Page 103 of The Way We Are

Regina holds her hands out in front of her body, signaling she means me no harm. “I’m not going to touch you, but I need you to tell me what’s going on?”

She keeps her tone calm, recognizing I’m moments away from blowing my top. I don’t know who I am madder at, Noah’s mom for striking him like she did, or me for not stopping it.

“I would have given anything for someone to step in and tell my mom she was wrong every time she placed the blame for my dad’s behavior on me. But the one time I have the chance to save a kid experiencing what I went through my entire childhood, I blew it.”

“No, you didn’t—”

“If I had just been quiet when he was sleeping, he wouldn’t wake up so mad. If I didn’t drink all his favorite soda, his low sugar wouldn’t make him so grumpy. If I had never been born, he would have never hit her. I’ve heard every excuse in the book. Every fucking one.” I point to the glass doors I just fled through. “But that has to be the worst one I’ve ever heard. How is Noah to blame for the amount of alcohol his father drinks? How was he to know the consequences of his addiction? He’s a kid! He’s only a kid, for fuck’s sake. But instead of telling her she was wrong, I stood by and watched her hit him. That makes me as bad as her. That makes me just as abusive.”

“No, Ryan,” Regina denies, gripping the tops of my arms harder than she did earlier. “By speaking out about domestic violence, by drawing attention to the matter, you are helping him. Whether directly or indirectly, every word you spokewillhelp him. You just need to continue speaking.”

When I brush off her suggestion with a shake of my head, Regina continues, “If not for you, for every other kid in your situation. You are notalone, Ryan. I’m standing beside you. Savannah is standing beside you. You arenotalone.”

I raise my eyes to the sky and suck in several deep breaths. If I don’t center myself, I’m going to say something I can’t take back.

My pause for contemplation is utterly pointless when I confess, “My dad is an alcoholic who beats my mother.”

41

Ryan

The first smile in hours cracks onto my face when I glance down at the message Savannah just sent me. It's a picture of half her beautiful face and the “Welcome to Ravenshoe” sign she's in the process of crossing.

My smile fades when I read the message attached to the image.

Savannah:I hope your shift finishes before I arrive. I’ve missed talking to you today. Once I’ve said hello to Dad, I’ll be straight over. Unlock your window for me, okay? xx

Instead of returning her message, I throw my cell onto my bedside table, then head for the shower. I haven’t messaged Savannah since I started my shift this morning. It isn’t that I don’t want to talk to her; I just don’t want to tell her about Chris’s loss over the phone.

Savannah usually occupies herself during her travels by giving me a play-by-play rundown of her week, so the instant I returned her message, she would have known I was off the clock. Although I am technically being deceitful, if a little white lie saves a heap of heartache, that’s alright.Isn’t it?

My sluggish steps into my bathroom stop when a weak sob sounds through my ears. Although my first thoughts veer toward the negative, images of my mom’s tear-stained face when I informed her of Chris’s loss eases my concern. She reacted like every mother would when hearing about the loss of a child. She wept tears for both Chris and his mother. After seeing the way Chris’s mom greeted Noah today, I’m going to reserve my sorrow solely for Chris and Noah.

My steps come to a complete halt when raised voices join the whimpering. I stand frozen on the threshold of my bathroom, certain the circumstances of my day have affected my hearing. I haven’t heard these types of noises come out of my house in weeks, if not months.

I flick off the TV in the corner of my room before pricking my ears. I haven’t watched any shows the past two hours; I just had it on to distract my thoughts. Seeing Chris’s face when he arrived at the hospital where they had taken Michael...fuck... It will never leave my mind. Brax and I sat with him for hours. He didn’t speak the entire time. He just stared at his younger brother, as confused by the marks on his face as Regina was when Noah denied how he got them.

Just like I have done my entire life, Noah hid his mother’s abuse.

The noises downstairs cease the instant I switch off the TV, so I once again make my way to the shower. I shred my clothes on the way, letting them fall where they land. I’m so exhausted, I feel like I could sleep for a million years, but I won’t. Not yet. Not until Savannah is at my side.

I take my time in the shower, loving the way the steaming hot water makes me forget for just a minute. I honestly don’t know where I am supposed to go from here. I have three days off after working seven straight, but what happens once those three days are up? I can’t just move on and pretend nothing happened. I’ve never suffered a loss before, so I honestly don’t know the steps involved to help Chris through this.

God, I can’t wait for Savannah to arrive. She knows what to say and how to say it. She’ll steer me in the right direction like she always has.

I shut off the water then step out of the shower. While scrubbing a towel over my hair, which is in desperate need of a cut, I hear my cellphone buzzing on my bedside table. If I know Savannah as well as I think, she's probably sending me pictures of every street she is driving down.

A touch of guilt impinges me. I shouldn’t be smiling when my best friend is suffering.

After curling a towel around my wet hips, I move into my room. My eyes snap to my cracked open bedroom door when the sound of glass smashing bellows up the stairwell. My door wasn’t open when I entered my bathroom, and that loud bang can’t be mistaken for background TV noises.

When a second smash quickly follows the first, I charge into the hallway. With my mind muddled, I take the steps two at a time. My feet thud against the warped wood as quickly as my heart pounds against my ribs. I scan my living and dining room, seeking the cause for the commotion. There’s no one in sight.

My neck cranks to the side when I hear my mom yell for my brother to stop. I push off my feet so fast, my wet soles nearly lose traction on the shiny wooden floor. The scene I stumble into look like ones I’ve walked in on many times before. Except this time, my brother is pointing a gun at my father’s chest—my gun.

“Damon...” My pleas for calm trap in my throat when Damon swings his head in my direction. His top lip is cut and bleeding, and his right eye is nearly swollen shut.

“Did you know?” Damon asks, his voice quivering so much I can barely understand a word he speaks.

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