She whimpered and scratched at his hand.
He squeezed tight. “Do you understand?”
Her head jerked in a spastic nod.
As much as he fought it, a tear got free of Trent’s eye. His mom saw it, flinched, stumbled back when his dad shoved her away. Then he was shoving Trent into the front seat of the truck and slamming the door shut.
Trent slumped down. A nasty feeling boiled in his belly as he looked out the side window at his mom who stood in the middle of the yard while his dad rounded the front of the truck.
Horror and shame on her face. He pressed his fingertips to the glass.
Tears streamed down her eyes.
He was still looking at her when he was smacked again from out of nowhere.
Trent jolted forward, warily peeking over at his dad who looked at him with hate.
With the same kind of hate Trent felt deep in his soul.
The ugly, ugly kind.
The kind he thought might turn black.
“No son of mine is gonna be a pussy,” his dad snarled as he turned the ignition and pulled out onto the street. “Twelve damned years old. Bad enough your pathetic twin is always sucking on that air like he can’t breathe on his own. Your momma made you all spineless. Weak. I’ll knock those tears right outta you, boy. You wanna get cut? Dumped in a canal? You show weakness in this world, and you’re done. Now man the fuck up because you have big shoes to fill. One day when I’m gone, you’ll sit as President of the Iron Owls, and it’s about damned time you start to learn what it’s gonna mean to take that position.”
Trent sank deeper into the seat as if he could disappear.
He didn’t want nothin’ to do with the man his mom feared.
The one who left her eyes blued and her mouth bloodied.
But how could he get away from a man like that?
Footsteps treaded quietly into his room. Trent buried himself deeper under the covers. Like he could hide. Pretend he didn’t exist. That what he’d seen never happened.
It was just a bad dream.
The edge of his mattress dipped, and that tender voice filled the air. His mom was singing her favorite song. The one about forgiveness when you’d done bad things.
But he was pretty sure what his father had forced him to watch was not one of those things. Something that could ever be covered or forgotten.
He knew he never would.
He shivered, his stomach sick, his head spinning.
Blood.
So much blood.
He’d thrown up then, and his dad had smacked him again.
His mom pulled back the covers and brushed her fingers through his hair.
Softly.
Gently.
Like she’d done when he was a little boy.
Like he was still good.
Like he hadn’t had that blood splattered on his shirt when his father had dumped him on the lawn and told him he’d be back soon.
“It’s okay, my brave boy. You don’t have to hide from me. I’ll never hurt you. Never judge you.”
Trent shifted, barely peeking out from under the sheet he had pulled over his face. “I don’t wanna go back, Mom. I don’t want to be like him.”
“Shh…” she whispered, leaning down to brush a kiss to his forehead. “I know, baby. I know. I’m gonna find a way. Find a way for us to disappear. You, and your brothers, and me. Does that sound nice?”
He fiercely nodded his head.
“It’s our secret, okay? Until we go, you don’t tell anyone.”
He nodded again. “I’ll take care of us, Mom. Wherever we go.”
“I know, my sweet warrior, I know.”
Sixteen
Eden
The second Tessa turned her attention away, I ducked my head and tried to sneak out of the teachers’ lounge without being noticed.
“Um, excuse me? You stop right there, Eden Jasmine Murphy. There’s nowhere you can hide. I know where you live.”
I should have known I’d never be fast enough.
Whirling around, I found myself backed against the long prep counter. Two feet from the door. So close to my escape.
Trapped.
Tessa pointed at me as she advanced.
I swore, she was part bloodhound. Scenting out a secret like it was what God had created her to do.
I itched, gave her the most innocent, faked expression I could find. “Um…excuse me, what?”
There.
Play it off.
Act like I had no clue what she was talking about.
I was so not prepared for her inquisition this morning, but of course, I’d only made it worse with all my fumbling, rambling words and heated cheeks when she’d asked how my night was last night—in front of five other teachers, mind you. Then I’d gone and tried to sneak out without saying goodbye.
I might as well have tossed a yellow flag in the air.
Called a foul.
Pointed out my questionable, bad behavior.
I mean, at the time, it hadn’t felt wrong, but the moment he’d slipped out my door, every question and reservation I possessed had begun to invade.