Page 112 of Where There's Smoke

“How bad has it gotten?”

Chris put his glass on the bar and pushed it away. He reached up to casually scratch his arm and, as he did, pushed up his sleeve just enough to reveal an odd shadow. After a second, I realized it wasn’t a trick of the bar’s dim light, but a fading bruise.

As he let his sleeve down again, he said, “I think she’s done more damage to my car than to me, but…” He cringed and might have shuddered. “She’ll throw whatever’s in reach. I learned a long, long time ago not to fight in the kitchen or garage.”

The sick, acidic knot in my stomach coiled tighter.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his phone squealed to life again.

“Fuck.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, then picked up the phone. “Again? Really?” Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Held it. Let it out.

Then he answered. “Hey, honey.”

The screeching. The tinny, audible screeching. Chris shrank away—from me? From Julie?—like a beaten dog shying away from an upraised hand.

I gripped the edge of the bar just to keep my hands from, of their own accord, reaching out and grabbing the phone so I could give that psycho a piece of my mind.

“All right, all right,” he said. “We’ll talk when I get home, okay?” Pause. “I love you too.” He hung up and dropped the phone on the bar, jumping when it clattered loud enough to turn every head in the room. Then he pushed it away like a plate of something he didn’t want to eat and ran a shaking hand through his hair. I thought he swore under his breath, but couldn’t be sure.

“I’d ask if everything is all right,” I said quietly, “but I think I have my answer.”

“Yeah.” He reached for his glass. His cheeks reddened, and he didn’t look at me. “Just…don’t say anything, all right?”

“I won’t.”

Holding his glass just shy of his lips, Chris stared at the bar with unfocused eyes. When he spoke at last, the words barely made it to me: “Look, I feel like the biggest pussy in the universe for this. She’s my wife. She’s half my size.” He turned to me. “But Jesse, I’m afraid of her.”

“As well you should be,” I said. “Jesus, Chris, I’ve been scared for you for a long time.”

He laughed bitterly. “Fuck, wouldn’t the tabloids have a ball with that? Tough guy can do his own stunts in an action film but can’t stand up to his hundred-pound wife.”

“That’s not why you’re staying, is it? Because of what people would say?”

Chris said nothing.

I leaned closer to him and lowered my voice. “Look, I know you think it makes you less of a man, but my God, Chris, don’t you dare stay in that situation just to keep up appearances. Trust me, you do anything to keep up appearances, it never fucking ends, and itwillblow up in your face.”

“What would you know about it?” he snapped.

I gritted my teeth. “Oh, a thing or two.”

Chris furrowed his brow. “Meaning?”

I dropped my gaze.

“Jesse?”

“Just take me at my word,” I said quietly. “It’s—”

“No, I’m not taking you at your word. Look at me, Jesse.”

I met my brother’s eyes.

He narrowed his just slightly. “You wanted me to be open with you. Now you return the favor.”

I moistened my lips. He had a point. I’d been prying information out of him for months, and now that he’d finally conceded, it didn’t seem right to keep my own cards close to my vest.

“This doesn’t leave this bar?” I asked, barely whispering.

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