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The two referring to music had me thinking about it. Especially when Thatcher referenced how old it was. I didn’t really listen to old music, but the last time I’d heard an old song by a male singer, I definitely remembered.
I chillingly remembered.
I hadn’t understood that night. I hadn’t gotten it, but I think I started to now. Thatcher had had such a strong reaction the night we’d hooked up at that motel, that old music playing next door…
Oh, God, Thatcher.
I really wanted to be sick now, and Thatcher’s reaction to what the man said only hardened his expression. His nostrils flared. “Well, Coach used to play a record all the time. Every single fucking time.”
I gripped the bed. “Thatcher…”
He wouldn’t look at me again, staying focused on the gunman and the situation.
“Joe played it a lot after we got our niece,” the gunman said, backing away a little. Actually, he backed completely away, and it was as if he was talking to himself. His own musings. His jaw moved. “Our niece came to live with us after our sister passed. Our sister was in an accident at this power plant she worked at. It was bad.”
The room was silent other than what he said, deathly silent, eerily silent.
The man rubbed his mouth. “Kimi… our niece, couldn’t have been any older than nine.” His gun lowered to his side, his head shaking. “And Joe used to always play that record for her. I got Kimi in a home now. She’s not well. She’s…” The guy started shaking. He stared at the ground. “She’s troubled and self-harms a lot. I thought that was just because she lost her mom. That she was sad because she?—”
The man pressed a fist to his mouth, the same fist that had the gun.
“He used to play that record. All the time he used to play that record for her…” The guy’s voice broke, and the only movement in the room was Thatcher when he faced me. The gun wasn’t on him anymore. It wasn’t on anyone. It was angled toward the ground, forgotten.
Thatcher said nothing in response to what the man said, but he didn’t need to. I didn’t think he needed to try to convince this guy of anything else, that his brother was a pedophile, a monster.
The man swallowed, and his sight shifted from Thatcher to me. He went back and forth, back and forth so many times.
“I’m sorry,” was all he said, and then, he was leaving the room. I didn’t focus on him because Thatcher finally made his way to me.
And how quickly I fell into his arms.
It was like home there. Wonderful. Solid home, and I whimpered so hard into his chest. “Thatcher…”
The tears racked my body, his bare chest drenched beneath his costume’s jacket. I couldn’t stop crying, but it wasn’t for myself.
Not by a long shot.
Thatcher said nothing during my sobs. He just held me, his big hands warming my back and holding on to me so tight. He was consoling me, and that made my tears fall more. That he felt the need to do that for me when I should be doing that for him.
“Snowflake, I was so scared,” he said, the words a whisper in my hair. “I was so fucking scared he’d hurt you. I thought I’d fucking die, snow. I would die if he…”
I pinched out more tears, but again, none of those were for me. He really was only thinking about me right now, my safety and well-being. He was doing that just like he had for me the summer when we were twelve. It was the same thing he’d done for his friends before that. Thatcher Reed took abuse for all of us, and here he was trying to protect me again.
Here he was trying to save me again.
CHAPTER
THIRTY
Thatcher - age 12
“Holy shit, she’s cute.”
I glanced up from the lunch line, Wells ahead of me. Dorian and Ares were ahead of him, and they turned too after what Wells said. My friends and I focused on a girl across the mess hall, and she stood out since she was the only girl here. This wasn’t a boys’ football camp, but girls never came. Probably because they didn’t really play too much.
The girl Wells was talking about was cute. She was a black girl with long hair that looked like braids but weren’t quite. They were thick, and she had them in a braid over her shoulder. She was with a woman who had her arms around her and was grinning. They were both speaking to Coach Barlowe, and that was when I looked away. I didn’t care who that dude was talking to.
Wells continued to say stuff about the girl, but I wasn’t listening anymore. That wasn’t good because my friends knew when I was quiet since I wasn’t usually. I wasn’t quiet. Except for when we came to camp. I was quiet, and I played ball, and that was it. Dorian and Ares called me focused when I was here. Yeah, I was focused.
