Page 44 of Broken Bonds

He sighed at the nickname but didn’t say anything about it. “My past is dark, much like yours, Celine. I know what it feels like to be hurt by those closest to you.” I frowned, my heart aching for him. “My mother became an alcoholic when my little brother died a few years ago, and my stepfather became an abusive asshole who took his anger out on both of us.”

Oh, Ace.

Ace remained quiet after his admission, now turned away from me, lying on his back and looking up at the ceiling.

“What happened to your brother?” I asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer. He glanced at me, so much pain and raw vulnerability in his eyes, and then he looked back at the ceiling.

“It was all my fault. He’s dead because of me.” His voice broke at the end. Right then, he was no longer the strong man who saved me multiple times today. Right then, he was a broken boy who never got to heal. Who had gotten stuck in survival mode. My soul wept for him.

I reached for his hand in the darkness, finding it and locking our fingers together. There was no way this beautiful man killed his brother—not after everything he had done for me. He was an asshole, but he was no murderer. Of that, I was sure.

“I’m here, Ace. I’m here for you.” His hand gripped mine tighter, his fingers squeezing mine, and I lay there watching him. Waiting.

“My mother left my real father when I was twelve, in that awful transition between boy and teenager. He wasn’t a good man, princess. Shortly after they split, my mom met another man, and you know the story—they fell in love, got married, and then had a child. He was a pretty decent guy.” An undercurrent of malice lingered in his words, filling me with trepidation.

Lightning lit up the room. Thunder shook the building, and rain fell harder. I clutched his hand even tighter, fear thrumming through my veins. I wasn’t even sure if he noticed.

“I was fourteen when he was born, and Jack was everything I wanted growing up. I begged my mother for a brother when I was little, but she didn’t want any more kids until she met Hank, who only wanted a son of his own. He liked me well enough, I guess, but I wasn’t good enough for him.”

I squeezed his hand, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. This poor, broken man. No wonder he came off as an asshole. He was only protecting himself. He was stuck in survival mode and didn’t know how to just live. To be. And I understood that all too well.

“The summer after I graduated high school, I watched Jack a lot for my mom. She had just gotten a new job and had to workall day. We used to swim every day forhours. The pool was his favorite place to be, other than the back seat of my car when I took him for rides.” He let go of my hand to rub his eyes. His cheeks were damp with tears.

Oh, God, please don’t let it be what I think it is.

“It was a Saturday, and my mom had gone out with Hank to a work event, so we were going to spend the day in the pool.” He sucked in a shuddering breath that appeared painful. “It happened so quickly. One second, we were laughing about the gross sandwiches I made us for lunch, and then, he wasn’t laughing anymore. I looked away for a minute to read a text on my phone from one of my friends about a party that night.”

No, please, no.My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach.

“He was just learning to swim, Celine.” His voice cracked, his words rough with pain. Agony. “I was his protector, and Ilooked away. When I looked up from my phone, he was floating near the bottom of the pool. I couldn’t get him to breathe. When the ambulance arrived, it was already too late.”

This poor, broken man.I reached for his hand again, feeling the wetness from his tears on his fingertips. His grip on my hand was so tight that it hurt, but I didn’t flinch. I knew that pain because I felt it on a daily basis.Survivor’s guilt.

“I couldn’t even tell my parents. They had to come pick me up from the police station where an officer—a fucking stranger—explained everything to them. My mother screamed and cried so loud; Hank tried to strangle me, and everyone just watched us in there, horrified but unwilling to intervene.”

I closed my eyes, trying to imagine a younger Ace, who had been my age when he experienced loss just like I had. He saw the body. He knew what it was like.

“Going home the first night was torture. I slept on the floor in Jack’s room after crying myself to sleep. The next morning, my mother didn’t leave her room, and my stepfather cornered me.He blamed me for the death of his only son and slapped me. It stung, but I knew he was right, so I welcomed the pain; Ineededto feel it. I just needed to feel something other than this darkness in my mind.”

I didn’t want to hear more. I didn’t need to. I was there. I could picture his baby brother floating in a pool and a younger Ace crying and begging to be hurt, begging for an accident to take him too, just like I did.

“Hank progressed to using me as his punching bag, and I didn’t fight back at first. Thought I deserved it” God, no. “But then, two years later, on the second anniversary of Jack’s death, I’d had enough. I hit him back, and it feltso good. I felt like I had control of something again. And then, he took away my control when he hit my mom. By then, he’d become an alcoholic just like my father, the man she despised more than anything.” Ace paused, his breathing ragged, clearly stuck in that painful memory just like I’d been when I’d spilled my past to him.

“You aren’t alone anymore. There’s nothing I can say that will make it right or better—and take that from the girl who’s heard every type of excuse in the book about accidents and mistakes.” A soft huff of amusement puffed from his lips. “Nothing can give you back that person, but you can remind yourself that you’re still here, and we all make mistakes, Ace.”

“Thanks, princess.” He drew in a deep breath. “After Hank hit my mom, I got us a plane ticket to Atlanta where her mother is, hoping someone would be able to fix her because I couldn’t. I got a job working at a restaurant that my grandmother frequented often, and I worked every day. First, I bought my bike, and then, I saved up for college.”

“You didn’t go the whole time after your brother…?” My voice trailed off.

“After he died?” Ace shook his head. “No. I saved up enough money and then applied here in Florida. I always wanted to goto the place where every day is a vacation. Jack, my brother… God, I haven’t said his name in years.” He swallowed audibly. He was so quiet for a few moments, his hand tight around mine. “Jack wanted to come to the beach,” he finally uttered. “We lived in Texas, near Austin, where the heat was suffocating and unrelenting. And so, after working day and night, I came here, rented a small apartment, and enrolled at our college. I had a late start,” he shrugged one shoulder, “but I’m finding my way now. I’m here for him.”

“And your mom?” I asked softly. “What happened to her?”

“My grandmother and I got a restraining order against Hank for both of us, and now, Mom’s in rehab. I haven’t spoken to her since I left two years ago. She’s better off without me. My grandmother agreed, and we parted ways.”

A strangled sound escaped my throat. “That’s not true,” I argued. “Tragedy doesn’t define you. I know that better than anyone. Your soul is scarred like mine, but scars don’t define us, Ace.” I licked my suddenly dry lips, my heart hurting for him so much, I could hardly breathe past the ache. “I haven’t been entirely truthful with you.”

“About your legs—like why you couldn’t swim today?” He nodded. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out it’s from the accident.”

---