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He chuckles. The sound tickles my neck. “I know what kind of stories you like.”

“Okay, then.” My head settles into the soft pillow. I lower my eyelids.

“There were three brothers,” he starts.

My eyes pop open. I reach back and touch him. I’m not sure what part of his body. I leave my hand wherever it lands. “You don’t have to tell me this one if you don’t want to.” My eyes bounce around the darkness. My heartbeat quickens, waiting for his response.

“Do you want to hear it?”

Dammit! I press my lips together. “Yes,” I whisper the truth.

He gently draws my hair back behind my ear. A hot shiver runs down my spine. Curse this man for having this effect on me!

“The three boys lived in a house up on a hill with their parents,” he says in a low and calming voice. His arm comes across me. Again, securing me against his body. “The boys thought their lives were normal—like everyone else’s—until they grew a little older and left that house on the hill to attend school. That’s when they discovered it wasn’t normal for fathers to hit mothers. It wasn’t normal for moms to hide bruises with makeup and tell you never to talk about what dad did to her. So when the brothers listened to their teachers talk about abuse, they realized that they didn’t live in a normal house. It became more apparent when they visited their friends’ homes. There was no yelling, no doors slamming, and no angry fathers beating on mothers. The dads were present, played catch, and helped with homework. And the moms, they weren’t trying to hide anything. They looked healthy and happy. They didn’t flinch when the dads kissed or touched them. The boys wished they lived in that kind of house. Wished their mom was happy and healthy.”

I shut my eyes to banish the horrible story he’s putting in my head. I assumed he had some kind of connection or history with abuse, but this, not understanding the hell you’re living in as a child until someone tells you. It’s heartbreaking. Unthinkable.

“Even after Brett and I confirmed what we always felt, our father was a monster. What he was doing wasn’t right or normal. We couldn’t make it stop. Brett tried. He told a teacher, but nothing ever came of it. So we tried to keep Lix shielded from it. Got him out of the house when it started. When our father finally came after us, we wouldn’t let him near Lix.”

It goes quiet for a few seconds. I stare off into the darkness, absorbing the pain in his words.

“One night.” He clears his throat, and I catch the hesitance in it. “I heard a loud noise. It woke me up. I remember sitting in my bed, staring out into the darkness, wondering if I imagined it, and hoping my dad wasn’t hurting my mom. I heard it again, jumped out of bed, and ran to the hall. Brett was standing there like he was waiting for me. We slowly walked down the stairs together, fearing what we might find. The first thing we saw was Lix standing in his dinosaur pajamas. We moved toward him in the living room. My father was on the sofa. He had two bullet holes, where the blood slowly pumped out of them, darkening his shirt. Mom was standing across from my father, holding a gun.”

I flip around and find his eyes. “I’m sorry.” I place my trembling palm on his cheek. “I’m so sorry. You don’t need to say anymore.”

“It’s okay.” His gray eyes glisten against the darkness. He touches my hand on his cheek. “It happened twenty years ago.”

“Still, it must’ve been hard for you. You were so young. You and your brothers.”

I’m squeezing his hand. I didn’t even realize I was doing it. I don’t let go. Instead, I pull it to my chest and tuck it against me as he had done with his arm around my body.

“Yeah. I was ten, Brett twelve, and Lix was eight. We went into the system, got separated a year or so later, and lost contact for a few years. Mom, well, she’s serving twenty-five to life in prison.”

“What? Wasn’t it self-defense?”

“Yes, but my father came from money. His family made sure she didn’t get a penny of it, and her public defender couldn’t do much for her. Not against their high-priced lawyer.”

His family didn’t want them. Didn’t their mother have any family? Oh, those poor boys. Everything they endured and battled together growing up in their house, only to be torn apart when they needed each other the most. “That’s why you do it?”

“The sole reason. I don’t want any woman to feel like my mom. Like she has no other choice. Afraid to go to the police. Or keep it a secret. Hide it. I know shit’s not always fair. My mom is evidence of that. My brothers and I give those women a chance. A way to safely escape. Like what Johnny did for your aunt.”

“Truman. His real name is Truman.”

A slow smile tugs on his lips. “Truman is a good name too.”

“Yes.” I choke back a threatening tear lodged in my throat.

“Okay, storytelling is over. It’s time to get some sleep.”

I pull my hand from his.

“Oh no.” He wraps his arm around me and draws me against his chest. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

“I’m alright. You don’t need to coddle me.”

“I’m not coddling you. I’m holding you.”

“Is there a difference?”

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