Chapter 1
The Wildfire Thorn
He’s signing autographs.
This is his fifth since I arrived at his room at the hospital. There’s a long line of people – women – coming out of his room and snaking down the hallway, all waiting to meet him and get him to sign things.
All of them eye me with trepidation. Some because they saw the security being called and nurses getting upset when I initially came. And I’m guessing there are others who heard the news of what happened only a few hours ago at The Horny Bard.
Of how I beat my own twin brother up.
And how I attracted a crowd and had to be pulled away from him. Someone called 911. And while he had to be rushed to the hospital, I was holed up at the police station for the last however many hours. While doctors were taking care of his injuries – injuries that I visited upon him, knowing full and well what I was doing – the cops were interrogating me. And while I accepted my guilt, he refused to press charges and wave it off as a little tiff between brothers. I’m not sure how he was able to convince them of that but he did.
And here I am.
I know he knows I’m standing at the door, waiting for him – he was the one to call off security and calm the nurses down when I first showed up – and I know he’s deliberately making me wait.
As he should.
He has every right to make me pay for what I’ve done. He has every right to string me along, jerk me around. He has every right to refuse to see me. In fact he should. I don’t deserve an audience with him but I’m still hoping that he’ll give me one.
Because I’m only now coming to find out that that’s how my brother is.
Loyal.
So I settle in for a long wait until it’s my turn to see him but surprisingly, after that fifth autograph, he dismisses everyone.
“Sorry, guys,” he calls out, his eyes landing on me. “As much as I love spending time with you all and appreciate how you’re all here to cheer me up about missing the championship game, I need a little break. As you can see, I’m kinda indisposed.” He looks at me pointedly. “But thank you so much for showing up. Or I don’t know what I would’ve done, how I would’ve coped during this difficult time.”
His fans gush and cluck around him like mother hens before shuffling out of the room, again eyeing me either with open hostility and suspicion.
When we’re alone, he says, “Should I run for the hills now that you’re here?”
I stare at him a beat. “You could always call security again.”
He settles against his pillows and goes for a cookie on the side table. “That’s a better option because A, I can’t run. Not right now. Something about sprained ribs. And B, I don’t want to leave my cookies here.”
To emphasize his point, he pops the one he picked up in his mouth.
I take in his bruised features for a moment. Then, “May I come in?”
“I don’t know. Are you going to want to share my cookies?” he says, popping another one in his mouth.
My eyes land on all the flowers that fill his room. There’s balloons and get well soon cards on the window, on the carts. Along with a big tray of cupcakes and a big box of cookies sitting on the table by his bed.
I enter the room as I ask, jerking my chin at the cookies, “Callie?”
“Yup. And the cupcakes.”
Our baby sister loves to bake and growing up, Shepard and Ledger were always the ones who’d trick her into baking things for them. I’d always envy them, envy their shenanigans, their pranks, the demands they made because I didn’t have the luxury to make them. But I’m glad that Callie took the time – even though she’s pregnant and shouldn’t be stressing herself out – to bake Shep’s favorite things.
“I have come to talk to you,” I tell him.
He pops another cookie in his mouth. “Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“Because from what I recall you’re not a big fan of talking.”
“I’ve come here to rectify that.”
“Big fan of using your fists though.”
My gut tightens in response. But otherwise, I remain silent.
“Kinda took me by surprise,” he continues. “Good surprise. Because I’m not going to lie, I always thought you were kind of a pussy.”
I stare at him for a few seconds. Then, “I deserved that.”
“You think so?”
“After breaking your nose, spraining four of your ribs, giving you that black eye and a mild concussion for which they kept you under observation overnight, yes.” I clench my jaw. “Not to mention, you won’t be playing the championship game. So yeah, I more than deserve it.”
His jaw tenses too. “Yeah, that I’m pissed about.”
“As you should be,” I agree.
Of all the injuries that I gave him, that’s the one I regret the most. Causing him to miss out on the championship game. The very thing he’d been working toward all season. The very thing the entire team had been working toward all season. I caused them to lose their captain when they need him the most. So as it turns out, I’m not that good at my job as I always thought.
“So?” he prods, staring into my eyes. “Are you going to enlighten me? Shed some light on why instead of being in the locker room, I’m in a hospital room right now? And why you spent the entire night in an interrogation room where, from what I can see, they did a very shoddy job of patching you up.”
Well, they didn’t patch me up at all.
I don’t think they much care about potential suspect’s injuries. I do have a couple of band-aids here and there but that’s Conrad’s doing. When he came to pick me up at the station, he insisted that I at least clean my surface wounds: a split lip, a black eye, a couple of bruises on my jaw. Other than that, I think I’ve got a couple of sprained ribs and if I had a concussion, it never got detected.
Because for every punch that I landed on my brother, he landed one back.
I’m very proud of that.
I’m so very fucking proud that he didn’t take it lying down. He beat the shit out of me like I beat the shit out of him. Maybe that’s one consolation in of all this. My mom, she was defenseless. Conrad, when he was young, he was defenseless too.
At least my victim gave as good as he got.
“He used to beat her up,” I say finally.
And Shepard goes alert. “What?”
It isn’t something that I wanted to tell him.
Ever.
It’s not a burden that I ever wanted to give my twin brother. It’s not a burden anyone should ever have to bear. But I’ve somehow made it so that he needs to hear the truth and I hate myself for it.
It further proves that I’m a shitty brother.
But he should know.
He should know the truth. He should know who I am.
“Him. Our father. He used to,” I swallow thickly, “beat Mom up.” I watch him go rigid at my words, but I keep going, “Not where people would notice or she’d have to miss work or anything like that. But where she’d have random bruises on her body, the side of her temple, on her arms, sometimes her neck, stuff like that. Stuff like where she’d have to limp or she’d have trouble sitting down. Stuff that young kids, us, wouldn’t be able to take notice. Well except, me and Conrad, who knew.
“There were times where she’d cry herself to sleep. I mean there were a lot of times like that. A lot. Especially when he’d stay out all night or when he’d come back drunk. Or when he bragged about his conquests, his cheating. But there were nights where she’d cry… in a different way. It was both a cry of pain and a cry of misery. And whenever I’d hear that, I’d sneak out of our room and go to her. I’d hug her in the bed, but not real tight because I knew. I knew she was in pain. I’d just put my arm around her and stay close to her. Just to let her know that she was safe. That no one would get to her while I was there.
“She always appreciated that but,” I scoff then. “What a joke, right? I mean I was, what, five, at the time. There was no way that I could fight back on her behalf. There was no way that I could keep her safe and I wanted to, believe me. I wanted to beat the shit out of that monster. I had this rage inside of me. This anger. This fucking fire to fight him, you know? To push him into a wall like he did our mom. To kick him, to punch him, to fucking end him. To make him pay for all his crimes but I… didn’t. I never did. I never even tried to fight him. Not because I was little or I was afraid of him or something. I didn’t do anything because,” I keep my eyes locked with his as I confess my biggest secret. “I’m like him. I’m like our father.”
It takes him a long moment to speak and when he does his lips are so pinched, just like his features, that they barely move. “You’re like him.”
Shame, pure and undiluted, runs through my body.
Shame and guilt and so much regret that I could possibly drown in it.
As I nod, still keeping my eyes locked with his. “I have issues.”
“What kind of issues?”
“Anger issues.”
He keeps staring at me for a few moments. Then, “I’m guessing these anger issues are worse than Ledger’s.”
If I could smile in this moment, I would.
Because for all our differences and the deliberate distance between us, we are twins after all. I didn’t have to tell him what I had to specify to Conrad.
“Yeah,” I confirm.
“And the proof’s in the pudding, huh,” he goes on.
“Are you the pudding?”
“Apparently.”
I eye his bruised face for a few seconds. Then, throwing him a curt nod, “Yeah, I’m worse than Ledger. I’ve always been worse than Ledger. My anger is bigger, more vicious. And I’ve always known that. Even when I was little. So when one night Dad, in his drunken stupor, confessed about beating Mom and told me I was like him, I made a promise to myself. To suppress it. To bury my anger so deep that no one would ever find out. I made a promise to myself that I’d never become like him. That I’d never raise a hand to my family. I’d never hurt my siblings. Con and Ledger and Callie and you. I made a promise that I’d keep you all safe. I couldn’t keep Mom safe, could I? I couldn’t stop what was happening to her. So when Dad left and I became the monster of the family, I told myself it was up to me. It was up to me to leash myself. To keep myself chained and hidden from the world, from all of you. It was up to me to take care of you all.
“So I started keeping a list of my triggers. I started keeping track of what made me angry, what made me upset, what irritated me, stuff like that. I started keeping my distance from those things. Things that could excite me, upset me, make me lose control. I wouldn’t go to parties, not that they ever interested me but I wouldn’t say yes to get-togethers and things. I’d leave the room when you and Ledger would argue or get into fights. I’d stay away from all the pranks, how you guys would tease and trick Callie, how you’d poke fun at Conrad. I chose soccer because of this very reason. Because it never excited me, never gave me any pleasure. It was easy. It was predictable. It was something I knew well. Something that was safe. Besides I didn’t think I deserved it. I didn’t think I deserved to have anything fun or good or exciting. Because of who I was. And I wouldn’t let myself get close to you.”
Again, I keep my gaze steady on his. “Because on that list of triggers, you are at the top. You’re my biggest trigger, Shepard. Always have been. Maybe it’s because we’re so different. We always have been. Ever since we were little. You were loud; I was quiet. You’d run around the house; I’d sit in a corner and read. You’d play pranks, get into fights, provoke people; I followed all the rules, kept my head down. And more often than not, I was the victim. Of your pranks, your taunts, your provocation. And I used to get so angry. You made me so angry, Shepard. So fucking angry. And while we did fight when we were little, we did beat each other up, after I found out about Dad, about myself, I… stopped. And trust me, it was hard. It was so fucking hard.
“There were so many times when I wanted to retaliate; when I wanted to just shut you up; when I wanted to make you stop; when I just wanted to… show you who I was, what kind of a danger you’re in. Sarah Ann?” I look at him pointedly. “I don’t even remember her face now but I remember how it made me feel when you showed up with her at the house. I had to leave the room. I had to leave the house. So I didn’t punch you in the face. So I didn’t break your bones. So I didn’t do…” I take a deep breath. “What I did last night.”
A force grips my throat but somehow I keep talking, “So I always thought it was for the best. Keeping my distance from you. I always thought it was the only way to keep myself under control. To keep myself contained. And I know you hate me for that. You’ve always hated me for it. For being aloof and cold and… I don’t blame you. I never blamed you. It’s not your fault the way I am.”
I grit my teeth against the pain of my words. “People say that a twin is supposed to be your counterpart. A twin is supposed to be the closest to you, but you got stuck with me. That’s what you always say. It’s true. You got stuck with a twin with issues. Who was so wrapped up in his own shit that he could never be there for you. I could never be your brother. I didn’t know how to be your brother because I’m a fucking time bomb. Who could explode any second. Who did explode on you last night. And… I know it’s not enough, nothing could ever be enough but I’m so fucking sorry about that, Shepard. I’m so fucking sorry for who I am. For the way that I am. I’m so fucking sorry for a lifetime of mistakes with you. A lifetime of being a shitty brother. I’m just so fucking sorry.”
My chest feels heavy.
Tight.
As if a crushing force is sitting on it.
I’ve always known that I’m the worst brother a person could ask for. But after last night I think I became worse than the worst. Because in exchange of what he did, the only thing I had to give him was a beating.
And what he did was… help me.
With his lies, his deception about the fake engagement.
I hadn’t been able to focus on it when I’d just found out last night because so many other things were happening but I thought about it a lot at the police station while they were questioning me and when my twin brother wouldn’t press charges.
Despite our differences, our animosity, he tried to make me see the light.
Maybe he didn’t do it for me or maybe his method was not all that honorable. But it was still very much him and I… I’ve spent so much time trying to run away from him, trying to be so careful and cautious around him, trying to keep my distance that I never got to appreciate who he is as a person.
Yes, he’s a prankster. Yes, he’s cocky and irreverent and arrogant. And yes, he’s completely opposite of me.
But he’s loyal.
He’s generous. He’s pure-hearted.
He doesn’t have secrets like I do.
I mean I always knew he was a better man than me but after last night, he has only grown in my eyes.
“Why did you blow up on me last night?” he asks, breaking into my thoughts. “You already knew the engagement was fake. You knew I wasn’t doing what you thought I was doing. So why did you beat me up?”
I didn’t know it was possible for my chest to feel even tighter but it does. “For her.”
“For her,” he repeats with a knowing look in his eyes as if he already figured.
“To show her.”
“Show her what?”
Again I think he knows the answer; it’s on his face but I still tell him, “The kind of man I am. The kind of man she loves.”
And I don’t regret that.
I thought the day I broke my promise, I’d probably also end myself.
I thought if I ever—ever—raised a hand on my family, siblings, Shepard, I’d cut these hands off. I’d break them. I’d break every bone in my body myself.
I would choke on regret.
And while I hate that I beat up my brother, I can’t regret why I did it.
I did it for her.
I broke my promise for her.
If I was ever going to break it and become the man that I never wanted to be, doing that for her seems like poetic justice.
It seems… right.
Just like everything else with her.
“Like the piece of shit who made us,” he finishes for me.
I clench my fists. “Yes.” Then, I widen my stance and take a deep breath and say, “And so I’m here to ask you a favor.”
“What favor?”
The force that’s crushing my chest increases but I ignore it.
I thrust my hand down my pocket—I’m still wearing last night’s clothes so I never got a chance to put it away, not that I ever put this thing away but still—and fish it out. His eyes flick down to the object I’m holding in my hand before looking back up to me.
“I want you to give this to her,” I say with difficulty. “For real this time.”
“Why?”
I set the ring down on a nearby cart with the flowers. “Because you’re the right man for her.”
“How’s that?”
“You love her.”
“And you don’t?”
I press a palm on my chest.
On the left side where my heart is. I have to. Because my heart’s racing fiercely.
And I wish I could punch my hand in and feel it.
For real.
The way she makes my heart race. It feels like music, something she could dance to, rather than something threatening, something dangerous.
Then, “I do.”
I love her.
I’ve only come to find out a few hours ago and since then I’ve said it to myself one hundred and eight times. And yes, I’ve counted because now that I know I’m never going to stop saying it.
I’m going to fill the entire sky with my I love yous as if they were stars. As if they were flakes of snow. And they say you can’t count stars, don’t they?
I’m going to prove them wrong.
For her.
“But?”
And for her, I say, “But she deserves someone better. She deserves someone less damaged. Someone without issues. Someone who knows how to handle his emotions. Someone uncomplicated, someone who doesn’t hurt her. Like I keep doing.”
“In short,” he concludes, cocking his head to the side, “she deserves someone who isn’t our father.”
I press my chest again.
Exactly.
Even though I love her, even though I will spend my entire goddamn life loving her, she deserves better than me. She deserves better than someone like our father.
Someone who doesn’t constantly battle with his demons. Who can be there for her one hundred percent. I mean I couldn’t be there for my own family, my own siblings, my own twin brother because I was so wrapped up in my own shit.
How can I guarantee that I can be there for her?
I want to though.
I fucking want to.
There’s nothing I want more.
To be that man.
To be her man.
To make her happy.
To live that life with her. The temporary, dream life that we’d been living. To make it real, to make it permanent. To be able to call her mine. To be able to protect her, keep her safe, make her laugh.
There’s nothing I want more than to love her, to show her how much I love her.
Nothing. More.
But the only way I can do that is by asking my brother to step in.
So again as much as it fucking kills me, guts the fuck out of me, I nod. “Yes.”
“No.”
“What?”
“I’m not giving her the ring back.”
I clench and clench my jaw as I stare at his unforgiving features. “Look, I –"
“No, you’ve talked, and you’ve talked a lot. Now you’re going to listen to me,” he cuts me off, anger palpable and clear on his features now. “You’re right. I always thought that I got stuck with you. I got stuck with a twin brother who’s got no clue how to feel things. Who doesn’t feel anything for anyone let alone me. And it pissed me off. It would piss me off so much that I’d deliberately try to provoke you. I’d deliberately try to egg you on, make you angry, make you upset. So you’d fight back. So I could see that you felt something, that you cared about me. But there was nothing. No sign of emotions. No sign of life. Not ever. And yes, I’ve hated you for that. For years.
“For years I thought it was you. You took it away from me. You took away the twin brother that I used to play with, that I used to fight with, argue with, the brother who I used to love. Who cared about me. Who cared about things. Who had some life in him. Who wasn’t a fucking winter wasteland. Years, Stellan.” He pauses to swallow thickly. “But it wasn’t you, was it? It was him. He did that.”
This time when he pauses, it’s to grit his teeth.
It’s to deal with the flickering emotions that I can clearly see on his face.
“I’ve always hated him. Not a big surprise there. We’ve all hated him, despised him for his drinking, his neglect, the way he’d disappear for days, couldn’t hold a job. The way everything fell to Mom. To Con. And now I…” He swallows again. “I can’t even begin to fathom, to fucking comprehend what she went through and it… It fucking pisses me off. It pisses me off that I didn’t know. But what pisses me off the most, what makes me hate him the most right now is what he did to you.”
“What?”
He studies my face, my features that I’m sure appear confused. Then, shaking his head, “God, you have no clue, do you? You’ve got no fucking clue. Okay, first: if we’re placing blame on each other, calling each other shitty then I think I deserve some credit too.”
“You don’t?—”
“Twins are supposed to be so close, aren’t they? They’re supposed to be each other’s counterparts. So then why didn’t I figure it out myself? Why didn’t I get even an inkling that something was going on with you? That there was a reason why you were the way you were. Instead of being pissed at you and provoking you, throwing tantrums like a little bitch, stealing your girl, why didn’t I dig deeper? If we’re supposed to have this bond, the lack of which I always blamed you for, then what the fuck was I doing? Why the fuck did I spend years being pissed off at the wrong person?”
“But I never told you. You didn’t know. You?—”
“And you don’t know either,” he says.
“I don’t know what?”
“That you’re not like that piece of shit who created us,” he lashes out.
I step back.
It’s not because of what he said. Because I remember, very vividly, that Conrad had said the same thing the day I confessed my secret. But I move back and feel sucker punched for the second time within twenty-four hours, because of how Shepard said it.
With such belief, such determination and faith.
“I see you haven’t put two and two together yet,” he says, scoffing, his eyes so much like mine dripping venom. But I think this venom might be for our father not for me. “You’re not like him. You’re nothing like him. He chose to hurt us. He chose to leave us. He chose to get drunk, to sleep around, to hit Mom, Jesus Christ…”
He grits his teeth as if the knowledge of it is physically hurtful and I get it because it is and once again I feel guilty that I had to tell him.
“He chose to neglect every single responsibility a decent parent, a decent human being has. He chose. Do you understand? He chose to do all those things. And what did you choose to do? You chose us. You chose to protect us. You chose to keep us safe. You gave up every single thing that you thought was a trigger. You sacrificed every single thing you thought could make you a threat. You chose to build a life around us, around our safety, around our protection. You chose to build a life for us. You chose to punish yourself for the things that he did to all of us but you never did. And the reason you did break your promise and lay a hand on me was again to protect the girl you love from yourself. So tell me,” he says, his voice still rough and lashing, “how, in what universe, are you similar to the man who always chose to put himself first while you always chose to put yourself last?”
“I…” My breaths are difficult, thick, getting jammed up in my throat. “You… I don’t… But I have t-this thing inside of me that’s like him and –”
“Ledger has this thing inside of him too,” he reminds me. “Are you saying our little brother is like him?”
“Fuck no,” I reply back, my tone abhorrent.
“Are you saying that he doesn’t deserve the family he has now,” he keeps at it. “He doesn’t deserve his wife, his two babies.”
“No. God, no. I never –”
“Because that’s what this is about, isn’t it?” he observes. “About what you do or don’t deserve. What she does or doesn’t deserve. She doesn’t deserve someone like our father and you’re right. But you’re not like our father, are you? You’re the opposite. You’re the absolute fucking opposite of him. What you wanted, what you promised to yourself when you were five, you did it. You’re not like him at all. You’re not an abuser, Stellan. You’re a protector. And you’re the only one who needs to understand that and fucking stop keeping yourself from the things that you want.”
A protector.
Holy fuck, I’m…
I’m not like him.
I’m not…
I’m the opposite of him.
I’m the fucking opposite.
I’m the…
Holy fucking fuck.
All this time… All this time it never occurred to me. It never…
“Didn’t figure that one out, did you,” he says, watching me.
I slowly shake my head. “No.”
He sighs, something akin to amusement flickering through his features. “For all your books and all your reading, you’re not that smart after all.”
I take a breath.
It comes easy.
Probably the easiest breath I’ve taken since I was five.
And say, “I guess not.”
He’s right.
I’m not smart at all. I’m pretty fucking dumb.
I’m pretty fucking slow.
But then again maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. It took me ages to finally understand that I’m in love. That I’ve loved a girl since the moment she flew into my life wearing a white dress and fake wings.
So why should this be any different?
“Still want me to give her the ring?” he asks then.
“Absolutely fucking not,” I say immediately.
His lips twitch. “So this is it, huh. She’s it. She’s the thing you’ll fight me for.”
“She’s the thing I’ll go to war with you for,” I correct him.
He stares at me for a beat. “Good for you then. That I’m prepared to surrender. Because,” he tips his chin, “I’ve got a mean hook.”
The bruise on my jaw throbs.
Not that I care.
I have no intention of tending to these. I deserve them.
I may have not deserved the other countless things I punished myself – something that’s going to take a while for me to get used to – these ones I deserve.
“I shouldn’t have hit you,” I say.
“You had to though.”
“I shouldn’t have gone behind your back,” I say next. “With her.”
“You had to though.”
I had to, yes.
Nothing could’ve stopped me from going for her. I see that now.
From getting with his girl.
But then again, she was never his girl.
She was mine. Since the beginning. Since the very first moment.
“I promised her that I’d help her move on from me,” I confess to him.
“And?”
“And I think I did it. Last night.”
Ironically.
When I showed her who I was. Or rather who I thought I was.
It was in her eyes.
It was in the way she looked at me. Like she couldn’t believe that it was me.
She couldn’t believe that the man she loved was doing those things. These heinous, terrifying things. Things she thought that she could handle.
“Are you going to let that stop you?” he asks.
I shake my head slowly. “No.”
Because I’m not that person as I’ve just found out.
I’m not saying that I’m suddenly perfect. I’m not saying that I’m not damaged or my demons have suddenly gone away. But I understand them better now. I understand that I’m not like my father, never was.
I’m free.
To live. To love. To want.
To go to her.
To finally, fucking finally, make her mine.
Or at least die trying.
I’m fucking free.
And it’s all thanks to my brother.
“Do you know why I started playing soccer?” I ask.
He’s a little taken aback from my change of topic but rolls with it still. “Why?”
“Because of you.”
A light frown appears between his brows. “What?”
Sighing, I nod. “It was you. I knew you liked it. You followed Con around, begging him to teach you. You’d always be outside kicking the ball. I never got it of course. I was more interested in reading and books and stuff like that. But I also remember that we’d fight with each other. A lot. You’d steal my books, I’d chase after you. You’d play pranks on me, I’d fight with you. Even back then I was so angry.” I shake my head. “But anyway, I picked it up because of you. Because I wanted to have something in common with you. I wanted to try to get close to you. So we didn’t have to fight all the time and I kept playing because of you. Because those were the only times when it felt like we weren’t against each other but on the same team. That it came easy to me is a different story. That it became safe, something I could control, something I could do with my life, is something else. But you were the one. Who got me into it. So in many ways you gave me a lifeline. Some direction of what I could do with my life. And it all started because I wanted to spend time with you. Anyway all this to say that you’re my twin brother. I care about you. I don’t know how to show it but I do and... Thanks for… Just thanks.”
He keeps watching me too, his features impassive.
Then, “I think you should stop. Because you’re going to make me cry, Stella.”
And I chuckle lightly. “And we can’t have that. Not with all your fans hanging around.”
“Fuck no,” he says, chuckling as well. “I’m the Wrecking Thorn. It’s bad for my reputation.”
“Noted.”
“And if you’re so desperate to spend time with me, maybe I can let you buy me a drink some time.”
I keep smiling. “I’d like that.”
I would.
I spent my entire life keeping him at a distance and now I will spend the rest of my life trying to be there for him. Being as loyal to him as he is to me.
I turn to leave when something occurs to me. “Hey, what were doing with that redhead? Callie’s friend.”
All traces of humor vanish from his face and his features get hard. “Nothing.”
I study him suspiciously. “Are you hooking up with her?”
“Fuck no,” he bursts out as if disgusted.
“So then…” Something occurs to me. “Is she the one? Is she your fucking stalker?”
He breathes out sharply. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Don’t you have a girl to go and get?”
I study him again. “She is, isn’t she? So what, she has a crush on you. Is she dangerous?”
“Get the fuck gone, okay?” he bursts out again. “Just get lost.”
Still I take my time and then, “Do you need my help? With her, I mean.”
Words sound foreign on my tongue.
I can’t remember a time when I would’ve asked him this. I’ve of course helped him out where I could but I don’t think I’ve ever offered my help to him. As in I’ve never showed him my concern like a good brother should have.
He probably realizes that and some of the tension leaches out of his frame. As he shakes his head and replies, “No. This one’s all mine. I’ll handle her.”
Exhaling a long breath, I nod in acceptance and finally leave.
To go to New York.
To her parents’ house.
When they took me away last night, I knew she’d be in trouble. People would hear about it, meaning her mother would hear about it. And instead of taking it out on the actual culprit – me – she’ll take it out on her. Which is why when they first took me to the police station, I was agitated. I was uncooperative. I wouldn’t answer any of their questions until I got a phone call.
Which I did and I called Conrad, telling him everything.
What I did. What happened and about her mother. I made him promise me that he’d take care of it, keep an eye on her, make sure that she was okay.
Like always, he came through.
He called her father and told him about her mother’s abuse. From what Conrad told me, her father had no idea about it and when he found out, he was angry. He assured Conrad that nothing would touch her, least of all her mother.
But I don’t trust her father.
I don’t trust anyone with her safety but myself.
And even though there’s every chance that she must hate me right now, I’m going to somehow convince her to… let me.
Just let me.
Protect her.
Love her.
Keep her.