CHAPTER SIX
Colton — 15 years old (Sophomore year)
The cheers of the crowd vibrate through my body, igniting my adrenaline, but my head is not here. My gaze keeps moving to the bleachers, where Cole is sitting in the crowd. I can’t see him from this distance, but I know exactly where he’s sitting. Second row, two seats from the left. I can feel his eyes on me, burning through my football uniform and my helmet.
He should have been here.
On the field, with us — his team.
He was our trusted wide receiver, a savage on the field and probably one of the best. Definitely better than me. I enjoy playing football, but Cole breathes life into this sport.
But he can’t play tonight.
He won’t ever play again.
Not with his limp.
The bones in his right leg shattered in three different places. He took off his cast a month ago, and after some physical therapy, he’s able to walk now. But he has a limp and he’ll never be able to get on the field again.
His football career is over before it could even really begin.
I trip over my own feet and one of Hallows High’s players tackles me to the ground. My head smacks onto it and if it isn’t for my helmet, I’d probably end up with a concussion. I hear a whistle and the opponent moves off me, and even though I can’t see it, I know he’s smirking as he swaggers away. Asshole.
Maddox, our famous quarterback, jogs over to me, and he slaps me on the back. “Get your head in the game, Colton.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, chewing on my mouthguard.
Sometimes I wonder if Cole wishes it was me. If he is ever angry, or envious, that I get to play football and he has to sit on the bleachers and watch . Does he hate me for it?
But Cole is the good brother, the one with a soft heart. He’d never think that.
Frustration clogs my veins when I miss another chance at a touchdown, the ball ending on the sideline. Fuuuck.
I hear the half-time whistle, and then Coach is summoning the team his way. I swagger over to him, taking my sweet-ass time to join the rest of the team and making me the last one to enter the locker room. I shoulder past Maddox, who’s blocking the entrance with his body. He spears me with a dark, confused look. I know he’s pissed at me, for potentially ruining the game for the team. For him.
Like Cole, football is his life.
The only thing he has going for him. The only thing that truly matters to Maddox Coulter. He doesn’t give a shit about any girl, or the money in his back account, or the fame that comes with being a Coulter. He only cares about football.
My best buddy can’t read my mind, but he knows something is up. If there’s another person who gets me after Cole, it’s Maddox. I guess you could say, we’re the same peas in a pod. We have everything we could ask for — money, chicks, fame. But we bonded over the fact that we both live to piss off our parents. It’s probably the only reason we’re even friends in the first place.
We understand each other.
So, I have his back. And he has mine.
“What is wrong with you, Bennett?” Coach Reagan practically roars in my face when I’m close enough to him.
I rock back and forth on my heels. “I only missed a touchdown, relax. We’re still leading.”
“You missed two touchdowns,” he snarls, his face red and veins bulging in his neck. Oh yeah, he’s pissed. “And you missed three passes. That ball hit you right in the damn chest and you let it drop like a hot potato!”
Jesus Christ, why is he turning this into a huge deal? It’s not like we’re losing the game. Our opponent, Hallow High, is nothing up against our team. We’re going to win our first game, even if I’m shitting all over the field.
Coach gets right in my face, and I meet his eyes. I don’t back down or cower at his glare. “You either focus, or I bench you for the rest of the season,” he threatens, his voice low and dark.
Yeah, he won’t do that.
His glare sharpens when I scoff. “You think I’m bluffing, boy?”
I simply shrug. He knows I’m good, an asset to the team. My nonchalant response is only pissing him off more and I can’t help but grin. Apparently, angering people has been my favorite hobby lately. “You lose my game, and I’ll make sure you say goodbye to your future football career, Bennett.”
Maddox grabs me by the collar and pulls me back. “Sorry, Coach. He’ll focus now.” I lower myself onto the bench and stretch my legs out in front of me. “You will, Colton. Won’t you?”
Maddox’s shadowed gaze is imploring. Don’t fuck this up, he’s trying to silently tell me.
I release a deep breath and then nod. “Yeah, okay. I lost focus for a minute there. I’m sorry, Coach.”
Coach glares one more time at us before stalking away. I tear off my helmet as Maddox sits down beside me. He quietly hands me a bottle of water and I take it. Chugging half of the bottle, I close my eyes and inhale. Then exhale another deep breath.
“Are you going to say something to me?” I ask, keeping my eyes closed.
Maddox chuckles drily. “I would talk if I thought you’d listen. But I have a feeling I’m only going to waste my breath right now.”
“We’re still winning the game,” I complain, almost petulantly. “I don’t understand why Coach has to chew my ass out like that.”
“You know damn well why he’s mad.” Maddox knocks the back of my head with his fist. It’s both playful and a warning. “Don’t be a little shithead. This is not like you.”
“You focus, and we win the game. Then, we party.” Maddox stands up, pushing his messy hair back into a sloppy man bun. And then he puts his helmet back on.
I roll my eyes. “By party, you mean—
“Pussy.” Maddox winks.
I ignore the way my stomach revolts at the idea. Giving my best friend the smirk he expects, I follow him out of the locker room and back on the field.
***
The moment I get home, I know something is wrong. It’s late, almost midnight, but the lights are still on. I bite back a curse.
I guess Coach called my father already. He probably enjoyed ratting my ass out to Daddy Dearest. Fuck.
Maybe if I sneak back out, I’ll avoid the drama tonight. But it’s too late. He already knows I’m home. In my peripheral vision, I see his shadow looming at the top of the stairs. “In my office, now .” His voice is cold and furious.
Irritation bubbles through me. But fear also accompanies it. I hope Cole is already sleeping. I don’t want him to hear what’s about to go down tonight. My fists clench in apprehension. Jesus Christ, I really fucking hope Cole is deep asleep.
He doesn’t need to see any more of this.
I drop my bags in the foyer and walk up the stairs. My muscles are sore from the game tonight. And even though we won, my focus didn’t get better during the last half of the game. Coach was so pissed, I think he blew a blood vessel. Maddox was annoyed, but he didn’t chew my ass out.
I wasn’t even in the mood to party tonight. Cole left as soon as the game ended. He didn’t even bother waiting for me. I was going to suggest he come to the bonfire party tonight, like always. Like how it’s always been before the accident. Maybe a change of scenery would do him good, but he disappeared as soon as the crowd started cheering for Berkshire’s victory.
I know he still mourns for Josie. But it’s more than that.
He also mourns for his lost football career.
He mourns for his leg…and the limp that will accompany him for the rest of his life. He mourns for what could have been and what it is now.
Even as his twin, I can’t do anything to pacify my brother. Fuck, he barely even talks to me anymore. He’s just there…a walking shell, a living corpse.
I enter my father’s office, and my breath expels out of me in a loud whoosh. Cole is inside, sitting on the couch. He’s gripping the armrest so tightly, his knuckles are white.
Sienna is also there, leaning against the shelves in her robe. The belt is undone, and her maroon silky night dress peeks out from underneath. She’s still got a face full of makeup and her hair is nicely styled. This only means one thing, and my heart dips in the pit of my stomach.
I close the door behind me. Cole is staring at the ground; his body so tense I can see the rigid outline of his muscles through his shirt. My father pours himself a glass of whiskey and he takes a slow sip, his gaze on me. He watches me closely, taking his sweet time with his drink.
He does this often. It’s a show of power, a way to drag out the suspense, to remind me that he’s in control and that I should be cowering. His face is cold, devoid of any gentle expressions. As if he was cut from stone then put perfectly together, resembling a human. But he’s only perfect on the outside. On the inside, he’s hollow. Empty and dead.
I don’t bother sitting down next to Cole. I stay standing by the door, and wait for my father’s verdict. Henry Bennett is, after all, judge, jury and executioner. And he likes to remind us of that quite often.
He takes one last sip of his whiskey, and then finally speaks. “I got two phone calls today.”
Just get to the point, do what you have to do and let me get some fucking sleep.
“Your guidance counselor called.”
Mrs. Hudson is a goddamn traitor. She told me she’d give me another chance to make progress before calling my parents. But I guess not. She had to rat me out.
“You’re failing two classes,” my father continues, stoically, “and then surprise, surprise. Your coach called. He’s benching you for the rest of the season.”
Fuck.
I should have seen this coming.
But I thought Coach Reagan was a pussy. Thought he was only bluffing when he threatened me. I was wrong. Again.
“Do you know how embarrassing it was to take those calls?” He grits out, taking a threatening step toward me. “My son, a Bennett, is failing two classes at Berkshire Academy, and he’ll be sitting on his ass while his team is going to be on the field. Winning games that you will not be part of.”
He places his glass on his desk. “I keep waiting for the moment you’ll prove that you are, indeed, my son, but you just keep on disappointing me, Colton.”
You’re a disappointment, Colton.
You a worthless piece of shit.
Are you even my son?
His words echo in my ears. I’ve grown used to hearing them over the last few years, but after the accident, it seems Henry Bennett has reached the end of his ropes.
I am his loser son, and sometimes, I wonder if he’ll just kill me in my sleep.
It’ll probably be easier for him. To deal with my death rather than having me be an embarrassment to him on a regular basis.
“All I have ever asked of you two is to continue my legacy.” His eyes darken. “My sons can’t be failures. Is that too much to ask?”
I hold his gaze, keeping my back straight. Unease creeps through me, because I know what’s coming, but I push it all down. Into a dark abyss, where no one can see it.
His hand goes to his belt and my jaw clenches. Sienna pushes herself away from the shelves and her fingers brush against my father’s shoulder. “Do you have to do this tonight? We can finish talking about this tomorrow,” she says, her voice a soft rumble. “The boys must be tired tonight.”
My father’s eyes flash darkly. “No, he needs to learn. They both do. He keeps disappointing me, over and over again. It’s always the same fucking shit with this boy.”
He aggressively pulls his belt from the loops of his pants and folds it in half. “Take your shirt off, Colton,” he spits out.
I’m well-acquainted with pain and what’s going to happen next. I take my shirt off and kneel in the middle of his office. The floors are new and shiny, completely spotless, not even a speck of dust. Everything has to be perfect in Henry Bennett’s home — in his life. Nothing is out of place; nothing is unruly, and no one disobeys him.
Cole inhales a sharp breath and I hate the way he’s being forced to watch this. Knowing that I was in his place before. When he used to cover up for me and take the beating to pacify our father.
The first lash of the belt has me flinching, as pain ripples through me. My back strains when the second lash falls, hitting in the same exact spot as before.
SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
My jaw tightens, and I hold my breath, waiting for the next one. Somehow, I’ve grown accustomed to physical pain, but it’s the humiliation that follows that has me defeated.
“You ruined your brother’s chance at a football career,” my father roars, his voice shaking with fury. “Look at him. Look at what you’ve done. He’s a cripple! But that wasn’t enough. You have to continue fucking up our name and prestige. My dignity!”
The sharp blow of the belt keeps raining down my back without mercy, and my muscles twitch with each hit. My gaze drops low, and I start counting the lines in the hardwood flooring. One. Two. Three. Four.
The belt strikes my back again. “You are so worthless, even I am embarrassed to call you my son .”
Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
My back burns, and the pain is so intense, I can barely breathe at one point, but I keep counting. Some lines are straight, but there are a few that are curved. I recognize each line; I have them memorized. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.
“You have everything, but you’re still an ungrateful piece of shit!”
I have nothing.
Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.
“You would have been a nobody if my name was not attached to you!”
I am a nobody.
Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.
I bite my tongue until the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. My fingers clench into fists as I force myself to stay in place, holding myself off the floor. The leather belt continues striking my back, until my agony morphs into resentment.
I don’t know how long he keeps going for, but eventually, the beating stops. Two hundred and fifty-two. That’s how many lines I was able to count.
My father’s breathing is ragged and I hear him buckle his belt again. My body is tense, but my insides are shaking so much, I feel like I’m going to retch all over his polished floors.
“Get him out of my sight,” my father sneers, his voice filled with unadulterated hate.
Cole rushes to stand up, and I see him reaching for me, but I shake my head sharply. No.
I force myself to my feet and straighten my back. Pain digs under my flesh, but it’s a companion that I welcome with open arms. The pain reminds me that I’m at least still alive. Still breathing.
Sienna is standing by the shelves again; her face is expressionless. Sometimes she reminds me of an unfeeling mannequin.
I pull my shirt back over my head before walking out of my father’s office. The door closes behind me with a soft click and I inhale a shuddering breath.
The flesh on my back feels like it has been torn and shred open with a decaying knife. By the time I make it to my room, my feet are dragging behind me before I fall into my bed.
Burying my face into my pillow, I let out a silent, hollow scream. Hate and misery claw under my skin and dig into the marrow of me.
I haven’t moved yet when my door opens and then closes again. My bed dips under a heavy weight. “I’m going to tell him the truth,” Cole finally speaks, after a long minute of silence.
“No,” I deadpan.
“He thinks the accident is your fault. But it’s all lies !”
Lifting my head from the pillow, I look at my twin. He has his face in his hands, and I hear a muffled cry. “It’s not fair that you have to take all the blame. I hate that you won’t let me tell him the truth.”
The plan was to completely hide the accident from my father. He was out of the country for two weeks, and we thought it’d be enough time for us to heal. And we would come up with a lame excuse for Cole’s broken leg and the plaster.
But when Cole’s injuries turned out to be more severe than expected…and with his limp, we had to quickly come up with a story while still covering up the truth. Sienna is the mastermind behind our lies. She said she’d protect us — to leave everything in her hands, even handling my father and his anger.
So, Cole and I went along with whatever lies she told our father.
I drove the car. We hit a tree because I was stupidly speeding.
I caused the accident that left Cole with a shattered leg.
I am the reason why Cole’s life is ruined.
Our father doesn’t know about Josie. Or how she died. He doesn’t know about the other car, the other victim.
Who turned out to be the mayor’s daughter. He doesn’t know that it was our car that killed her. No one knows — except me, Cole and Sienna.
It’s a truth we will take to our grave.
My twin brother rubs his face tiredly. “Why are we even lying?”
“Because if the truth comes out, our reputation will be ruined.”
“We already are ruined.” He laughs humorlessly. “Look at us, Colton!”
“And if Dad finds out the truth, he’ll probably kill us in anger.”
Cole goes silent at my words. Only he and I know what our father is truly capable of.
He is a murderer.
He killed our mother.
Violently pushed her down the stairs, and then cried over her dead body as if he didn’t just kill her himself. Cole and I saw. We heard it when her neck snapped.
I still remember that day as if it was yesterday. I can still hear their arguing, echoing in my ears, her screaming at my father for being a “heartless bastard” and him calling her a “cheating whore.”
And I can still hear his fake crying as the cops stormed in. How he manipulated them and how they believed his lies when he told them she slipped down the stairs.
That day, he hissed in our faces, practically spitting in fury as he told us to stay quiet, to not say anything to the cops or we would end up just like our mother.
So a terrified eight-year-old Cole and Colton obeyed.
Many times I’ve wanted to tell the truth. I remember the kind eyes of the officer as he asked me questions, and I wanted to tell him. The words were right on my lips…but I just couldn’t.
I kept my mouth shut and allowed my father to get away with his lies.
And in doing so, Cole and I became his unwilling victims.
He is a heartless bastard, just like our mother called him.
But she paid the ultimate price and left us behind. In the lair of the devil. For him to use as his pawns. We were an outlet for his hatred and frustration.
Cole and I are simply puppets to our father.
“You remember what he did to Mom,” I remind my brother. “We know what he’s capable of.”
Cole runs his fingers through his shaggy hair. “Sometimes I wonder if it’d be better off if we were dead. If we had died along with Mom. Maybe death would have been a better ending for us.”
I snap up and clasp my brother by his shoulders, shaking him. “Don’t you ever dare say that again!” I say, choking on my words. “I need you alive, Cole. We survive, that’s what we do.”
“But I can’t watch you take a beating for me. I won’t. I can’t .”
“You’ve done it for me before. Many times.” I try to smile, in a way that will calm my brother. But I can’t even fake it for him. My smile shakes and he sees it. “When I was sneaking out and you’d take the fall for me. You’ve always protected me from our father’s wrath because you knew he’d go easier on you than me.”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s not the same. He wasn’t this cruel before.”
“Cole,” I say, my hand still on his shoulder. He lifts his eyes to mine, and it’s like I’m staring into the mirror. He’s a reflection of myself. “You’ve always played the role of the good brother. But don’t forget, I’m older than you by four minutes. Let me do the protecting this time. Let me be the older brother you need. I got this and I got you.”
Cole is quiet for a long minute, before he reluctantly nods. He chews on his lip, and then gestures to my bruised, welted back. “Does it hurt?”
“No.”
He laughs quietly. “Liar.”
I smile, before admitting the truth. “It hurts like hell.”
But we survive — because that’s what we do.
We will always survive.