Page 48 of Brazen Being It

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The porch creaksunder my weight, but I don’t move.

I’ve been sitting here for what feels like hours, knees tucked to my chest, my arms wrapped tight around them like they’re the only thing keeping me together. The late afternoon air is warm, thick with the scent of the pine trees around me. My breath feels tight, like the heat is coiling around my ribs and pulling them inward.

And still, I wait.

My eyes sting, and my cheeks are already raw from wiping at them. The tears don’t stop. They come and go in waves, like my body can’t decide if it’s grieving or relieved. I’ve run so far and held so much inside me that now, with the world slowing down around me, it all comes out in pieces. Messy, broken pieces.

I hear the gravel shifting and the rumble of his bike before I see him.

That crunch beneath his boots as he approaches—it’s a sound I know better than most voices.

Familiar. Steady. Home.

I look up.

Drew walks up like the past hasn’t shattered everything in its path. His shirt is damp with sweat and dust clings to his jeans. He looks tired, but his eyes—God, his eyes—they find mine like they’ve been looking this whole time.

And he stops cold.

“Cambria?” he says, voice cracking around the edges like it’s been rusted with time and disbelief.

I stand too fast, the porch railing catching me as my legs wobble. My whole body is trembling, and I don’t know if it’s from the emotion or the exhaustion, or just the weight of everything I’ve been holding in for too long.

Tears fall again. “I need to tell you why,” I say, voice catching on the first syllable.

He climbs the steps without hesitation, two at a time, and then he’s there—right in front of me. His hands reach out, hesitating for only a heartbeat before he cups my face like I’m something sacred. His thumbs brush my cheeks, chasing the tears as they fall.

His touch is gentle, but his eyes burn. Not with anger. With something worse—concern, grief, something that looks too much like love.

I press my hands to his wrists, holding them there like an anchor. “You need to know why Frankie is coming for me.”

His brow tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt. He nods once. I feel it in his fingertips, his pulse beating steady beneath my grip. I close my eyes. And then I speak the truth I’ve buried so deep it hurts to drag it out.

“I killed his brother, Drew.”

His hands twitch against my skin. He doesn’t pull away. I open my eyes again, and they meet his.

“He was going to rape me.” The words don’t even feel like they’re mine. They sound distant, like they belong to someone else—some other broken girl in some other ruined life.

“It happened fast,” I whisper. “In a blink. He had me cornered, and something in me just reacted. I didn’t think. I grabbed at him. The knife cut through my neck, but somehow I managed to get it away from him. I stabbed him where I could.”

I shake, but his hands stay steady.

“There is so much blood. I didn’t know what to do. I pushed him off me. He wasn’t moving. There was blood shooting out with the knife still stuck in his neck.” The words tumble out as my entire body trembles remembering that night. “I called 911. They came. They took me in. Questioned me. I was shaking so bad I couldn’t even remember what I’d done at first. Couldn’t explain what happened. But eventually, they ruled it self-defense and let me go.”

I pause, my chest tightening. “That’s when Frankie came and got tied to my mom.”

Drew’s eyes are locked on mine. He’s so still. I can’t read him.

“I didn’t even know Mike was Frankie’s brother. Not then,” I say. “I didn’t know until it was too late. Until after my mom… after she was in too deep.”

His hands slide down from my face and wrap around my shoulders, pulling me in just slightly, like he needs to hold me without letting me disappear inside myself.

“He got my mom hooked,” I whisper. “Drugs. Real bad. And when she couldn’t pay… he made her work. Pimped her out. Kept her in the same trailer where he knew I’d see him every day.”

The sob that breaks from me is raw, but I don’t look away.

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