Caden’s laughing, hit after hit, but Torrin’s quiet. Eerily quiet. His hits are concentrated, focused almost. It doesn’t look like he’s going to stop until Caden shuts up.
I don’t think Caden’s trying to fight back, or if he was, Torrin’s beat it right out of him, so when I notice the first splatters of blood rain across the linoleum, I step in. I can’t count the number of these “brotherly” brawls I’ve broken up. At least Rory, the youngest Costigan brother, is more lover than fighter. Once Caden moves out of the house, things will quiet down.
“Enough, Torrin.” I don’t have to shout this time because there isn’t much noise anymore.
Other than the smack of Torrin’s fist connecting with some part of Caden, the room is quiet. He’s finally stopped laughing.
“Torrin . . .” I step up behind him. He scares me when I see him like this. Not because I’m scared for myself but scared for anyone who crosses him. Torrin doesn’t back down once he’s committed. “Enough.”
Even though my words aren’t stopping him, the moment my hand curls around his shoulder, his whole body goes still. Other than his chest rising and falling with his rushed breathing, he doesn’t move.
I squeeze his shoulder. “Come on.”
He stays straddled over Caden for a few more seconds, but slowly his arms lower to his sides as his fists fall open like they’re exhausted. Caden’s nose is bleeding, and a couple of Torrin’s knuckles look split open—again—but I don’t think there are any broken bones or stitches required. Torrin was holding back. Sometime this past year, he became stronger than his older brother. The roles have shifted. From the look in Caden’s swollen eyes, he knows it too.
“You talk to Jade like that again, and we’re over. Through.” When Torrin speaks, his voice is controlled, but I don’t miss the tremor that runs down his spine. “Now sober up and clean up before Mom gets home. I’m tired of cleaning up your messes.”
He stares down at Caden for another moment before standing up beside me. He flexes his fingers, popping his knuckles, then grabs my hand and steers me out of the kitchen. Again. Hopefully for the last time tonight because it’s a damn miracle my dad isn’t already beating down the front door with the SWAT team covering him.
“Blood’s thicker than water, little brother!” Caden calls after us, spitting out what I guess is some blood of his own.
“Yeah, let me know when you figure that out. Big brother.” Torrin makes the last part sound like an insult as he throws open the front door and ushers me out first. He wants to make sure to keep himself between his brother and me.
Under most circumstances, I’d call him out for that, but he’s just kicked his brother’s ass without Caden getting a single punch in. He already has a lot to deal with without me going all independent woman on him.
The cool fall air does a decent job of clearing both of our heads, so by the time we’ve bounced down the front steps and are rounding onto the sidewalk, he almost looks back to normal—or as normal as Torrin Costigan is capable of looking because on a typical day, Torrin’s an intense person. A guy who looks like this world and the next one over is riding on his wide shoulders. It’s what I like about him. It’s also why I worry about him. Intensity’s good to a point . . . that point where it breaks a person. I never want to see Torrin broken.
“You shouldn’t have hit him,” I say as we wander down the sidewalk. Neither of us are in a hurry to separate.
“I know.” Torrin stares at the sidewalk, slowing our pace until we come to a standstill. “But there are only a few people I love, and you’re at the top of that list. If I don’t take care of you, what good am I?”
I feel the dreaded ball wedge into my throat again. Torrin somehow feels partly responsible for his dad’s death too. As if all twelve-year-old ninety pounds of him could have stepped out in front of that speeding minivan and crushed it before it crushed his dad. His thought process makes no sense to me, but that doesn’t change that it makes sense to him.
“I can also, you know, take care of myself.”
I glance down at my house. The lights are still on in every room but my little brother’s. It’s just past ten o’clock, and usually my parents go to bed at nine thirty on the dot. Except when I’m out with Torrin. They stay up until I get home every time, scanning me like they’re checking to see if my top is twisted around or my skirt is still bunched up or something. Having a police chief as a dad really sucks when you’re a teenage girl.
“Yeah, I remember.” Torrin rubs at his cheek, trying not to smile.