Page 101 of Pretty When He Bleeds

The phone call. He heard it. He heard everything. The conversation I had with our father—the one where he called me a demon, a disgrace, a failure. The words that gutted me, that broke me.

Caleb heard it, and it fucking killed him.

I shoot to my feet so fast that the coffee mugs on the table wobble, spilling over.

“Damon—”

“I need a second.” My voice is hoarse, barely holding together.

Roman doesn’t move. He doesn’t reach for me, doesn’t stop me, he just watches. He knows I need space, knows I need to move, to fucking breathe, so he lets me. I pace the length of the room, raking a hand through my hair, the words repeating in my skull over and over and over.

I heard you on the phone with Damon, Dad.

He knew. He knew what our father would’ve thought of him. He knew he’d never be accepted. He knew it would kill him either way.

“Damon,” Roman says softly, but I can’t look at him.

I whip around, staring at my mom instead. “Why the fuck did you keep this from me?”

Her expression crumbles slightly, but she squares her shoulders. “Because you weren’t ready,” she says firmly. “Because you were grieving, Damon. You were breaking. I couldn’t—” She swallows hard. “I couldn’t do that to you. Not then.”

I shake my head, laughing bitterly. “And when was I supposed to be ready, Mom? When the voices in my head fucking swallowed me whole? When I finally lost my goddamn mind?”

“Damon—”

“He knew,” I snap. “That piece of shit knew what he was doing to us, and he still let it happen. He let his own son fucking die, and then what? He drank himself into oblivion and pretended like he wasn’t the reason both of us were fucked up?”

She nods, her face pale. “It’s why I divorced him,” she says. “It’s why I left. Because he broke you both. Because he took my boys and he ruined them.”

Roman stares at the letter with his jaw clenched so tight I swear it might shatter. His eyes are wet, but he’s not wiping the tears away. He just stares, like he’s trying to process something too big, too awful to understand.

I let out a shuddering breath, my pulse hammering so hard it’s all I can hear. Then she pushes the two remaining envelopes toward us.

One with my name, one with Roman’s. Neither are opened.

“I haven’t read these,” she says, her voice steady. “They were meant for you.”

The room is silent as I stare at the envelope with my name written in Caleb’s handwriting, my hands shaking as I take it. Roman’s fingers hover over his own, like he’s scared to touch it.

I don’t know if I can open mine. I don’t fucking know if I can do this.

My mom looks between us before exhaling, wiping at her face. “I’ll give you some time.”

She stands, walking toward the door, and I can’t bring myself to look at her as she leaves. But I can’t blame her for doing what she thought was right at the time.

The silence is deafening after she leaves, and Roman is still so fucking still. I sit down next to him again, and he swallows, dragging in a slow, uneven breath. “I don’t think I can read it,” he murmurs, barely audible.

I can’t either. Not yet. I swallow hard, staring at the envelope in my hands, my thumb brushing over the ink.

Caleb’s last words.

Finally, Roman moves. “Come here.”

I blink at him, still frozen. His jaw tightens, and he reaches for me, tugging me toward him until I have no choice but to let him pull me into his arms.

I break.

The tension snaps in my chest, and I collapse against him, gripping the back of the hoodie like a fucking lifeline. His hand slides up my back, his breath warm against my temple.

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