Page 294 of Trick or Stalk

She walks over to it. Her fingers brush the cover. “You kept it.”

“Yes.” I close the door, but don’t lock it.

Presley notices that too.

“You can leave whenever you want.”

Her throat moves. “Tell me.”

No easing into it. No more delays.

So I give her the truth.

“My dad died when I was eight.”

She goes still.

“Wilder was six. Mom never really recovered.”

I lean against the wall because I don't trust myself to sit.

“She loved us. I know she did. But after Dad died, everything became hard. Money. The house. Raising us. She worked constantly and still barely kept us afloat.”

Presley doesn't interrupt.

“When I was eleven, she met Grant.” Even saying his name makes something ugly move through me.

“He was charming at first. Helpful. Fixed shit around the house. Bought groceries. Made Mom laugh.” I stare past Presley. “I hated him almost immediately.”

“Why?”

“I saw things she didn't.”

Little things. A look when Mom disagreed with him. The way his smile disappeared when nobody else was watching. The first time he squeezed her arm hard enough to make her wince and then laughed like he'd been playing.

“Cracks,” I say. “That's all they were at first.”

Until they weren't.

“The first time he hit her, I got between them.”

Presley's face changes. “How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

“Hades.”

“He hit me instead.”

Her eyes close briefly.

“I learned something that night.”

She looks at me. “What?”

“That if I could make him angry enough at me, sometimes he'd leave her alone.”

“Hades…”