Page 68 of The Two of Us

Ambrose is supposed to drop off parts in the garage.

Hoisting me up by my forearms, he stands me upright and I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from crying out.

“Get rid of them. And while you do that, I’ll go and keep your dad company. Nifty little oxygen tank he has. I think I’ll get a better look.”

I lurch for him, but he swats me away like a fly. “Don’t you fucking touch him.”

He smiles, pointing toward the door. “Get rid of them.”

He shuts himself inside of my dad’s room and it takes everything in me not to follow him. To use my small kernel of strength left to stop him from even breathing the same air as him.

I limp toward the door at a glacial pace, avoiding the deep breaths that make my ribs throb in pain. Opening the door a few inches, I face Ambrose.

“Hey,” I whisper.

His eyes scan the length of me, even in the dark. “Hi.”

I wait for him to continue.

“Is everything okay? I was coming by to drop this stuff off in the garage and I thought I heard a scream.”

I allow faux confusion to paint my face. “Ah, it must have been the movie I’m watching. Thrillers… you know how much they love their screams.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “You sure?”

“Yea! I’m okay,” I say, but the dried tear tracks on my face say otherwise. “I should head to bed, I didn’t realize how late it was. See you tomorrow?”

Ambrose’s eyes narrow and I prepare for him to insist on coming inside, but he says, “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

I close the door and Anya’s ex slips out of the shadows. I glare at him and his eyes float to the lock I’ve purposefully left undone. He shoves me aside to lock it himself but before his skeletal hands make contact with the dead bolt, the door flies open, throwing him onto his back with force.

Ambrose flies over the threshold, a blur as they become a tangled mess at my feet. I stumble back as Ambrose punches him in the dark, the click of the man’s jaw the only indicator that his fist met its target.

“Call the cops, Mara,” he grunts, pinning him beneath his arms like game in a trap. His voice is soft but deadly and I don’t hesitate as I reach for my phone.

The cops arrive not long after.

Anya’s ex, who I now know is named Jason, is taken away in handcuffs and I’m assured by three different police officers that because he’d been out on probation, this offense will put him away for a while. Though my ribs still ache like they’re on fire, the EMT said they’re more likely bruised than broken and the cut on my head is a superficial one. Ambrose and I make eye contact only a few times as we give our statements to multiple people carrying notepads.

And as quickly as they arrived, they leave—Ambrose and I are the only two people remaining on the porch, wondering what the hell just happened.

I turn to him. “How did you know?”

He wipes a speck of dried blood from his busted eyebrow and flinches. “How did I know what?”

“That I was lying.”

Ambrose doesn’t respond right away. Anger emanates from his body as he stares daggers into the empty street. “You were biting your lip. It’s your tell.”

I scrunch my nose. “I have a tell? Since when?”

He tilts his head toward me, amusement lighting his eyes despite the circumstances and his voice is gentle. “Since you were twelve.”

My chest clenches at the thought that I could still be that little girl I was all those years ago. That he could still know me so thoroughly.

He shifts on his feet, preparing himself to leave.

Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go.

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