Page 261 of Wicked Brutal

“Should I go back and try again?”

She catches my hand before I can turn around. “No.”

I laugh as she pulls me inside, then immediately regret it when the cut on my lip pulls.

Penny's smile disappears. “I hate him.”

“I know.”

“I really fucking hate him.”

“I know that too.”

She closes the door behind me. Cat and Becca are already in the living room. So is Darla.

I stop. “Oh.”

Darla smiles from the couch, a medical bag beside her and the portable ultrasound case on the coffee table.

My eyes go straight to it, then to her. “Is that—“

“Yes.”

Relief hits me so fast my eyes burn.

Cat gets up from the couch. “Before you argue, Ryan was going to lose his fucking mind.”

“I wasn’t going to argue.”

“Good.”

Becca comes over and hugs me carefully. Very carefully. Then she pulls back and looks at my face, her eyes finding my lip. “Oh, Ally.”

“It’s okay.” Three faces change. Right. Apparently we’re no longer saying that. I smile a little. “It looks worse without makeup?”

“That was not better,” Penny informs me.

“I tried.”

Cat’s eyes move over my face. Her jaw tightens.

The boys already told them everything — what Dad did to me, to Tobias, to Mom. They know about the shaking, the slap, where he grabbed me. But knowing something happened and seeing what it left behind aren’t the same thing. I can watch it land all over again, in real time, on all three of their faces.

Darla stands. “Let’s check you.”

We pile into one of the downstairs guest rooms, and while Darla sets up, I sit on the bed. Becca sits beside me immediately. Cat takes the other side. Penny stands near the foot.

Darla looks at me. “Take off the sweater.”

I hesitate — not because of them, they already know, but knowing and seeing still aren’t the same. I pull it over my head and the room goes completely silent. The marks have gotten worse. Bruises on both upper arms, dark enough now that there’s no pretending what made them. Hands. Dad’s hands, still there in purple and blue, wrapped around both arms from where he grabbed and shook me. Becca inhales sharply. Penny’s face empties. Cat goes terrifyingly still. Nobody says anything for several seconds, so I try to make it easier.

Cat reaches out, then stops before touching the bruises, her fingers curling into her palm instead. “That motherfucker.”

“Cat.”

“I know. Good day.”

Becca takes my hand. Her eyes are already shiny, but her voice is steady. “Good fucking day.”