18. Chapter 18
Hunter
The arena doors hiss shut behind me. I keep walking, cutting across the pavement toward the oak at the edge of the lot.
He’s standing near it, hands in the pockets of a faded green jacket, ball cap pulled low. Waiting. He wanted me to find him.
My fists ball tighter.
Someone says my name. Then something about a good game.
I don’t look over. Don’t care.
Ten feet.
He raises a hand, giving a single wave, offering a weak smile.
A growl grinds up my throat as my eyes scan his waistband, followed by the parking lot behind him. The area to his left next, then his right.
He came alone. Maybe.
I stop three feet away. “Garrett.”
“Hunt.” He extends his hand.
I don’t take it. “You don’t belong here.”
Garrett pulls his hand back and tucks it into his pocket. “Well, hello to you too, little brother.”
My gaze cuts past him to the parking lot again. Cars are lined up in uneven rows under the lights. A blue sedan. White pickup. Two black SUVs. No red Prius with a 906 sticker.
I look back at him. “How the fuck did you find me?”
“Video popped up on social media.” Garrett shifts his weight, hands staying buried in his jacket pockets. “Glad you’re still playing.”
My fingers flex at my sides. “So you just show up?”
“What did you want me to do, Hunt? Call you?” He scoffs. “I don’t have your number. But would you have picked up if I did?”
“No.”
Garrett shifts his feet. “Yeah. Figured.”
I stare at him.
Garrett is alive.
Been five years since I last saw him. He’s shorter than me now. Not by much. Thinner too. A lot thinner. His eyes are tired, face sharper than it should be.
I swallow hard, teeth clenched.
He’s only three fucking years older than me. But he looks forty.
The pressure behind my sternum gets worse.
I should’ve checked. Should’ve—
No.
He made his choice.
Garrett glances at the campus buildings to the left, then over my shoulder to the arena. “You did good for yourself. College. Hockey. All this.” He looks back at me, eyes shining too much. “I’m proud of you.”
“Why did you come here?”
“I told you.”
I fist the front of his jacket and slam him against the tree. “Why now ?”
He doesn't fight me. Just looks at my hand twisted in the faded green fabric and sighs. “You're my brother. Thought maybe we could—”
“Not happening.”
A muscle tics near his eye. “You're all I have, Hunt.”
“Should've thought about that when you watched me get beaten.” My grip tightens, and the fabric stretches across his collarbone. “When you watched our father tie me to a tree with barbed wire while I was unconscious.”
Tears gather in the corner of his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“You did nothing .”
He blinks, and the tears streak down the side of his face. “I'm sorry.”
I pull him closer until my mouth is inches from his face, lips peeled back over my teeth. “You went after what was mine .”
Garrett turns away from me, eyes squeezed shut. “That look on your face.” His voice shakes. “It’s just like Dad’s.”
I release him and take a step back.
Then another.
My breathing is loud. Erratic. Forced through my nose while my hands flex at my sides.
Garrett wipes his face with the heel of his hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt Atlas.”
“You fucking stabbed him.”
“I know.” His bottom lip trembles, then his chin. “I know. I know. I know.”
I stand there, unblinking.
“I’m sorry. I am. Just glad you're both okay. He . . .” Garrett swallows, gaze flicking back over my shoulder toward the arena. “He looked good out there.”
Every fiber in my body freezes. Then I launch forward, grab his throat, and squeeze. “Go near Atlas, I put you in the ground.”
Garrett's hands wrap around my wrist, but he doesn't pull. His face reddens first, then his eyes. His mouth opens, a choked sound pushing out as he stands there, looking at me the way he used to look at our father.
I let go.
He sags against the tree, coughing, as he rubs his throat. “I was a kid too.”
“You were eighteen.”
“That meant nothing in our home.”
“It wasn’t a home.”
Garrett straightens and meets my gaze. “I’m sorry, Hunt. Dad made me.”
“You tried to kill Atlas.”
“I'm so fucking sorry.” His voice cracks, and he drags his hands down his face. “I didn't know what to do. I was scared, Hunt. You were making plans to go away.” He cries again. “You were all I had, and you were planning to leave for hockey. And you were going to leave me behind with Dad.”
My fists shake at my sides, molars grinding so hard the pressure shoots into my temples. I look at the pavement.
Atlas and I had been talking about Juniors. Which teams we might make, which state we'd have to move to. I planned the whole way out and never thought about my brother once.
Fuck.
Garrett wipes his nose and huffs out a broken laugh. “Guess you left me anyway in the end.”
The pressure builds behind my ribs again as I scrape my hands over my head, locking them at the back of my neck.
I should've told him the plan.
But he's the one who ran to our father after finding out about it.
That was his choice.
Garrett drags the heel of his hand under one eye, then the other. He pushes off the tree, chin lifting a fraction. “I always tried to protect you.”
“Until you didn't.”
“One time, Hunt.” He steps forward, lines across his forehead cutting deeper. “One fucking time. What about all the others?”
My eyes land on the pale, raised skin along his left cheek.
I was five when he got it. We were tucked under deadfall, both of us holding our breath while Dad moved through the trees too close. Garrett bolted out of the brush, waving his arms, screaming, pulling him away from me while I stayed quiet because he told me to.
Our father caught him twenty yards out.
The screams coming through the trees went on for a long time. I had my arms around my knees and my hands over my ears. It didn't help.
Silence kept me safe. Garrett kept me hidden.
When it was over, my eight-year-old brother’s face was split open on one side, his left arm hanging wrong. Our father dropped him in the truck bed and drove home without saying a word.
My stomach drops, blood going cold.
“I know what I did that night was wrong.” Garrett's fingers press into the scar, tracing its length. “But you grew up in that house. You know what it was like.”
“Don't think I can give you what you're looking for.”
He looks at the ground, the toe of his boot digging into the grass. “I wasn’t as brave as you. Maybe at one time, when we were younger. But later . . . he broke me, Hunt.”
“Dad is gone. Move on.”
Garrett sighs. “If only it were that easy.”
My gaze drops to my hand. To the tattoo on my inner wrist, the ink covering the scars along my forearm.
Shouldn’t have said that.
Some things don’t get moved on from.
Garrett reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket. My shoulders pull taut, eyes narrowing. He hesitates before slowly pulling out a small white business card pinched between two fingers. Grease stains mark one corner. The print says “Ironline Auto Repair” with his name underneath.
I take it, my eyes locked with his.
“I’m not Dad, Hunt.”
My fingers tighten around the card.
“My number’s on the back. Use it or don’t.”
He turns, walking toward an old Chevy pickup. It has Ohio plates. No 906 sticker.
I stand there, card cutting into my palm as I watch him go. After, I look the card over, dragging my thumb over my brother’s name once.
Garrett Kincaid.
I slide it into the pocket of my joggers and pull in a breath that stops halfway. I need to get to Atlas.
My boots hit the concrete path, stride already lengthening. I cut left across the grass, then right at the library. The campus opens around me—too much space, too many shadows between buildings.
Too much fucking time between where I am and where he is.
Atlas had better be in our room because Garrett is here. Garrett saw him. Garrett said his name, looked toward the arena like he had a right to put his eyes on what survived him.
My pace turns into something close to a jog.
Fuck.
Atlas is going to ask. The second I walk in, he's going to ask where the hell I was. And he’ll push until he gets something that satisfies him.
I need a story.
Something that keeps him breathing. Keeps him steady. Keeps him from breaking apart all over again. Because I won’t let that happen.
Ironwood was never home. Never safe. But I did learn something there.
Silence keeps people alive.