Page 26 of Fall

“No,” I say quietly, almost hoping Arthur figures out what’s going to happen and kills my father. It would be doing us all a favour, and the silence from my brothers suggests they feel the same way.

I shoot up in bed, the sound of someone screaming fills my ears and makes the memory wash away. That night was the start of my father getting himself killed and ultimately screwing us over. I should have stopped him, waited until Luke turned eighteen, and then we all could have run. Instead, our father getting himself killed just made our lives worse.

I get out of bed quickly and run across the room and open my door, hearing that it’s Tilly screaming. I open her door and run into the room, seeing her thrashing around on her bed, the sheets sticking to her as she screams.

“Don’t do this, please don’t, Daniel,” she shouts, and I go over, shaking her shoulder and watching as she suddenly wakes up and jumps.

“Hey, it’s me. It’s Harley,” I say, rubbing a hand down her arm. The moonlight shines through the window and bounces off her pale eyes as she watches me. She looks so scared.

“What . . . what are you doing in here?” she asks me, her voice breathless and scared.

“You were having a bad dream and screaming. I didn’t know what was going on and you seemed so scared. I had to wake you up,” I tell her.

“Oh, I’m sorry I woke you,” she says, rubbing a hand over her pale face and brushing the hair from her eyes.

I hand her the glass of water from the side as I turn the lamp on that’s on her desk. She drinks some of the water before handing me the cup.

“Don’t be sorry, you’re not the only one who has bad dreams, siren,” I say, and she nods, understanding clouding her face.

“Want to talk about it?” I ask her after a moment’s silence.

“Maybe? I don’t know. Does it help you to talk about it?” she asks me, rubbing a hand over her stomach.

“I don’t know. I don’t talk about my past to anyone,” I tell her. The most I’ve spoken about my past is to Tilly.

“You should. I mean, you could talk to me. I’m your friend,” she says. I don’t want to haunt her with my past, and re-living it never seems to help me.

“Have you felt any kicks?” I ask her, changing the subject, and she nods.

“He or she kicks all the time,” she tells me. I lift a hand and place it on her stomach, listening as her breath hitches, and I look up to meet her eyes. I don’t feel the baby move, but I keep my hand still on her stomach, hoping I do.

“Will you tell me about what happened with your ex, with Daniel? I want to know everything I can about you, and I don’t know why,” I ask her.

“How do you know his name?” she asks as I move onto the bed and stretch myself out next to her.

“You sleep talk,” I answer, staying still as she lies down on the bed and rests her head back on her pillows. We both lie facing each other, neither one of us wanting to say anything.

“Daniel is the baby’s father and my ex-boyfriend, who I lived with,” she tells me.

“Why isn’t he here?” I ask her.

“Because I ran and didn’t tell him,” she answers quietly, and all I can think of is how much I want to beat the shit out of him. She isn’t the type to run for no reason, she ran because she was scared. I can see that in her eyes.

I’ve fought lots of men in The Cage, and I see that fear in their eyes every time. Sometimes it’s right at the start because they are smart and know they won’t win. For others, there’s no fear at the start, just arrogance, and then, when I’ve beaten them and I’m about to knock them out, the fear is there.

“What happened?” I ask her gently, knowing she doesn’t have to tell me.

“The night I tried to leave him to come here, he caught me. He went mad, throwing stuff around the room and then told me I wasn’t leaving. I got brave and told him to screw himself before trying to run out the door,” she says quietly.

“You’re safe with me,” I whisper when she stops talking.

“He caught me on the stairs and threw me to the floor. Next thing I knew, he kicked me and I fell down the stairs, hitting my head when I stopped at the bottom. He tried to . . . well, he tried to force himself on me. While he was ripping my jeans off, I picked up the glass football statue my brother, Ace, had left by the bottom of the stairs and slammed it over his head. I don’t know if I killed him because I just got up, grabbed my suitcase, and ran,” she says, angrily wiping her eyes as I rest my hand on her shoulder. I can’t say I’m surprised, but this is worse than what I was expecting.

“Tilly,” I whisper, and she looks up at me, only for a second before looking away.

“Let’s be clear on something, okay?” I ask her. I slide my hand over her cheek and move a little closer on the bed, so our faces are inches away as I talk to her. I rub my thumb over her cheek gently.

“I hope you killed that fucker. I hope he is dead, and if he comes anywhere near you or your baby, I will make sure he never looks at you again,” I promise her.

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