“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t need this right now. I don’t need you. I want you to go.” His voice is distant, like he’s in space, like he’s Major Tom leaving the rest of us behind.
I sit back in the chair, stunned and hurt.
I don’t know why he wouldn’t want the police to go after the person who did this.
I don’t know why he’s pushing me away.
And then a dark wave of understanding sweeps over me, stealing my breath, the realization leaving me reeling.
Finn in first grade, his quiet days, the anger inside him.
When he pummeled Johnny on the playground, his words. You can’t hurt her, too.
His bruises back then.
His bruises at the airfield.
Johnny’s threat after the boxing match.
The fights he and Johnny get in aren’t just everyday brother fights.
I hold my hands tight, so Finn can’t see the way they’re shaking, and I lean forward. “Did your brother do this?”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Finn, please, look at me. Did Johnny do this?”
He still won’t meet my eyes, but at his brother’s name, his whole body shudders, and I know I’m right.
“Him and another guy,” he mutters. “If it was just one of them, I could have held my own.”
“Oh my God,” I say, shaking my head, tears streaming down my face. I’m sick to my stomach at how I’ve failed Finn for all these years, how everyone has. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I can’t stop saying it.
Finn reaches out, grabbing my hand. I can barely see his eyes with all the swelling.
“Stop. It’s not your fault, okay?”
“You should tell your dad at least.”
Finn exhales, letting go. “Where do you think Johnny picked up the habit, Parker?”
I feel sick all over again. “My parents can help. Or Carla.”
“Parker, I messed up things all those years ago when I went to the neighbors. It’s my fault the police arrested my dad. Johnny’s got two strikes and I’m not sending someone else in my family to jail, okay? Let it go. I’m asking you to do this for me.”
“Why do you want to protect him?” I finally ask.
“He’s blood. Promise me you’ll let this go.”
I look at him, the boy who told me he could fly, who made me swear not to tell his secret all those years ago, who’s asking me again.
“I don’t know if I can,” I say right as the nurse comes back in the room.
“He should probably get some rest soon,” she says, picking up the chart at the end of Finn’s bed.
“Okay, yeah, I’m heading out.” I’m relieved at her arrival. I don’t want to make a promise I’m not sure I can keep. “When will he be discharged?”
“Tomorrow,” she said. “The doctor wants to make sure there’s no internal bleeding.”
I lean over to kiss Finn’s forehead. “I’ll be back tomorrow, okay? Call if you need anything.”
But he grabs my hand firmly, not letting go. His eyes search mine, panicked, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Don’t tell anyone about my brother. Promise, Parker. You have to promise me.”
“I promise,” I finally say, trying to hide the reluctance in my voice.
His whole body relaxes at my words, his shoulders releasing into the sheets, his face losing its hardness, his eyes drifting shut.
“Thank you,” he says, the relief in his voice breaking my heart all over again.
Fifty-Three
“HOW’S FINN?” RUBY ASKS, searching my face when I meet her in the lobby.
“A mess,” I say. “But the nurse is watching him, and it’s good he came to the hospital. They want to make sure he doesn’t have internal bleeding.”
“Crap,” Charlie mutters. “That’s serious.”
“Yeah, it is,” I say, turning more carefully toward my brother. I can feel it starting as soon as I look at him: a restless anger, my hands twitchy, my thoughts sharp.
For the first time in my life, I’m pretty sure I could actually hurt someone.
I want to plow a car into Johnny, want to hear the thud of his body as it breaks against the fender.
I want to curl my fingers into a fist and hit Finn’s dad right in the face for letting it happen, for hitting Johnny first.
I want to hear cartilage snap. I want to see blood coming from a nose.
Focusing on the anger is the only way to avoid looking at the black hole of guilt behind me, for not realizing what was happening earlier, for not helping my friend.
I should have known.
It’s not enough.
“So,” I say to Charlie, trying to keep the volume of my voice at an acceptable level for a hospital waiting room. “Why were you at the boxing gym with Finn? Were you picking him up for the art fair?”
He takes a careful breath. “No, not exactly.”
“Charlie, why were you at the boxing gym.” It’s not a question this time.
“Um, I think I’m going to go check on Finn? Or go to the cafeteria?” Ruby says, nervousness making her fidgety.
Charlie watches her leave before stretching his neck, rubbing his head, bracing himself. “I was there for beginner boxing lessons,” he finally says.
“Boxing lessons,” I repeat.
“Yeah.”
“With Finn?”
“He doesn’t know I was taking them. But trust me, it’s not a big deal,” he says. “You don’t need to worry.”
It’s not enough.
“I’m fine,” he continues, motioning to his body. “Totally one hundred percent healthy, boxing and all.”
It’s not enough.
I can’t save him.
At that point I don’t know if the “him” is Finn or Charlie, but I’ve had it. The last nine years, the last two months, the last two hours—all of it rushes inside me like a tornado whirling into existence.
And the eye of the storm? Pure, quiet anger, a “no” startling in its clarity.
“I’m not worried,” I say, my voice steely. “Livid? Irritated? Infuriated? Yes. But worried? No.”
“Parker,” Charlie starts, his voice mildly exasperated. “Come on.”
“Boxing? Why in the world would you do that?” I shoot back.
I watch my brother transform: his expression tightening, his shoulders jutting back, every muscle in him rigid and defensive, ready for this fight.
“Because I’m not a dying boy anymore.”
It’s his mean voice. But I don’t back down.
Instead I drive my finger at his chest with each word. “Then stop acting like one!”
“I have!” he yells.
Charlie’s angrier than I’ve ever seen him, his whole body stiff with it. But then, like he’s reminding himself, he sucks in his breath and breathes it out slowly, flexes his fingers and stretches, before he continues, forcing calm into his voice until it comes on its own. “Listen, I know I wasn’t great at the beginning of the summer.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“Can you just listen?” he snaps.
I nod warily.
“People expect that when you hit remission, everything will just go back to normal. I expected it the first time. But I’m not normal. Instead I’ve got this tangled mess of dark, angry stuff inside me . . . here.” He touches his chest. “And there are times I hate everything. You, Mom, Dad, Matty, school, baseball, everything. It doesn’t make sense, I know. And at the beginning of the summer, I wasn’t dealing with it in the right ways. I fully acknowledge that.”
I snort, but he ignores me.
“But, Parker, I’m changing now, I really am. Being with Ruby helps. Doing things on my own terms helps. Talking with my therapist and the support group helps. I know my body is still healing, that I have to be careful. I really do. But watching Finn box that night at the Fight to the Death?” Charlie whistles. “I got why he does it—he just loses himself in that ring. He takes all the tangled stuff inside him and makes it work for him. I wanted that. So, I signed up for lessons.”
“But—”