50. Chapter Fifty #3
“She’s better off without me,” I start, and my voice isn’t steady. “Before I get in any deeper and do real damage to her. Because I don’t know a single thing about — love. Relationships. Any of it. I don’t have it in me. Never had it. I’m not capable of it.”
Nobody says anything. Rowan lowers himself back into his chair.
“I was in foster care.” The words feel enormous coming out, years of them backed up behind, and I make myself keep going, because I know if I stop now I’ll never start again.
“I never knew my mom.” I grab the water with both hands.
“Dad’s around somewhere. French Canadian.
He’s a junkie, if he’s even still alive, I don’t know.
He used to yell at me in French so that nobody would know what he was saying. ”
I look up.
Shit.
Here I am doing the same fucking thing: talking in French so nobody can understand me.
I run a hand down my face and inhale.
Rowan’s got his forearms on the table, and he isn’t moving. Benson’s jaw is doing something. Stanley’s face is wide open, and I’ve never once seen him look like that.
“That’s why it comes out in French.” My thumb goes along the wet ring the glass left. “When it’s — when I can’t. I’m not good with words.”
Nobody says anything. Nobody’s shifting in their chair, either.
“I didn’t grow up on hockey.” That one gets a reaction — Stanley’s eyebrows going.
“I didn’t skate till I was fourteen. One of the homes I was in, the guy, Josh — I wouldn’t talk.
Not to him, not to his wife, not at school.
So he put me in the net.” I shrug. “You don’t have to talk in the net.
He said if I got good enough somebody might pay for college one day, and he was right, so. ”
I pause.
“That’s the only reason I’m here at Camden.”
Blue wipes his mouth, glancing at the table, deep in thought.
“So I never—” I have to go around it. “This. I didn’t know that this was real. I thought it was something people said.”
I stare at the table, and they wait me out.
“The first party we threw here.” My throat does something, and I push through it.
“Freshman year. This girl spilled a drink down my shirt.
She was — “ I stop, remembering her then. She was beautiful, but I don’t say that.
“It was her. And something switched in me like I had finally realized where I was standing and what it meant to be part of the Wolves, and one piece of the Hawthorne boys. I never had anything before this house. And then I saw her, and I wanted her too.”
Rowan makes a small sound. Not a word.
“And I got her. Somehow. And then I spent two years being so scared of losing her that I never actually had her.” My hands are flat on the table. “Because I thought if you guys knew, I’d lose this. And I couldn’t––”
I stop.
“I couldn’t lose Hawthorne, so I hid her.”
Benson leans back and drags a hand down his face.
“And I lost her anyway. And now you all know. So.”
I put my face in my hands.
“So that’s it.”
For a long moment nobody says anything, and I keep my face down because I can’t stand to see what’s on theirs.
“Percy.” It’s Benson, and his voice has gone rough. “Look at me, man.” I don’t. “Percy.” I glance up. His jaw is locked tight. “You were never going to lose this. You hear me? Not over a girl, not over a rule, not over whatever’s in your head. We’re brothers.”
Blue nods and echoes, “Brothers.”
Stanley adds, “Hawthorne brothers for life.”
“Why the hell would we do that to you?” Rowan says, and he sounds almost angry about it, angry on my behalf. “We’re family. You’ve been our brother since day one in this house. There’s nothing you could’ve told us that changes that.”
“You could’ve told us,” Benson says. “Years ago. Any of it.”
“What’re you going to do?” Stanley asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I never have. I’ve just been guessing and hiding.”
Stanley claps his hands together once, loud, and stands up.
“Okay. Okay, I’ll tell you what.” There’s a look coming onto his face now, the dangerous one.
“I cannot — I will not — sit here and watch you rot at this table over a whiteboard I drew a dick on when I was nineteen.” He kicks one of the broken halves skittering across the floor. “So, what do you say, boys?”
“God,” Rowan says, leaning back and covering his eyes with a hand.
“Christ, Stan. What do you have in mind?” Benson asks.
“I don’t know if you want him getting involved in this,” Blue says — the first full sentence out of him all night, dry as old bone, and I feel my chest unclench half an inch at the sound of it.
Stanley lifts his eyebrows at me. And for once, he waits. He actually waits for my answer. “Say the word, and I back all the way off, man. I mean it. This is your thing, not mine.” He leans down on the table with both hands. “But if you want help getting her back? I’ve got a real good idea.”
I look around the table. At Benson with his tight jaw, and Rowan with his hand over his eyes, and Blue sitting quiet and steady at my shoulder. Stanley is grinning at me like the whole broken world is a fixable thing.
My brothers. The ones I was so sure I’d lose.
I wipe my face with the back of my hand, and for the first time in a month, a feeling that isn’t grief moves through me.
“Yeah,” I say. “What is it?”