better run.”
I rub my forehead and try to push back the wave of shitty thoughts that are taking over. “Alright, bro. If you ever feel like getting out of there, you can come live with me in Vegas. You’ll always have a home with me, ya hear?”
“Yeah, I know.” He’s quiet.
The silence hangs between us. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am—what our lives would be like if I’d just obeyed our dad back then. Does Braeden blame me for where he is today? Locked on some military base, taking orders?
“Catch ya later, Brae.”
The phone call ends. I stare into the black night, contemplating my ugly childhood. Giving up on dreams, throwing away the things that I enjoyed, things I was good at, all so that I could keep peace in my house. Protect my mom and brother.
A lot of good that shit did them.
I’ve heard men end up just like their fathers. Whether they like it or not, the DNA demands it. I hate that I see him in me, in the rage that draws me to the octagon, the need to have control over my life, my refusal to let anyone influence what I do. But unlike my dad, I’d never subject a kid, or a woman, to that kind of life. Lord knows I’ve seen how that turns out.
No attachments. No risk. No pain.
I jam my fists into my eye sockets. Talking to my brother always brings back the things that keep me awake at night.
My dad thought he could exorcise me of those demons by shipping me off. He was wrong. First thing I did when I got my own place was take back that part of my life he robbed me of. And now it’s the only thing that brings me peace when my head goes down these fucked up paths.
Party’s over. I need to get the hell out of here and to the only place that can bring those evils to heel.
The room.
Layla
“Breakfast for dinner. Yum.” Elle pushes her eggs and bacon around her plate, avoiding my eyes.
“I get my first paycheck in two weeks. Until then, we have to live on a budget.” I fork a bite into my mouth.
It’s funny how these eggs taste better than any others I’ve had. I know now what it means to appreciate the simple things. Like food. And health and work.
In my old life, I had a walk-in pantry full of food, but it all tasted the same. A clean bill of health but always felt sick. And work—well, my job was to stay home and keep house. And it was a gorgeous house. But it felt like a prison cell.
“Have you talked to him?” Elle is staring at me, her head tilted, eyebrows low.
“Who?”
She slides her eyes to the ceiling then back to mine. “Dad. You were just thinking about him, weren’t you?”
How’d she know?
“You always get that look.” She motions to me with her fork. “Lost or empty when you think about him.”
I study my plate, hoping she doesn’t notice how uneasy I am about her ability to read my expression. I wonder what else she’s figured out.
“I wasn’t thinking about him. But I was thinking about our old life.”
“Do you… miss it?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Do you?”
She stabs at her eggs then drops her fork. “I don’t miss listening to you and Dad fight.”
I drop my head and close my eyes. Shit. There’ll be a day when I can talk about this with her, but now is not it. Every day is a battle to maintain the illusion that I’m strong and can handle taking care of us on my own. This conversation will expose how weak I really am.
“I bet you miss your friends.” Changing the subject is my way to skirt the difficult subject. “Leaving school halfway through the year was hard on you, I know.”
She glares at me. “What are you talking about? I only had a couple friends, and neither of them has even called me since before Christmas break.” She holds her head in her hands and grips her hair.
Even with the past behind us, I’m constantly reliving my mistakes. The biggest being that Elle had to endure a life with parents who weren’t in love, who barely spoke to each other. When they did, it was through verbal insults
I rub my forehead and try to push back the wave of shitty thoughts that are taking over. “Alright, bro. If you ever feel like getting out of there, you can come live with me in Vegas. You’ll always have a home with me, ya hear?”
“Yeah, I know.” He’s quiet.
The silence hangs between us. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am—what our lives would be like if I’d just obeyed our dad back then. Does Braeden blame me for where he is today? Locked on some military base, taking orders?
“Catch ya later, Brae.”
The phone call ends. I stare into the black night, contemplating my ugly childhood. Giving up on dreams, throwing away the things that I enjoyed, things I was good at, all so that I could keep peace in my house. Protect my mom and brother.
A lot of good that shit did them.
I’ve heard men end up just like their fathers. Whether they like it or not, the DNA demands it. I hate that I see him in me, in the rage that draws me to the octagon, the need to have control over my life, my refusal to let anyone influence what I do. But unlike my dad, I’d never subject a kid, or a woman, to that kind of life. Lord knows I’ve seen how that turns out.
No attachments. No risk. No pain.
I jam my fists into my eye sockets. Talking to my brother always brings back the things that keep me awake at night.
My dad thought he could exorcise me of those demons by shipping me off. He was wrong. First thing I did when I got my own place was take back that part of my life he robbed me of. And now it’s the only thing that brings me peace when my head goes down these fucked up paths.
Party’s over. I need to get the hell out of here and to the only place that can bring those evils to heel.
The room.
Layla
“Breakfast for dinner. Yum.” Elle pushes her eggs and bacon around her plate, avoiding my eyes.
“I get my first paycheck in two weeks. Until then, we have to live on a budget.” I fork a bite into my mouth.
It’s funny how these eggs taste better than any others I’ve had. I know now what it means to appreciate the simple things. Like food. And health and work.
In my old life, I had a walk-in pantry full of food, but it all tasted the same. A clean bill of health but always felt sick. And work—well, my job was to stay home and keep house. And it was a gorgeous house. But it felt like a prison cell.
“Have you talked to him?” Elle is staring at me, her head tilted, eyebrows low.
“Who?”
She slides her eyes to the ceiling then back to mine. “Dad. You were just thinking about him, weren’t you?”
How’d she know?
“You always get that look.” She motions to me with her fork. “Lost or empty when you think about him.”
I study my plate, hoping she doesn’t notice how uneasy I am about her ability to read my expression. I wonder what else she’s figured out.
“I wasn’t thinking about him. But I was thinking about our old life.”
“Do you… miss it?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Do you?”
She stabs at her eggs then drops her fork. “I don’t miss listening to you and Dad fight.”
I drop my head and close my eyes. Shit. There’ll be a day when I can talk about this with her, but now is not it. Every day is a battle to maintain the illusion that I’m strong and can handle taking care of us on my own. This conversation will expose how weak I really am.
“I bet you miss your friends.” Changing the subject is my way to skirt the difficult subject. “Leaving school halfway through the year was hard on you, I know.”
She glares at me. “What are you talking about? I only had a couple friends, and neither of them has even called me since before Christmas break.” She holds her head in her hands and grips her hair.
Even with the past behind us, I’m constantly reliving my mistakes. The biggest being that Elle had to endure a life with parents who weren’t in love, who barely spoke to each other. When they did, it was through verbal insults
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