Page 215 of Did They Break You

I nod, swallowing down another lump in my throat. I think about Greg firing off that round last night. I could tell Dad. He’d be pissed on my behalf. Might take his own guns down to Greg’s property and shoot a few bullets through his head. Storm almost did just that.

But it wouldn’t be worth it.

There’s no point in discussing it. Or Mom, Maya, and Chase at the game. Just wasted fucking words.

“Why’d you stay with her?” I ask him quietly. “After you knew she was… how she is?” I finally look up and he’s looking away, cupping his mug with both hands, leaned against the counter beside the stove.

He takes a drink, still staring at the linoleum floors, as if he’s thinking about his reasons for the first time himself. “I thought we’d work it out. She’d always been ambitious. Ready to get the hell out of Beckley as soon as she could.” He smiles softly, afaraway look in his eyes. “I supported that. And her. But soon I realized I’d never be able to live up to her definition of success, and she made sure I knew it too.” The smile slips, and I feel sadness bubble up in my chest, thinking of all the ways my dad probably felt like a failure.

He turns to look at me. “Then we had you. Tristan not long after. For a while, she was a good mom. Then she just… wasn’t.” He shrugs. “She was controlling, and in some ways, itdidseem like she cared so much, about the both of you. And by the time I realized that just wasn’t true, I was under her thumb, too. And it was so hard to get out of it.” I see him swallow, holding his mug by the handle as he turns toward me, one palm on the counter. “I’m sorry I didn’t get out sooner. She was so hard on you, and I thought maybe it made you better. But I know now…” He shakes his head, then sets his mug down. “I should’ve done better. For both of you.”

I nod, forcing back my own emotions as I stare at the table. “It’s okay,” I tell my dad. “You did the best you could.” I don’t know if that’s true, but I know for a while, my mom had warped my head too. I could never do wrong, but I could never do enough, either. Never live up to her expectations while at the same time she put me above everyone else.

It was a fine line to walk between. A hard thing to balance. No room for error and no room for growth.

Before either of us can say anything else, I hear the door creak open down the hall from the living room, and slowly, Tristan comes padding in, barefoot in his boxers with no shirt.

He stops abruptly when he sees me, his hair a mess, then he smiles, takes a seat beside me. “Why are you here?” he asks, raking a hand through his hair.

“Good to see you too,” I tell him with a smile.

He laughs, white teeth flashing. Then he rubs his hand over his opposite arm, and I see the still-healing wound on his wrist,but he no longer seems to notice it as he looks at me, grinning. “Good morning,” he finally mumbles.

I think about how his life might be in West Virginia. All the things he likes that people might make fun of him for. But he grew up there well enough, and it’s really not much different than here. I know Dad and Uncle Clave will take care of him.

“You hungry?” Dad asks him, and he nods, glancing over at Dad for the first time. Then he turns to me.

“Are you moving with us?” There’s hope in his words, and I feel my muscles tense. Because I don’t know. Remi is here. Storm.

I don’t know what to do.

“I’m thinking about it,” I tell Tristan truthfully, watching as he lights up while Dad passes out plates, then brings the platter of bacon to the table. “What do you think about that?”

Tristan pulls his chair toward the table and smiles. “That’d be cool,” he says, reaching for the bacon and putting a piece in his mouth before it ever touches his plate. He’s chewing, speaking over it, and for a second, when he asks, “What’s going on with Remi?” I think I’ve misheard him.

Dad clears his throat, sitting down across from me and forking bacon onto his own plate.

I haven’t reached for anything yet. Not the orange juice Dad set out or the cups or the food.

I just blink at my brother, completely oblivious to my tension as he snatches more bacon from the center plate.

“What?” I finally ask. I know he knows what happened, but I had no idea he knew about what recently went on.

Before he puts the bacon in his mouth, he shrugs. “I heard you two were talking.”

I glance at Dad, who is staring down at his plate, his hands under his chin, stacked on top of each other.

“Oh yeah?” I ask Tristan, fisting my hands on the table.

“Yeah,” he nods, looking up at me, then sitting up straighter, glancing between me and Dad, finally realizing we’re all slightly freaked out by this conversation. He shrugs. “What? I pay attention.”

Yeah, I see that.

“I’m nottalkingto her anymore,” I tell Tristan.

He frowns, dropping his hands to his lap, his light eyes holding mine. “Why not?” he asks, dark blond brows furrowed together.

I arch a brow and resist the urge to look at my dad.Why fucking not?I clear my throat. “It just… wasn’t going to work out.” I try to push back the grief. Thinking of her in the tent. In my truck.At my house.

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