Page 171 of Edge of Unbroken

Then there’s footage of Ronan’s mother laying into him, tearing him down on his seventeenth birthday. Tears stream down my face—hot and unstoppable—when Darren Cooley plays the footage of Rica beating Ronan with her shoe the day I returned from North Carolina. The attorney plays incident after incident of run-ins Ronan and Rica have almost every time the two of them are in the house together alone.

My chest feels tight, heart squeezing painfully whenever I connect footage to moments when I noticed a bruise or a cut, always silently wondering about their origin, sometimes asking him about it, but never digging deeper. I feel ashamed that I didn’t know, didn’t realize what was happening to him.

“Ronan, do you recall any incidents on Wednesday, June 30thof last year?” Mr. Cooley asks, moving on from a verbal assault just the day prior that surprisingly ended without any physical altercation this time.

I certainly remember that date. I was in Buffalo, at softball camp. It was the day Adam began extorting me.

“Not without more information,” Ronan says quietly. “It’s just all a big blur of pain for me, honestly.”

Darren Cooley nods, then returns to his computer to select the next surveillance footage in which Rica can be seen standing in the hallway with a whiskey bottle in her hand.

“Ronan!” Rica yells the moment Mr. Cooley presses play. I recognize her cadence, her tone, the way Ronan’s name is way too sharp on her tongue. I’m pretty sure that, in this exact moment on the screen, Ronan is on the phone with me.

“Ronan!” she yells again, louder still, and begins to walk up the stairs. The vantage point changes, and Rica can be seen making it to the top of the stairs, then to Ronan’s room. He gets up from his bed, and sure enough can be seen shoving his phone into the back pocket of his jeans just as his mother arrives at his door, the bottle of whiskey still in her hands. “Why the fuck aren’t you answering me?”

Ronan doesn’t move an inch. “Sorry, I was on the phone.”

“With who?” Rica hisses.

Ronan hesitates for a second. “Nobody. Wrong number.”

At this point, Ronan hadn’t told his mother about me and him. I didn’t understand then why he had kept our relationship a secret. I’d felt hurt when I found out, just days later, that he had told neither his mom nor dad about us, though I understand now why he kept his feelings for me to himself. Of course, I understand now.

“Go downstairs,” Rica says, not stepping into his room. She doesn’t elaborate on why she wants Ronan to go downstairs, though it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it wasn’t to give him a hug.

“I have to change and go to work, Mom,” Ronan says, not moving an inch.

“Not until I’m done with you. Get downstairs, now!” She points her index finger in the direction of the stairs.

Ronan wills his legs to move. He walks out of his room, past his mom, and down the stairs.

His mom herds him into the kitchen before she begins yelling.“What the fuck is this, Ronan?” Rica snarls, holding up the half-empty bottle of whiskey.

“Looks like Jack,” Ronan says calmly.

I smile to myself at his defiance, even though I know he knows he’s about to endure physical pain.

“Are you being smart with me?” Rica yells at him, but Ronan doesn’t respond. “You’re going to seriously want to rethink that, you piece of shit. I want to know why this bottle is almost empty, Ronan. Are you drinking?” Her voice is pitchy.

Ronan still doesn’t speak.

“No answer is an answer, too, Ronan. God, you’re such a fuckup. Not only are you completely and utterly worthless, but you’re apparently also turning into an alcoholic. This is the second time you’ve been caught in a situation like this. What is it going to take for you to finally just do as you’re told and stop fucking up? Take off your shirt.”

My stomach drops.

“What?” Ronan asks, confusion and fear on his handsome face.

“Take off your fucking shirt, Ronan,” Rica yells even louder.

“Why?” Ronan stalls, obviously on edge.

His mom backhands his face, hard. “God damn it, Ronan, when will you learn to just do as I say? Take off your fucking shirt and turn the fuck around, you disrespectful piece of shit.”

Ronan hesitates, his hands clenched into fists by his side.

“I’m waiting, Ronan,” Rica says sharply.

Finally, Ronan does as he’s told and pulls his shirt up and over his head before turning his back to his mother and grabbing on to the kitchen counter. Ronan can be seen lowering his head, shutting his eyes as he waits for his mother to hurt him.

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