“Yes, we can,” she insisted.
She kept saying “we.” As if she was in this too when that was the last thing I wanted. If she got too close… If she got hurt…I wouldn’t be able to hold back. I wouldn’t be able to stick to defense. I would end him, and in doing so, I would become him.
“If he’s hurting you, Lucian—” Sloane’s voice broke, and so did a piece of my heart.
“Stop,” I whispered, gathering her into my arms as I stood.
She wrapped her arms around my waist and held on tight. Her face pressed against my chest. I hated how good this physical affection from her felt.
It wasn’t the way I felt about Brandy Kleinbauer when I’d lost my virginity to her at barely sixteen. Or the hormonal longing I’d felt for Cindy Crawford all through junior high. And it wasn’t what I felt for Addie, my on-again, off-again weekend hookup.
This was…more complicated. I liked Sloane. I wanted to keep her safe. And every time we touched, no matter how innocently, part of me wished for more. But that wasn’t an option. I was broken and she was beautiful.
I didn’t know what we were to each other beyond the fact that she was important to me. More important than anyone.
“What CD did you get?” I asked.
She pulled back from our embrace, and I was both relieved and regretful. Her glasses were askew. Her hair was even more of a wreck. I felt something warm and tender slide through my chest. Like I was absorbing her goodness. But it wasn’t mine to take.
“Shania Twain.”
I smirked. “You’re kidding right?”
“What’s the matter? Aren’t you man enough to listen to girl country?” She bounced over to her bed and picked up her headphones with a challenge in her eyes. “Shania Twain is a beautiful badass. Wanna listen?”
She looked so sweet and hopeful, her hair lopsided, eyes wide. I wanted nothing more than to lie next to her in that soft bed, in this nice room, in this big house, and be part of it all. And that was exactly why I couldn’t.
I brought darkness with me. My bruises were contagious.
“I should get back and…” And what? What was left for me at home?
Sloane cocked her head. “Please?”
“It’s not a good idea, Pix. What if your parents come in? I shouldn’t be here.” I shouldn’t be anywhere near her.
“They’re asleep on the other side of the house. And honestly, if you leave right now, I’m just going to spend the whole night worrying about you. I won’t be able to sleep. And I’ll be so tired tomorrow that I’ll fail my trig test. Come on, big guy. Do you really want that on your conscience?”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Three songs,” Sloane bargained, hopping onto her bed and patting the mattress next to her.
I sighed. She sensed victory and grinned. “One song,” I countered.
“Two,” she insisted.
It was selfish and absolutely stupid, I thought, as I toed off my shoes. If Sloane’s dad were to come in here and find me in his daughter’s bed, he’d never forgive me. Even if I tried to explain. He knew how special she was, and he could sense how damaged I was. That was why they were so nice. Because they felt sorry for me.
“It’s Come on Over, not advanced calculus,” Sloane teased.
I climbed onto the bed next to her and resolutely stayed above the duvet cover. But I did let her pile her insane pillow collection around us. “What are you doing?” I asked as she tucked a pillow under my arm.
“I’m building a nest. This is how I sleep,” she explained, fluffing the two behind me.
“You sleep with forty-two pillows every night?”
“It’s six, smarty-pants. And don’t judge me until you’ve tried it.”
I had one pillow and a mattress on the floor after Dad had splintered my bed frame throwing me on it last summer. I relaxed against the mound of pillows and tried not to think about how good it felt being surrounded by softness.
Sloane cuddled up against my side. It was just the two of us supported by a soft U of pillows.
“Is he like this all the time?” she asked softly.
I looked down at my hands in my lap. They were balled into fists again. “Only when he drinks. He just drinks more often now. He still acts normal some of the time.” And it was that act, that pretense that I hated more. I preferred the monster to the man pretending to care by showing up to football games or taking us out to dinner.
“I hate him.” Her voice quivered. “I really hate him.”
I slid my arm around her shoulders and cautiously drew her closer. It felt so good that I knew it was wrong. “I don’t want you thinking about him.”
“Why can’t we tell the cops?” she asked.
I shook my head. “It’s complicated, okay? Just trust me.”
“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself, Lucian? Like if he gets too out of control, you won’t let him…you know.”
Kill me. Kill my mother.
I would kill him first. Even if it sealed my fate as a monster. Like father, like son, I thought. “I promise if you promise me you won’t call the cops. Ever. No matter what.”
She took a deep breath and blew it out.
“Pixie,” I prompted. “You have to trust me. Cops would just make it worse.”
Her silence lasted too long, and I squeezed her shoulder.
“Ugh. Fine. But I’m not happy about it.”
“Promise me,” I insisted. She was the daughter of a lawyer. I knew better than to accept “Ugh. Fine,” as an answer.
“I promise,” she said miserably.
Some of the tension drained out of me with her assurance.
Sloane looked up at me with those forest-green eyes. “You’re not going to college, are you? You can’t leave her alone with him.”
I looked away. “No. I can’t.”
She sat up next to me, her small body tight with indignation at the injustice of it. “That sucks. You have to sacrifice your entire future because your dad is a monster and your mom won’t leave? It’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair, Pix.”
“What if I looked out for her?” she offered hopefully.
“No.” The word came out so loud it seemed to echo around the room.
We both froze and listened for the telltale sounds of waking parents.
I grasped her by both shoulders and made her look me in the eye. “You’re not to ever get involved. Do you hear me? You don’t ever go over there. You don’t speak to them. You don’t ever draw any attention to yourself. And you don’t ever stand between him and someone else when he’s been drinking. Okay?”
She was wide-eyed and scared. But I needed her to be. I needed to ensure she never went near my father.
“Okay. Geez. Chill out. It was only a suggestion,” she said, looking like I’d just asked her to set her favorite book on fire.
I heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”
“You didn’t scare me. You annoyed me with your intensity.”
“Three songs,” I conceded.
She brightened and crawled over me to reach for the earbuds on her nightstand. This time when I fisted my hands in the bedspread, it had nothing to do with fear or anger. I was having…feelings. Normal teenage guy feelings. But I wasn’t allowed to have those with Sloane. Mr. Walton trusted me. And I needed that trust. Sometimes the Waltons felt like the only anchor I had.
She crawled back across me and handed me an earbud before settling into my side again.
“Does Addie know that we do this?” she asked.
“What?”
“Addie. Your girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Not exactly. She was a girl I’d spent time with in the past few weeks. Some of that time was spent partially naked. But that was because I was seventeen and she was trying to make her ex-boyfriend jealous. It wasn’t like I talked on the phone with her or had dinner with her parents…or climbed a tree and crawled through her window at night to hang out.
“Does your not girlfriend know about any of this?” she pressed.
“No. And we’re not seeing each other anymore.” She’d gotten a little too demanding. Wanting to make plans, wanting to meet my parents. I couldn’t give her any of that. And I didn’t want to either after I’d overheard her telling one of her friends that the busty Sloane Walton was definitely a slut.