Untamed (The Bradshaw Brothers #3)

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO

Someone is screaming.

At first, I think it’s one of my asshole older brothers watching TV with the volume all the way up, so I ignore it. I’m about to beat this video game, and soon my mom will give them shit and make them turn it down anyway.

But the sound continues, the wailing taking on an edge that makes the hair at the back of my neck stand up. I’ve never heard anything like it.

What the fuck is that?

I pause my game, dropping the controller to my bed as I slowly slide off the edge of the mattress.

Unease grows in my gut with every step I take toward the closed door of my room.

Reaching out, I grab the knob and slowly twist, the move silent and careful since I don’t know what the hell is going on.

Creeping out into the hall, I fight the urge to stop, to go back to my room, as the sound gets louder. I swallow hard as I reach the top of the stairs, leaning to peer down to the first floor.

My mom is on the floor, crumpled in a pile. My dad is right beside her, his arms around her jolting body as he tries to soothe her.

Tries to get her to quit screaming.

The sound is horrible—an unbearable mix of sobbing and howling—and I bring both hands to my ears, trying to block it out.

But I can’t. Even muffled, it seems to penetrate into my brain.

Closing my eyes doesn’t help either. If anything, it almost makes it worse.

Gives me nothing to focus on but the way her crying echoes through my head.

I manage to stumble back into my room, closing the door as I try to get as much space between me and my mother’s wailing as I can. I know I should go find out what’s wrong, but I can’t.

I’m too scared. Too freaked out.

I keep moving, going all the way into my bathroom. Closing the door, I turn on the overhead fan, and slide down the wall to sit on my ass, hands back over my ears. I can’t hear her anymore, but I’m not taking any chances.

I stay there for a long time. Afraid to leave the safety of the darkened room.

It’s not until someone knocks that I finally get up, flipping on the light so I can pretend I was in here the whole time. That I didn’t hear what was happening downstairs.

I open the door and find my dad on the other side, his expression completely different than I’ve ever seen it. He’s always happy. Always smiling.

Not now.

He motions to my bed, voice raspy. “I need to talk to you, buddy.”

My insides churn, the way my dad’s acting making me nearly as sick as the sound of my mother’s crying did. “About what?”

Dad takes a deep breath, and I don’t miss the way it seems to hitch as he tries to let it go.

“Titus and Kara were in a car accident today.” His voice breaks as he continues.

“Titus was burned pretty badly and Kara and the baby died.” He doesn’t mince words, but that’s how my dad is.

He’s honest. Tells the truth even when it’s hard. I like that about him.

Usually. Right now, I wish—just a little—he would lie.

Because I don’t feel good. My chest is tight and my stomach is sick. My throat feels like it’s closing and my limbs are starting to shake.

My father must notice that I’m struggling, because he pulls me into a hug, squeezing tight. “I know, buddy. I know.”

It takes a second to get my arms to work, but then I squeeze him back, hanging on tight as feelings I don’t know what to do with assault me from every angle. Everything hurts. My head. My stomach. My chest.

My heart.

“We are going to get through this, okay?” Dad chokes the words out, making me wonder if he really believes them. “I promise.”

How? How can that possibly be true? Not after the way I heard my mother crying. Not with the way my dad is crying now.

This doesn’t feel like something we can get past. This feels like it will stay forever, hurting for always.

I love Kara. She’s been around almost half my life. Thinking about her being dead is…

No. I can’t do it. I can’t breathe. Can’t think.

And if this is how I feel, I can’t even imagine what my brother is feeling.

But I can make sure I never find out.