Page 53 of Before You Go

“They aren’t my biological brothers,” he answers my question without me having to find a way to ask. “We all ended up in the same foster family and grew up together.”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen.”

Thirteen?

My chest gets tight. At thirteen, I was having sleepovers with friends and arguing with my parents about stupid things like my bedtime and how much TV I could watch. I can’t imagine getting removed from my family and having to live with people I didn’t know, especially at that age.

“That’s pretty young,” I say quietly.

“It is, but it isn’t. Just a few more years, and I would have been considered an adult.”

“Then you could have lived on your own?” I can understand why he would look at it like that.

“No.” His expression fills with something dark. “A few more years, and I could have been charged as an adult for murder.”

I feel like I’ve been slapped.

Wrapping my arms around my middle, I whisper, “I don’t understand.”

“My father was a drug addict and an alcoholic. Most of the time, he’d just get high or drunk and pass out, but there were times when he’d fly into a rage for whatever reason. One night, he spiraled, and by the time I woke up and realized what was going on, it was too late.” He looks across the room with his jaw tight.

“What happened?” The question is out before I can think better of asking—not only for his sake, but also to question if I really want to know the answer.

“He lost it. I’m not sure what set him off because I walked in when Mom was already bleeding on the kitchen floor. When he realized I was there, he turned on me. But I was thirteen, and I’d grown a lot that summer. And he was a mess from all the drugs and the drinking.” He sighs. “To this day, I don’t remember what happened. I’m not sure if I blacked out, or if it’s just something my mind blocked, but when I finally came to, he was on the floor next to Mom.”

My mouth fills with saliva, and I try to swallow the bile I feel crawling up the back of my throat, as the loop of what he just said plays over and over in my head.

When he realized I was there, he turned on me. But I was thirteen, and I’d grown a lot that summer. And he was a mess from all the drugs and the drinking. To this day, I don’t remember what happened. I’m not sure if I blacked out, or if it’s just something my mind blocked, but when I finally came to, he was on the floor next to Mom.

Unable to hold back the wave of nausea any longer, I cover my mouth as I jump up off the couch and run toward the bathroom in the hall. I can hear him right behind me as my knees crash to the tile floor, and hovering over the bowl, I lose what I was able to eat.

Still gagging, with my eyes squeezed tight, I register the light come on, the toilet flush, then hear the sink start up.

“Are you okay?” He places a cool, wet cloth on the back of my neck, and tears fill my eyes.

“Yeah,” I lie, taking the rag from my neck and using it to wipe my mouth as he squats down next to me.

“I shouldn’t have told you.” He touches my chin, and I turn to meet his gaze. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Please stop apologizing.” I fall against him, wrapping my arms around his middle, and he lands on his ass under my weight, dragging in a deep breath. Squeezing my eyes closed again, I press my fist against my lips so that he doesn’t hear me cry.

I didn’t understand why he would’ve taken such drastic measures to make sure he didn’t have kids or why he never had a relationship, but now I get it. What he went through… the trauma of that experience altered not just his life, but him as a person—and at thirteen, an age when he was just figuring out who he was. On top of that, he lost his mom and his dad, both in tragic ways. Why would anyone believe in love, or really anything good, after going through that?

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and his hold on me gets tighter.

“Don’t be. I was better off where I ended up.”

Because he ended up with Clay, Tucker, and Miles—his family who he chose and who chose him in return. The guys who have been in his life since he was thirteen and probably have backstories as tragic as his. I’m glad he had them and that they all had each other.

And even though our relationship will likely never be traditional in any sense of the word, I have a feeling that if we keep building on our friendship, the family we are creating will be just as strong as the one he has with his brothers, and I honestly can’t ask for anything more than that.

CHAPTER 13

Dayton

With the TV on low and the only light coming in from the windows behind me, I drag my eyes off the papers in my hand and look down toward the end of the couch at Franny. Studying her soft features and her blonde hair that is a mess of waves spread out behind her on the throw pillow she tucked under her head, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful sight in my life.

---