He looks over at me, amusement lighting his eyes and tugging up his lips. “That’s your question?”
I shrug. “Yeah.”
Chuckling, he says, “I was young, and it was in front of my mom. She called the police.”
“She didn’t try to stop you from killing him?”
“There was nothing to stop. He came in drunk while we were carving pumpkins for the town contest. Leo had been looking forward to it so much, and Mom actually bought the pumpkins that year.” He shakes his head, a war raging on his face. “Dad came home early. I remember the burn of his breath on my skin.” He grips the wheel harder, making it creak under the stress. “Went ballistic over the mess and started wailing on Mom. The bruises from her last beating had barely been healed.”
My breath hitches, each word from his mouth a physical blow. Walking on eggshells, not knowing what will set the person off, enduring the beatings, the betrayal, the pain, not understanding how someone who’s supposed to love you can be so cruel…
I know that nightmare all too well.
“Then he turned on Leo. I never understood his hatred toward him until I got older.” He looks at me, lines marring his forehead and crinkling around his squinted eyes. “It was because he was different. He struck him, and Leo dropped, out cold. I thought he was dead.”
I reach out to steady the lighter lid clicking open and closed. Curling my fingers around his hand, I squeeze. His eyes drop to our contact, his breathing heavy. Slowing the truck, he pulls into Kirby’s. The bar lights dance over the hood in flashing blue.
“What happened next?” I ask, my tone soft.
Inhaling, he squeezes my hand back. “I took the knife we were using for carving, walked over the top of the table, and plunged it into his chest. One stab. The blade went in on an angle, straight through his ribcage into his heart.”
“You were protecting your family.” My head bobs up and down, conviction lacing my tone.
“My mother didn’t see it that way.”
“Fuck her. Why did the police press charges, how could a judge convict? You were protecting yourself and defending your mom and brother.”
“I was thirteen. I only got a couple years in juvie. I’d do a hundred years if it meant not watching my brother get beat on. Leo’s older than me. He always took the brunt of my dad’s wrath after Mom.”
“Did your mom ever try to leave?”
“Fuck no. She loved the son of a bitch and always made excuses for him.”
“Where is she now?”
“Lost her shit. She’s in and out of hospitals and rehabs.”
“You said you served prison time?”
“Caught that?” He smirks. “I did three years for carrying a firearm without a licence.”
“Harsh.” I fidget, thinking of the gun in the glove box of my car. No license for me either.
“Now that I’ve spilled my dirt, you want to spill yours?”
Giggles and raised voices carry from the bar as a group spills out into the parking lot.
“Maybe we should get a drink first?” I attempt to free my hand, but he doesn’t release me. His piercing blue eyes bore into mine for a few tense beats, and my insides flutter.
“Thanks for listening and not judging me.”
“I’d never judge you. You did what you had to do.” My voice lowers, emotion squeezing my throat. “So did I.”
“I won’t judge you either.” He nods, and I believe him.
Kindred spirit.
CHAPTERSEVEN