Page 68 of Monstrous Serpent

Garrett's hands wrap around my wrist, but he doesn't pull. His face reddens first, then his eyes. His mouth opens, a choked sound pushing out as he stands there, looking at me the way he used to look at our father.

I let go.

He sags against the tree, coughing, as he rubs his throat. “I was a kid too.”

“You were eighteen.”

“That meant nothing in our home.”

“It wasn’t a home.”

Garrett straightens and meets my gaze. “I’m sorry, Hunt. Dad made me.”

“You tried to kill Atlas.”

“I'm so fucking sorry.” His voice cracks, and he drags his hands down his face. “I didn't know what to do. I was scared, Hunt. You were making plans to go away.” He cries again. “You were all I had, and you were planning to leave for hockey. And you were going to leave me behind with Dad.”

My fists shake at my sides, molars grinding so hard the pressure shoots into my temples. I look at the pavement.

Atlas and I had been talking about Juniors. Which teams we might make, which state we'd have to move to. I planned the whole way out and never thought about my brother once.

Fuck.

Garrett wipes his nose and huffs out a broken laugh. “Guess you left me anyway in the end.”

The pressure builds behind my ribs again as I scrape my hands over my head, locking them at the back of my neck.

I should've told him the plan.

But he's the one who ran to our father after finding out about it.

That was his choice.

Garrett drags the heel of his hand under one eye, then the other. He pushes off the tree, chin lifting a fraction. “I always tried to protect you.”

“Until you didn't.”

“One time, Hunt.” He steps forward, lines across his forehead cutting deeper. “One fucking time. What about all the others?”

My eyes land on the pale, raised skin along his left cheek.

I was five when he got it. We were tucked under deadfall, both of us holding our breath while Dad moved through the trees too close. Garrett bolted out of the brush, waving his arms, screaming, pulling him away from me while I stayed quiet because he told me to.

Our father caught him twenty yards out.

The screams coming through the trees went on for a long time. I had my arms around my knees and my hands over my ears. It didn't help.

Silence kept me safe. Garrett kept me hidden.

When it was over, my eight-year-old brother’s face was split open on one side, his left arm hanging wrong. Our father dropped him in the truck bed and drove home without saying a word.

My stomach drops, blood going cold.

“I know what I did that night was wrong.” Garrett's fingers press into the scar, tracing its length. “But you grew up in that house. You know what it was like.”

“Don't think I can give you what you're looking for.”

He looks at the ground, the toe of his boot digging into the grass. “I wasn’t as brave as you. Maybe at one time, when we were younger. But later . . . he broke me, Hunt.”