Page 65 of Peaches

I laugh. “Can I think about it?”

He shrugs. “Sure.”

“Great. Now, what can I get you to drink?”

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

RHETT

Idon’t think I’ve ever seen my family more broken, more crushed than they are right now. With all the shit we’ve been through during the course of my life, nothing has ripped through us like this—not Dad’s drinking, not his accident, and not any of the other stupid bullshit my brothers and I have ever gotten ourselves into.

Brooks is . . .Shit. I’m not sure Brooks is going to be able to come back from this. It’s like the light inside of his soul has switched off, lost to the darkness of despair that’s taken hold of him, and not even the boys are able to find a way through it. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to lose so much and still have to navigate raising three children. Thank god for Mom, for Layla and Wells, who all take turns caring for them while Brooks is lost to his devastation.

James doesn’t seem to really understand what’s happened other than his mommy went to sleep and now lives in heaven. But Liam and Noah better understood how the cancer had wrapped its grotesque arms around her, squeezing her tight with a claim over her life. They saw her fight it, saw herlose, and they aren’t sure how the hell to process the unfairness of it all. How it’s possible they actually lost their mom. They’re far too young to be so heartbroken, and with Bennett blood running through their veins, it’s anger that they’ve seemed to turn to.

I come into the main house around lunchtime to find Liam sitting at the kitchen table by himself, glaring at nothing and everything around him. Kasey and Wells are still out with the horses, but I know Layla’s around here somewhere, probably busy with James. Brooks retreated to his own cabin yesterday and locked himself inside without a word, and we’re all fucking scared of what he might try to do to himself. But we saw Mom march over there this morning, set of spare keys in hand and determination in her gait, and neither of them have appeared again since.

I hope like hell she gets through to him. That he letssomeonein to help him lay out the next steps of his life.

I grab a loaf of bread and jar of peanut butter from the pantry, bringing them across the kitchen to the open counter. “Hungry, Rooster?” I ask.

Even with my back to him, I feel the way his glare singes. “No.”

I nod, pulling a banana from the bunch in the fruit basket. Spreading peanut butter over two pieces of bread, I make quick work of slicing the banana into chunks and adding them to the sandwich, tossing the whole thing on one of the kids’ plastic plates with a smiling cartoon puppy and bringing it to the table. I sink into the seat directly across from him and take a big bite.

He eyes the sandwich hungrily—I happen to know it’s his favorite, and I’d bet he hasn’t had lunch yet. Might be why he’s sulking in the kitchen. “I’ll give it to you if you tell me why you look like that,” I say evenly.

“Like what?” His eyes rise to meet mine.

“Like you want to punch me.”

He considers. “Maybe I do.”

I nod. “Yeah. I get that. But is itme, or is it just your anger talking?”

He frowns. “Both.”

I lean back in my chair, spreading my feet out in front of me beneath the table. “Tell you what,” I say. “You keep that anger focused on me, okay? When you feel it, I want you to let it out—but not on your brothers, and not with Grandma or Layla. You let it out with me. Deal?”

He looks at me like I’ve grown a mane and a tail, but I don’t blame him. I’m sure the last thing he expected was permission to be an asshole. “I won’t get in trouble?” he asks tentatively.

“Fuck no.” I shake my head. “Promise.”

He looks back at the sandwich, gripping the edge of the table tight in his hands.

And then he shoots out of the chair and hurls himself at me.

As far as I know, Liam’s never been in a fight—he’s only eleven, and I imagine the bulk of that stupid schoolyard bullshit is still a few years away. But when he pulls his little fist back and swings it at me, I’m surprised with how much power he’s able to throw. He lands his punch right in my eye, causing an explosion of pain I wasn’t prepared for and a grunt to escape from my throat. But as soon as I open my eyes again to look at him, he’s already swinging on me again, this time landing a fucking haymaker to my jaw.

“Shit,” I mumble, grabbing at my face. I fight the natural instinct to push him away and protect myself, knowing that he needs this. But after a few heartbeats pass, he doesn’t make another move.

When I look up at him, he’s crying.

“Come here,” I murmur, holding my arms open.

He launches into my chest and I wrap my arms tightly around him, letting him cry and cry. I soothe a hand across his back as his shoulders shudder, feeling his tears soak the front of my shirt. “You’re going to be okay,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut. “I promise you, kid. We’re all going to be okay. This familysurvives. We always do.”

“She didn’t!” He slams a fist into my bicep, still clutched tight to my chest.

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