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I’m off my feet in an instant, my knuckles flying at his face, bones cracking with the gravity of my rage. I tackle him to the nasty carpet, and all I want to do is bury him under the floorboards.
Blood spills from his nose, misting me. His own fist slams against my jaw, sending shock waves of throbbing pain throughout my body. Clearly being the more efficient fighter, he gains the upper hand the moment he punches me, and I’m on my back, my hands going straight to his neck.
My fingers curl. A vicious noose.
He does the same to me.
We’re throttling and strangling and gagging.
And then my mother’s face flashes to mind, her eyes bugged out, mouth open wide. The life snuffed out of her. The hideous purple tie coiled around her neck, sealing her fate.
My hands release his neck, arms dropping to the floor with surrender. With submission. With the final threads of my humanity still intact.
If he still wants to strangle me, so be it.
I’d rather be dead than become my father.
Wyatt’s teeth bare, his stubbled chin wet with strings of saliva. He looks at me, right in my eyes, and I guess he sees a sad white flag staring back at him because his grip loosens and he lets me go. He jumps off me, reeling backward onto the floor, where blood from both our faces stains the already mottled carpet. Inching back until his spine hits the wall, he slams his head against the panels with a final growl and closes his eyes. “She couldn’t go through with it,” he mutters, and I almost don’t even hear him over the ringing in my ears. “She pussied out before I could sink my dick between her lips. Congratulations.”
I lie there, staring at the dusty ceiling fan, letting his words sink in.
“Now get the fuck out.”
His tone is quiet, calm.
Done.
I pull up on my elbows, still catching my breath. We glance at each other, just once, and there’s a flickering of mutual understanding that hangs mutely in the air.
Don’t touch June.
Don’t touch Wendy.
And the damnedest thing happens—
We obey.
June is curled on her bed when I get home that night, knees drawn up, Aggie tucked tightly in her grip. I hover in the doorway, a broken shadow.
“June.”
My voice sounds just as cracked.
But she doesn’t take my splinters and holes as any sort of weakness. No, she takes them as an invitation to slip inside.
June jumps from the bed, clad in only an ivory nightgown. She races toward me, slowing to a stop in the center of the room. “Brant.”
Her voice quavers. My name pours into the darkness like a plea, an apology, and a confession all at once. Just the sound of her so lost, so crestfallen, has my walls tumbling down for good, as if the last five weeks were nothing but a bad dream.
My legs start moving. I close the gap between us, catching her face between my palms. “Junebug.”
She gasps a little, a burst of something. Relief or remorse, I can’t tell. Tears glisten in her eyes, glittering with silver moonlight.
Her hands lift to my wrists, curling tight. Holding on. Like she can’t believe I’m real.
“You called me Junebug.”
My heart squeezes.
