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Wyatt swallowed, glancing over at Thoreau. “It never occurred to me to stand up to the old man. Noah and I didn’t let the bullshit he spewed touch us, so I didn’t know how much damage he’d done until it was too late.”
“You did stand up to him,” Thoreau spoke quietly but with conviction that commanded their attention. “By choosing each other, choosing happiness instead of repeating his mistakes.”
Wyatt scoffed but Thoreau wasn’t finished. “Your brothers? They have exactly what and who they want. They’re all safe and loved. You know I’m right, Wyatt. They’re happy now. That’s how you beat the bully. You live the better life. Make better choices.”
His words struck a chord in Wyatt, and he took a deep breath, feeling…lighter. Because Thoreau was right—his brothers were safe and they were loved. They hadn’t let what Elder did fuck up their lives, so he shouldn’t either.
“What do you want, Wyatt?” Fiona asked suddenly. “What better choice would make you happy?”
He ran one calloused thumb over her cheek, staring at her soft lips and wondering why she kept so many things to herself. “I want to hear your story.”
She blinked at him. “My story?”
“It’s your turn. I don’t even know if you have any brothers. Or sisters. Or parents. We’ve known each other for a while now. I should know something like that, shouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know, either,” Thoreau admitted. “I’ve asked, but Fiona always changes the subject.”
“My life isn’t very—”
“Fiona,” Wyatt interrupted. This felt more important than the plan. More important than anything else that had happened between them. He wanted to understand her. Know her. He needed to. “Give us something.”
She leaned back, her mind obviously racing, and Wyatt tensed. Had he said the wrong thing again? Put his foot in it?
“I had a little sister,” she finally said, sounding more subdued than he liked. “I was thirteen when she died. Elaine was ten.”
Well shit. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “I didn’t—”
“Know?” Her laugh sounded tinny. Unnatural. “That’s what we’re doing here, Wyatt. And it’s good. A little dark for a party but…” She shook her head. “I still have issues with where I come from, who I come from, but I’m proud of who I am now. I do my best to help people. Help kids like Elaine, so I think she’d be proud, too, but I’m not sure. I don’t remember as much about her as I should.”
“What happened?” Thoreau asked quietly.
“Neglect.” Her voice was flat but her gray-green eyes flashed with restrained anger. “My parents had a few issues. That’s the nicest way for me to say it. My mother didn’t believe in divorce or medicine. My father had been fine for years, but then he started hearing voices and getting paranoid. It wasn’t until I was in college that I realized he had been suffering from schizophrenia, but back then, he was just frightening. I took care of my sister when we weren’t at school, but—”
She’d wrapped her arms around herself so tightly that her fingers were turning white, so Wyatt took one and rubbed the blood back into it while Thoreau did the same with the other. She barely seemed to notice.
“We never had a lot, but eventually, because of those issues of theirs, we lost our house. We lost our car. Every time I came home from school another piece of my life was gone. We walked the streets at night, more than once, looking for my father because my mother had no one to leave us with. In the end, we were at a very cheap motel, and she was working at a restaurant across the street to sneak food home for us while I washed our clothes in a dirty bathtub. And I was a teenager, so of course I was angry about it all the time. Ashamed.” She took a breath and squeezed their hands.
“Jesus, Fi,” Wyatt swore, pulling her into his lap and pressing his lips to her temple. “Who wouldn’t be?”
“Elaine,” Fiona answered with a wobbly smile. “She was never angry. She still believed it was temporary. That we’d have a home soon. I sent emails to my mother’s sister from the school library, asking if she’d take us in, but she never did anything but promise to pray for us. Who says that to a kid begging for help?”
Thoreau reached out to rub her shoulder and his eyes met Wyatt’s. He looked about as shell-shocked as Wyatt felt. To go from nothing for years to this? It was more than either of them had expected.
Fiona gave a shuddering sigh. “I was so angry I didn’t notice that Elaine had stopped talking. Stopped smiling. That she had a fever. By the time I did, it was too late. My mother wouldn’t let me take her to the hospital, and my father was too busy talking to himself in the corner to listen. She died that night. I still don’t know exactly why.”
