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Brady’s shoulders are shaking. I move in close, sit on my heels beside him, put my hand on his back. Feel the tremor running through him.

“He’s right.” I keep my voice low. “Brady. I’ve been on the other end of that mouth. I know what it does. Cruz wanted it. He was begging for it. That’s not what Gerald did to me. That’s something completely different.”

He turns his head toward me. His eyes are wet.

“It’s play.” I touch his jaw. “It’s words people choose together. Cruz was choosing it. Loud.”

“Loud,” Cruz confirms.

Behind me, Eli moves. He sits up, swings his legs over the edge of the bed, and comes around to Brady’s other side. Settles. His hand finds the back of Brady’s neck and squeezes once.

“Williams.”

Brady’s whole body responds to that voice. I see it happen. The way his spine straightens before his brain catches up.

“Yes, Coach.”

“Look at me.”

Brady meets his eyes.

Eli’s voice goes low, steady, absolute. “What I just watched was you being yourself. The roughness, the words out of your mouth. There’s nothing wrong with what you did. There’s nothing wrong with what you said. There is nothing wrong withwhoyou are.”

Brady’s face crumples.

“That’s an order, Williams. You don’t get to hate yourself for what just happened. You don’t get to take that away from Cruz, either. He earned every mark. Look at him grinning.”

Cruz, on cue, grins wider.

“I,” Brady’s voice breaks. “I was so scared I’d be like him.”

“Like who, baby?” I ask, even though I think I know.

“My dad.”

The room goes quiet in a different way.

Brady’s hands come up to scrub at his face. He doesn’t crumple so much as fold into himself, and Cruz immediately gathers him in, pulls him against his chest, marks and all.

“He caught me,” Brady says into Cruz’s collarbone. The words come out muffled. “When I was thirteen. He caught me in the bathroom just touching myself. Just hands. And he… ”

He stops. Breathes.

“He beat the shit out of me.” His voice flattens. “Told me I was disgusting. Demons. He said demons. At church the next Sunday my youth pastor preached on it. I knew it was for me. Everyone knew it was for me.”

Dante has shifted closer now, sitting cross-legged on Brady’s other side. His hand finds Brady’s shoulder. Says nothing. Just exists in the space to comfort.

“And the worst part is I wanted it more after.” Brady’s voice cracks. “Not less. More. All the time. I was thirteen and I wanted everything. Constantly. Girls. Boys. And I knew, I just knew, if I let any of it out it’d be too much. Too rough. Too loud.”

His shoulders shake.

“I thought if I ever let go, I’d be him.”

“You’re not him.” Eli’s voice is steel. “You hear me, Williams? You are not your father, and you didn’t deserve that. Any of it.”

“What your father did is reprehensible. You were a child.” I move closer, fit myself against his back, wrap my arms around his ribs from behind. “Cruz asked. Cruz begged. You listened. Every step. Your dad didn’t listen, didn’t care to. He humiliated and shamed you.”

“And Christ, that mouth,” Cruz mutters into Brady’s hair. “I’m gonna need that on a regular schedule. Sorry to break it to you.”