heartbeat. My mouth is still filled with the coppery taste of blood.
I stand.
Huge mistake.
The room spins so violently I have to grab on to the doorframe.
“Careful, baby,” my mom says.
I shuffle into the hallway, every step a new kind of pain.
“Where’s Eddie?” I ask.
“Gone,” she whispers, following close behind with a hand on my back.
I stop at the bathroom sink, gripping the edge for support. “What about his homies?”
“It’s just us, baby,” she whispers.
I miss this soft version of her. But if this is what it takes to bring her back—a near-death beating—then forget it.
I lift my head and catch my reflection in the mirror.
Jesus. I look like something out of a movie—lumpy and bruised, dried blood crusted around my mouth and nose. There are hand-shaped bruises blooming up my arms.
My mom whimpers behind me. “Baby…”
“What happened, Mom?” I mumble, unable to open my mouth without eliciting a sharp pain.
She doesn’t answer right away. When I glance at her reflection, I notice her pupils.
They’re blown.
I bet she took something. While I was unconscious. With Cassie and Bronx home.
“Eddie beat you,” she finally whispers.
“No shit,” I mutter. “I mean after.”
She draws a shaky breath. “Eddie told Mikey and Joe to carry you to bed,” she says. “You wouldn’t wake up. Even hours later. I begged him to let me call an ambulance, but he didn’t allow it.”
My fingers tighten around the sink. I want to ask why she didn’t stop him. Why she didn’t call 911 anyway. Why she keeps letting him back in. But what’s worse than the pain and the anger is the fear twisting in my gut.
I remember what Eddie said before I blacked out.
“What did they do to you?” I ask, voice harder than I intended.
She blinks fast. “Boston, don’t… please.”
I turn to face her.
“Mom,” I say, softer now. “Why do you let him come around? Why do you let him do this?”
Her eyes are wide, but she doesn’t answer.
I sigh, defeated, and turn back to the sink to start washing the blood off my face.