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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?
How?
It makes no sense to me.
It hurt most realizing Nate isn’t fully my brother. We’ve always been close. He protects me, even if he’s three years younger than me. Knowing this made my love for my mom grow, and my respect for her is fonder. She’s a badass who raised a kid she didn’t have to because she’s just her. That says so much about what kind of person she is.
My father, on the other hand, lost my respect, and it’s been incredibly challenging to forgive him. He put Mom through so much. Nate’s mom has been calling him so often for money, power, and even Nate. She wants to break our family apart. It’s working. Whether my parents will admit it or not, I see the way Dad is barely around, and when he is, he and Mom aren’t like they usually are. It’s as if Margaret—Nate’s bio mom—is bringing back all of Mom’s resentment.
I’m on her side.
My dad should have kept it in his pants.
I’m slicing up the red potatoes for Millie when the front door slams. Not shuts, not lightly or even a little louder than normally. It makes the entire house shake with the action. A shiver settles down my spine, and Millie immediately steps in front of me. The way her body tightens has me on edge. She’s prepared for a fight before even knowing what will happen. If that doesn’t explain what this house has become, nothing will.
“Step back a bit, sweetie,” she whispers. “And please, please, please, keep quiet. Whatever you see, don’t step in, okay?”
I don’t nod in approval or agree, but she’s already headed away from me. After grabbing the knife I used moments ago to cut potatoes, I hold it toward my chest. I pat my pockets to check for my phone but don’t spot it. Jase’s room. It must be with him.
There’s muffled yelling in the foyer. Millie’s emotional but strong. You can hear the determination in her voice.
“You are such a whore! I don’t know why I ever fucked you. Too bad I got you pregnant. Should have tried trapping you another way,” he roars.
When I hear a smack, my stomach hollows. Did he hit her? Did she hit him?
A loud growl sounds out, and I’m booking it to Jase’s room. They say not to run with knives, but they’ve never mentioned having two people brawling twenty feet away either.
Jase’s sound asleep, his body still bandaged and bruised. He’s shirtless, but his entire abdomen, pecs, and waist are covered in ace wraps. I don’t want to wake him, but he should know.
The yelling and screaming gets louder, and I rush to him, searching for my phone—his phone—anything to call the cops. Why does no one call? They’re so loud. There’s no way the neighbors can’t hear them. Unless they don’t care. Hollow Ridge is known for their aristocracy and expensive lush lives, and they can’t be bothered.
Gently rocking him, I hope he wakes and isn’t loud.
Millie cries out and the absolute terror in her voice has me shaking from head to toe. “Jase, you’ve got to wake up,” I beg, shaking him more.
He springs awake, straightening, his eyes squinting closed from pain, but he stares at me a moment before a crash sounds out.
In seconds, he’s jumping out of his bed, hobbling toward the foyer. I chase after him, not allowing him to be alone with that mad man.
“Fuck!” Jase curses.
We round the hall to see Brant holding Millie against the wall, her face changing various shades of colors while he holds her throat. On the table toward the front, I see a landline. I stand agape for a moment, grateful they still have this kind of phone. I pick it up while Jase makes it worse by yelling at Brant to stop.
“Get the fuck off her, you piece of shit!”
“Make me!” Brant slurs back, his voice thick with drunkenness.
“She should have left you a long time ago, I bet your dick is as tiny as your brain!” Jase continues his verbal assault.
I dial nine-one-one, and my heart catapults, my body in a shock it’s never felt before. I watch silently as Brant drops Millie. Her eyes are closed, and I’m running toward her fallen body.
Brant attacks Jase while I’m making it to his mom. Jase yells out in pain, and I make sure she’s breathing. My body racks with sobs as I try to tend to Millie, but I’m unable to keep my eyes away from Jase. Brant punches his body. Jase curls into himself in the fetal position.
“You’re such a worthless cunt!” Brant barks, spit leaving his lips.
I rush to him, plowing into him. He falls with me practically on top of him. If he wasn’t hammered, it wouldn’t have happened this way, but he’s belligerent and sloppy.
“Leave!” I scream at the top of my lungs in his face. “The police are on their way!” I lie.
His expression changes from confused to irate. Brant stands up, bringing me with him and pushes me, forcing me to connect with the wall. My head connects, smacking roughly before Brant’s rushing out the door. As it slams shut once again, my eyes close on their own accord.