Page 112 of No Good Fight

Dad moves behind her, his hand settling on her shoulder. His eyes stay on me, wet and furious in a way I don’t know what to do with.

“The fence was only a few nights ago,” I say. “Preston painted a message where the cameras couldn’t catch him. The power went out during the storm. I panicked, and Ryder helped. Yesterday morning I went to work. Then I stopped at my apartment because I needed clothes and chargers and normal-person things because I haven’t been living here. Just staying here because I’m so damn scared. I called Ryder before I got out of the car. I was still on the phone when I saw the door was open.”

My voice fades.

Ryder’s hand curls into a fist at his side. He doesn’t reach for me.

Nia moves first. She picks up my abandoned coffee, puts it back into my hands, then steps away before it can become a fuss. Small. Clean. Helpful without trapping me inside gratitude.

I take a sip because my mouth has gone dry.

“A man came out of my apartment. He had a ski mask and gloves. He grabbed me. I fought. Mrs. Vance came out with her cane and hit him until he ran.”

“She said she had him,” Dad says.

Despite everything, a laugh almost breaks loose. “She did say that. She hit him with her cane.”

“She also said his shoes were cheap,” Nia says.

“They were,” I say. “Terrible choice for crime.” I didn’t see the shoes. But Mrs. Vance saved my life, so whatever she said is what I’m going to defend.

Josh turns away and presses both hands to the back of his neck. His elbows point out. His shoulders rise and fall once, then again. Nia watches him for a second before taking his coffee from the counter and putting it back into his hand after physically moving his arm.

He drinks because she told him to without using any words.

When he turns back, his face is worse. Less angry. More hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me? About the abuse? About any of this?”

I grip the coffee cup tighter. “Because I knew you’d look like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like my pain is something you can punch your way through.”

The words hit him. I see it happen. His mouth opens, then shuts, and for a second he looks like the kid who used to stand between me and neighborhood boys when they teased me for being small. My brother, who always wanted to protect me and sometimes forgot I wasn’t an extension of his guilt.

“I’m your brother,” he says.

“I know.”

“You should’ve called me.”

“I know that too.”

His eyes flash. “Then why Ryder?”

The kitchen goes silent.

Ryder’s attention sharpens, but he still doesn’t speak. Mom looks between the two of us, exhausted and afraid. Dad’s hand tightens on Mom’s shoulder. Nia closes her eyes for one second like she has seen this part of the disaster coming since the driveway.

I set the coffee down because I don’t want it in my hands for this.

“Because I wanted him.”

Josh flinches.

Not because he didn’t know. He isn’t stupid. None of them are. But knowing and hearing are different things, especially with Ryder three feet away staring at me like I’m the center of his universe. And our relationship status is something my brother didn’t want confirmed.

I make myself keep going. “I called Ryder because he believed me before I believed myself. Because he didn’t make me prove I was scared enough or that the threat was real. Because when I told him something felt wrong, he didn’t ask me whether I was sure. He said I wasn’t paranoid. He didn’t have to be told about the abuse, because he saw the changes in me that no one else did. None of you even knew about Preston and what he did to me. How could I just come out and say all of that on top of what’s happening now? It’s ridiculous and unbelievable and there’s no chance in hell that I’d tell you and risk the look on your face that said you didn’t believe me.”