With every ounce of energy my body can muster, I get to my feet, nearly falling over as soon as I’m standing. The door, only five feet away, is my goal. My feet move like lead-filled cinder blocks. Trudging barely, I somehow make it out the door.
Lo’s house is only fifteen minutes away tops, five if I can make it to my car. I opt for trying to get to my car. The journey takes longer than it should, but Brant isn’t rushing out behind me. Yet. I’ll need to be gone by then. He’ll kill me if he gets his hands on me again. At this rate, he’s going to kill me before I’m eighteen.
The drive to Lo’s feels agonizing with every breath, and it makes me wonder if I should’ve just called an ambulance. I haven’t the best of luck, and I might die. Even if it sounds dramatic, I’ve never felt this kind of pain, and Brant’s been beating me for years.
As soon as I’m on her road, my head gets really dizzy, spots dotting my vision. My breathing becomes more and more labored. The blackness overcoming my sight has fear settling in. When my car makes a loud, metal-grinding noise, I’m too far gone to comprehend.
I’m sorry, Lo.
Lo
A loud hiss and deafening impact has me jumping out of my chair. The cacophony of metal upon metal and machine against machine has my heart rate spiking. My immediate response is to make sure whoever it is is okay.
I rush for the front door, not even bothering to see if everyone at the dinner table followed me. Jase. My first worry is my not-boyfriend. He’s been here every night, not missing a chance to ask me out.
But not tonight.
As the thought of it possibly being him trickles through my mind, I’m sprinting out the door to witness his car sideways partially on my lawn.
“Jason!” I scream, panic chilling me completely. My hands shake as my legs make their way to him.
The driver’s side door is completely demolished and touching the ground. Through the windshield, in the mass of broken glass, his airbag, and blood, my Jase is scrunched in an unimaginable position.
“Jason, baby! Please! Wake up!” I’m screeching now, my chest caving in, squeezing in a way that has me gasping for air.
My lungs heave for missing oxygen, begging for that chemical relief that only breathing can give, but I’m stuck. I’m unable to give them what they need, but if I don’t force my lungs to work, I can’t help Jason. I can’t save him.
When Tobe rushes around me, calling for Jason, the panic abates. He’s helping. He’ll save him.
Turning to my mother and father, I see Mom in tears and Dad on the phone. The next ten minutes are a blur as lights flash, and my cold, shaking body is moved out of the way.
Then I fall limp, wondering why Jase is here... wondering why he crashed. Is he going to be okay?
A haze settles around me as I fall apart. It takes Toby shaking me for it to lift a little.
“Lo, we need to get to the hospital. It doesn’t look good.” He has to repeat himself since his words barely register in my mind.
I nod numbly, wishing my body would cooperate.
My Jase. He can’t die.
Toby helps me to my feet. I wobble the entire distance to his car, and then he’s helping me in, buckling me while my mind races. It can’t stick on anything except the image of Jase scrunched disjointedly in the car.
When we arrive at Meridian Central, I’m a mess. We hurry into the emergency room, and Toby peers at me with worry and... guilt? Why does he look so guilty?
“We’re here to see Jason Collins,” he says to the receptionist.
“Are you family?”
“I’m his brother,” he replies, his voice strained. The emotion lilting in each tremor has me shaking again. If he’s this worried, he has to know something I don’t.
“He’s been taken in for surgery. Are your parents here? He’s a minor, and they’re required to be here for any kind of information.”
“He’s my brother!” Toby’s voice rises. The panic in his face proves there’s more than normal fear racing through him.
“Sir—” the woman starts, but Toby interrupts.
“He’s all I have, ma’am!” He chokes up, and I place my arms around his middle, trying to ground him.
“Stay calm, Tobe,” I reassure, hoping his shaking rage will simmer so we can get more information.
“I need you to take a seat,” the lady responds, not batting an eye at his temper. She gives him a sympathetic glance before waving us to the waiting room.
After that, we are stuck waiting until Mr. and Mrs. Hayes come in. Toby’s father looks stricken with rage, and his mom, she looks ashen with culpability and... is she drunk?
Her body’s covered in a sheen of sweat. Her hands tremble as she speaks with the same nurse who wouldn’t give us access.
“Tobias,” Mr. Hayes barks at him.
Weirdly enough, Toby stands erect, like a soldier at arms.
My stomach lurches at the implications of the move. The way everything’s happening isn’t right. It’s giving me a gnarled-up ball of anxiety that takes residence in my gut.
What’s with this family?
“D-dad,” Toby stutters, an unusual trait from my best friend.
I scan a wary glance at his dad, and when my gaze meets his hands squeezing Tobe’s shoulders like a vice, I see the broken skin.
Fuck.
Toby winces at his father’s grip.
As I stomp toward the man, he catches my eyes and gives me a glare worthy of death.
It doesn’t stop my descent, and it sure as hell won’t stop my mouth.
These are my guys. My guys.
“Get your hands off him,” I huff out, sure that my face looks like the worst kind of roadkill. When his hands don’t falter, I place my palm on his, forcing his fingers away, one at a time. His eyes narrow even more, and the red licking his cheeks ensures I’m in for it.
But I won’t allow bullying. Parenting, students, or anything—I don’t accept it.
“If you don’t take your other hand off my best friend, I’ll not only call that cop over there...” I pause, pointing to the policeman standing ten feet away. “I’ll chop off your itty bitty man jewels. You would have to have tiny raisins to ever place a hand on a child, let alone your own flesh and blood. You feel me, old man?” I hiss the last part, smiling at the way his face falls.
Not even seconds pass before he’s swallowing his pride and walking away.
“What the hell, Loren?”
“Loren?” I scoff. “Must be mad for you to call me that.”
My attempt at a joke doesn’t connect with him. The absolute terror in his eyes has me taking a step back.
He grips my face. “What have you done?” I’ve never seen Toby this scared, and that in itself unsettles me.
“Standing up to that prick,” I reply bitterly. “He can’t hurt you like that.”
“It’s going to be a lot worse now, Sparkle,” he whispers.
He walks out, leaving me to stew in my thoughts.
chapter nine
Lo
They don’t let me see him.
The next few days are a blur as Jase isn’t in school, and he isn’t allowed visitors at home. Toby all but ignores me whenever I try to talk to him. Forget texts and notes in class. It’s like I’m the one who hurt Jase and not the car crash.
If I hadn’t sneaked over to the Hayes’ big house, seeing Jase with my own two eyes, I would’ve been worried he was dead.
There hasn’t been an announcement about his return, and he’s not one to ignore me. It’s breaking my heart knowing there’s something wrong, and it all stems from Toby’s dad. Something is up with this family, and I’m going to find out what.
Talk to me, Tobe. What’s going on? I send the message after reading it several times over.
His read icon flashes. The three dots, allowing me to know that he’s typing, appear and then disappear just as soon. After several rounds of this, they’re gone.
Please, Tobe. I’m worried about you both.
My stomach is in knots. He never shuts me out, never acts this way—never makes my anxiety rise like this. It’s just not him.
Still no response.
A tear escapes my eye as my best friend abandons me with no explanation. I know he’s mad that his brother and I have been hanging out, but he’s never like this. It’s like that hospital visit changed his outlook on our friendship.
Instead of heading to class, I ditch second period and drive over to Jase’s. His mom’s car is there. His stepdad’s isn’t. Thank God. I’ll maybe be able to see him now. Though I haven’t formally met his mom, Millie seems like she cares about her kids. Not enough, obviously, since she stays with Brant, the man you can tell hurts his kids.
You don’t know that he hurts them.
My mind wars with my lack of facts. It’s a fair assumption with how often the guys have bruises and miss school. I blamed it on sports and being athletes, but what if, all along, this was the problem? Brant putting his hands—fists—on both of them?
After knocking several times, I wait to be turned away.
Millie opens the door. Her eyes are sunken with dark circles, depleted of life. Guilt. It’s as obvious as the way my heart now beats for the son she allows to take Brant’s hits. She knows. She fucking knows and allows this.
My gaze narrows. I’m not one to make someone feel like shit for being abused and not leaving. I understand some, maybe not the extensiveness to why or how, but I recognize there’s love there, even in the loathing and hatred. But kids? When they’re involved, when they’re taking the brunt of it, when they’re hurting, too, that’s when it’s gone too far. As a mother, you protect, you love, and you sacrifice. What has she sacrificed to this man other than her children?
“Loren,” she lets out, her voice as ragged as she appears. “Come in.” She gestures to their foyer, her eyes not meeting mine.
I see how tired she is. Tired of pain. Tired of him. Tired of living. You can grasp it in the way she avoids eye contact. How she doesn’t even try to shut the door, just hoping it closes. How she doesn’t pretend to smile and brave face even in the sight of some random girl. But mostly, it’s in the way she doesn’t hold herself. She just exists. It’s ugly. It’s sad. It’s disappointing.
“Why?” I ask.
There’s no preemptive interrogating, no assist in my question, but she knows. Her face doesn’t change, her eyes don’t widen, and she doesn’t appear at all surprised. She looks tired. So fucking tired.
“I love him,” she mutters, but it’s like she doesn’t even believe it herself. She turns, leading me to the kitchen, where she grabs a bottle of cheap vodka and a tumbler. It’s not even the good stuff. It’s the kind you find on the five dollar or less shelf. That’s a new kind of low.
“Is it worth it?” I question, seeing her pour three fingers worth of liquid then downing it in the next breath.
She stares at me, intrigue and a smidgen of hope reflecting in her blue irises. “No,” she admits.
With that, her eyes get a little bit of life back in them. It’s like admitting he doesn’t have that hold on her any longer makes her feel strong.
I meet the gaze of the woman who shares the eyes of the boy I’m falling in like with and then feel immense pain for her.
She loves him.
But he’s not worth it.
How can something so horrible make absolute sense? Why does it make me want to hug her rather than yell at her?
Tears stream down her face as she pours another glass, but before it reaches her lips, I take the glass from her. Her face is red and splotchy with emotion, but there’s a hint of gratefulness there, too.
“Don’t,” I offer. It’s not forceful or even demanding. It’s me giving her a choice, allowing her to be strong and choose right for them.
“It takes away the pain,” she tries, her mouth warbling at her own words.
My heart aches for her, seeing the damage this man has done to her, this woman and this family.
“It doesn’t,” I amend, setting the glass down. “It only makes you forget that they hurt, too.”
Her body shakes as her sobs take over, and I cry with her. My pain mingles with hers. We share it, with me helping her carry the burden.
“I-I’m s-so s-sorry,” she yelps.
Her small and childlike voice reminds me of my grandma when Mom finally convinced her to leave her husband of twenty-six years. We all knew she deserved better. He beat her, and Mom was never the same when my grandma passed.
There’s a rawness to the knowledge like admitting it means it’s real and it’s your fault. It owns a part of you.
“Shh, shh,” I coo, holding her to me.
She falls into my arms like she hasn’t been hugged in a long time. This realization only makes me cry more. This woman is burdened with so much, and her kids are taking what she doesn’t have left to give, but they’re hurting, too. That’s why this entire situation is so hard on them all. They need her, and she has nothing left to offer but her tattered soul.
“I need to leave him,” she whines. Her body convulses with her lack of breathing, causing her to cough and choke on her saliva.
I rub small circles in her back, trying to reassure her. “Then let’s do that.”
She peers up at me, her face sodden and full of pain. “I don’t know how.”
Touching her cheek affectionately, I give a small smile. “Admitting it’s time to let go is the first step. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
After helping her into the bathroom, I sneak off into Jase’s room, leaving Millie to shower and wash away the dread.
His door is wide open. Inside, he’s sprawled on his bed, and the sight is horrible. Bruises and bandages cover his body. His face is various shades of purple, black and blue. There’s a gash on his eyebrow and several on his left cheek. I don’t even want to imagine how the clothed part of him looks. It hurts me to see him this way, to witness the aftermath of what he went through.
The fact that it took this long to see him has me crying again. His mom didn’t turn me away at the hospital or any times after, but his stepfather—Toby’s dad—said he didn’t want a whore tainting Jase’s recovery.
Me. A whore.
Toby defended me, begging their mom to let me see him, saying I’d help Jase wake up. It was the first time Toby ever openly accepted Jase’s feelings for me.
It didn’t work, but Toby tried.
I loved him so much in that moment, but now, even he avoids me. His defending must have gone south. That or he really can’t accept that his brother has become a part of my life.
“Jase,” I whisper, feathering my fingertips over his battered face, barely keeping my tears in. This is the fourth day he’s been away from school
His eyelashes flutter, but I’m almost positive I imagined it. Five cups of coffee and two Red bulls can account to that. Then, his gaze connects with mine, and I let my tears slip free. They drip down my cheeks, to his arm, and onto the horrible bed that cradles his beaten body. I wish I could be strong for him in this moment, that I could hold in the tears and make them not betray me, but I can’t.
Between what his mom and I shared and now this, I’m a mess. I’ve never seen him this broken. All I want to do is hold him until he somehow pieces himself back together.
“L-Lo,” he chokes out.
His mouth must be dry. I turn for his water cup and bring the straw to his cracked lips. As he sips, my body relaxes. Even if it takes time, he’s going to be okay.
“Lo,” he mutters, touching his bandaged palm to my wrist.
“Don’t try to talk,” I whisper, trying to hold in my cries.
“Loren.” He grips my hand, surprising me with his strength. “Will you go out with me?” he asks, his cut eyebrow slightly raised.
His question makes me laugh, a full out, head thrown back, maniacal laugh that shakes my body. Lack of sleep and absolute surprise must be the cause, but I can’t stop.
“Jesus. I don�
��t think I’ve ever heard you laugh this much. Ever.”
“You do crazy things to me, Jason Collins.”
“No, but I will.”
A blush creeps up my throat and across my face. “Promises, promises.”
He pats the bed, and I fall into him. I’m not sure how long we cuddle before his mom comes in and checks on us. Her hair is wet, her eyes not as dull as before, and there’s life in her. I know it, and with the way Jase moves, he does, too.
“Hey, baby,” she coos, tears trailing down her face.
Jase attempts to sit up, but both Millie and I stop him. “No!”
“Jeez, I thought having one overbearing woman would be hard, but two?” he jests, not knowing that I’m aware his mom isn’t overbearing or even watchful.
Her face falls at his words, but she swoops in and pretends for his benefit.
“You’re going to have your hands full with this one, Jason. She’s passionate and bossy,” she jokes with a wink in my direction.
I smile. Her need for this moment is apparent with the way Jase’s face lights up, too.
“I know. It’s all I want,” he admits.
He kisses my cheek as I giggle from the way his scruff tickles me.
“So, that was a yes to dating me, right?” he pushes, right in front of his mother no less.
I smack his arm, freaking out when he flinches. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry!”
He holds himself. His face scrunched making me feel worse. “Now you can’t say no. You hurt me already.”
When my eyes meet his, they’re full of laughter. I’m about to hit him again playfully, but I stop.
“You’re a pain in the ass, Jason Collins.”
“Don’t I know it, babe.”
MILLIE MAKES SURE I stay for dinner. We convince Jase to stay in bed until it’s time to eat. He argues until I shut him up with my lips.
I watch as she cooks, helping her dice veggies, remembering why cooking is my favorite hobby. She reminds me of my mom, someone who’s passionate and full of life but forgot how to experience it.
After my dad cheated, it was hard on Mom. She told me this much, but she raised Nate like it was the simplest task she ever had. She loves him. I love him, and Dad does, too. But I found out years later. As in, recently. It never occurred to me that my dad would cheat. He loves my mom. That much is obvious, but then why would he cheat? How does someone do that? How do you give your life over to someone, promise forever, promise faithfulness, promise unending love but then walk out with someone else?
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