Page 11 of Silent Damage

I almost believe it. Almost. “Mmhmm” is all I give him.

I don’t buy it. This man was meaner than a snake and said not one word after I left. If he wants me to say, “Wow, so good to see you, Pop!” Then he'd better not hold his breath.

Linda clears her throat. “Well. Let’s get you home. I’m sure Gabe will be happy to see you.”

I bark out a laugh without even meaning to.

“You think so, huh?” I ask with a brow raised.

Doug grumbles, and Linda looks sad, and I hate that my stomach twists with guilt because of it.

“I think it’ll be good,” Linda says. “No. I know it will.”

We’ll see about that, lady.

Gabe

I use the tip of my index finger to blend the pencil lead. I’ve been drawing for hours because today is the day that my life gets turned on its head with the arrival of my stepbrother.

God, that word feels weird. Stepbrother.

I lean back and take a look at my drawing. It’s the fort Jason and I built in the woods when we were twelve. We made it with sticks and an old tarp we found lying on the side of the road. The thing was filthy, but we loved it.

If I ever couldn’t find Jason in the park, I always knew where to look. That was our spot.

Our safe place.

The screen door screeches open, and I nearly jump through the roof. Without even a knock, Doug barges into the trailer with Mom close behind.

My body turns cold.

Jason walks in a moment later.

It’s like a punch to the gut.

I prepared myself for this—looked at my reflection in the mirror, trying to convince myself that I hated him.

But now he’s standing right in front of me.

He’s taller than when he left—still skinny, but he’s got that ropey muscle that tall, scraggly guys have. His hair is still that crazy strawberry blonde color, but he’s got the sides shaved.

Tattoos.

He always wanted tattoos—talked about it all the time.

And there they are, peeking from under his shirt, covering his collarbones and arms. There’s a scorpion on his forearm and what looks like two stems crossing over his neck with wilted petals.

Who knows what’s underneath the shirt…

His faded jeans and ripped-up white tank top with the words Eat Shit surrounded by big red lips are a sight to behold.

We lock eyes, and for a split second, I see the Jason I loved in his eyes, and I’m transported back in time.

“I grabbed some of my dad’s whisky.” Jason hands me a flask, a sly grin on his face. I love it when he’s bad. He looks like the Cheshire Cat, all smirks and eyebrow waggles.

“Your dad’s gonna kill you if he finds out.”

Jason huffs a joyless laugh. “He’ll beat my ass no matter what I do. If it’s gonna happen anyway, I might as well have a little fun along the way, right?”