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It’s not a physical place I want to be.
Take it away. Take this fucking pain away.
My mouth dries more. “They’re just messing around.” My voice is barely a whisper. But I think he hears because his jaw clenches.
Anger flares in his amber eyes.
I don’t know why I defend my brothers or regurgitate my mom and dad’s words. It feels easier to agree with my parents than to say what I know is true.
Silence stretches for an uncomfortable beat and then Lo says, “Can I see it again?”
I glance to the living room.
Everyone sits on couches, most aren’t facing the kitchen, and their attention cements to the little kids. Not aware of our conversation or they’re purposefully giving us privacy.
I rotate back to Lo, and I realize he’s being really patient.
Patience isn’t a quality I’d shelve under his name. That gets me for a second. So I take a breath and grip the bottom of my hoodie.
I lift the black fabric, just enough to reveal the deep purple bruise that spiders up my ribcage. I’d love to say that it looks worse than it feels. But that’d be another lie. Instead of concentrating on my own fucked-up body, I watch Lo.
His cheekbones sharpen. And he looks visibly ill.
Pale.
He skims me quickly, trying to take it all in before I shut him out, and he peers around at my back. I haven’t looked there yet, but I’m betting faint bruises exist from where Davis’s shins connected with my spine.
“Get up.” I hear his voice in my head. Not just from this week. But from so many years. Colliding together. “You’re weak shit.”
“Let me check out your other side,” Lo whispers, tearing me from my own head.
My hands shake as I lift the other side of my hoodie. Fuck. I inhale, and I see another black-and-blue welt along my abdomen. But this one is fading.
“I’m the little brother,” I say, so soft that he tilts his head to hear. “They just pick on me. It’s what older brothers do.”
Stop it.
Stop defending them.
I can’t. I can’t. Why can’t I?
My limbs tremble. I’m shaking harder like an earthquake rumbles beneath me and I can’t stop it.
Lo stares at me, straight-on. His face all sharp lines. “Your ribs are fractured.”
A hot tear rolls down my cheek. “Yeah, I know.” I wipe harshly. Stop crying.
“It’s happened before?”
I shrug, muscles tensed. “Whenever I see them, they like to play rough, so whatever…”
“Which brother?” Fury flames his voice.
I lift my head. Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry. My chin quakes. “All of them.”
My voice splinters.
Lo blinks something back, his eyes reddened, and so softly, so quietly, he tells me, “I’m not going to let them hurt you anymore.”
Fuck.
Those words just collide into me. I try to cover my shattering face. Palms to my eyes. I slide off the counter, attempting to stand, but my legs buckle underneath me.
Fuck.
My back slips down the cabinets until my ass hits the floor, and I bury my forehead into my bent knees.
I’m not going to let them hurt you anymore.
His first instinct is to protect me. No hesitation, no second thought that maybe I don’t deserve protection.
Maybe I am the sensitive little brother. Having Loren Hale know about my issues at home is this giant, scary thing. It’s why I’m trembling, and I can’t fucking stop. My ears ring.
Lo is seven years older than me. One year older than Davis, my eldest brother. And there are days…weeks, months that I wished I had Willow’s family instead of my own. But I can’t trade them in—that’s not how blood works, right?
And I’m just stuck here, wanting out. God, I want out. I sniff hard and wipe my nose with the sleeve of my hoodie.
Without lifting my head, I sense Lo kneeling beside me. “Does Willow know?” he asks.
I nod, still looking down. Strands of hair stick to my wet eyelashes. I’m afraid they’ll blame her for withholding information. They shouldn’t.
It’s all on me. I’ve been evading the whole truth. Omitted shit. And she’s been here for me so much already.
I choke out, “It’s not her fault…for not telling anyone. She thought it stopped. It did…for a while, but when I went back for Christmas break, they were all there…” I blink back the most recent encounter, spilt soil and a collision into wooden shelves. I shudder and exhale a sharp breath. “Forget it. Forget I said anything.”
Lo’s voice grows even quieter. “Will you stay at my place, at least until Willow comes back?”
My body solidifies. He’s not serious. Does he even know what he’s offering? I’m…me. And Willow isn’t coming back to Philly anytime soon. She just completed her first semester at Wakefield.
“That’s years.”
“So?”
I glance up from my knees. Unblinking. My eyes sting, and Lo stares at me with assured intensity, like he means every word he’s saying.
