“Oh my God,” Molly said in horror as she peeled the shirt down my arms. “You need to go to a hospital. Will, we need to take him to the hospital.”
“I’m fine,” I rasped, shifting a little on the bed. “It’ll heal.”
“Tommy, you could have internal bleeding. This—” she shook her head, eyes wide. “This is bad.”
“I’m fine,” I said again as the door swung open. My mouth slammed shut as my dad came in the room. I glanced behind him, but he no longer had Heather with him.
“Ah, TomTom,” he said my childhood nickname quietly, as he looked me over.
“He needs to go to a—” Molly’s words cut off as Will shushed her.
“My boy,” Dad said, crossing the room. When he got to me, his jaw clenched, and he practically fell onto his knees.
My eyes watered and I turned my head away. He knew.
“It’s okay, son,” he said, reaching out to wrap his hand around the back of my neck.
He pulled me against him gently, holding my head against his shoulder, and when his other hand started rubbing my back like he’d done when I was a kid, I couldn’t stop the sob that tore out of my throat. I’d held my tongue for so long, kept the secret for so long, that when it was finally out it felt like something was tearing loose in my chest. My baby brother, my best friend, had been preyed on by some asshole and I’d had no idea. I hadn’t helped him. I hadn’t taken care of him. I knew him best, and I’d missed it.
“It’s alright, son,” Dad murmured, rubbing his hand around and around in small circles between my shoulder blades. “It’s alright.”
“I burned him,” I choked out. “Cut him into pieces and buried him all over the Tillamook Forest.”
“Okay, Tommy,” my dad said, his arms steady. “Okay.”
I let it all out. I didn’t care if Molly and Will were still there. I didn’t care if the door was open or closed, or if the entire club had come to watch. I shook and sobbed and my dad didn’t move except for that hand rubbing my back. He murmured and trembled, his voice growing hoarse, but he didn’t pull away.
“Didn’t want you to know,” I said finally, my breath choppy. “Mom was barely gettin’ out of bed.”
“You can tell us anything,” my dad replied. “Your ma and I have been through shit you can’t even imagine. There ain’t nothin’ in this world that’ll break us.”
I nodded against his shoulder.
“Wasn’t your fault, Thomas,” he said, kissing the side of my head. “I know you, boy. Know the shit that runs through your head, know what you’re gonna do before you do it, and ain’t none a’this your fault. You hear me?”
“I should have seen it,” I whispered, so fucking ashamed I could barely breathe. “I should have noticed.”
“You were seventeen years old.”
“Old enough,” I replied.
Dad pulled back so he could look me in the eyes. “How’d you find out, son?”
I clenched my jaw and looked away.
“Thomas,” he said.
“He had a phone,” I gritted out through my teeth. “Fuckin’ burner. There were text messages. Mick was tryin’ to get away from him, but the guy kept sendin’ them.”
“Christ,” my dad mumbled, shaking his head.
“I found it later. After he was gone. He’d hidden it in the slats under my bed.”
Dad reached up and smoothed my hair back from my forehead, his eyes unfocused. “Shoulda paid more attention,” he said, watching his hand. “Knew you were dealin’ with some hard shit, but I shoulda paid more attention.”
“It’s alright,” I mumbled, grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand out of my hair. “Everything was fucked back then.”
We were quiet after that, both of us lost in our memories. The months after Mick’s death had been unbearable. I hadn’t been able to function without lashing out at everyone and everything and I’d been pretty sure I’d die from the guilt.
My baby brother, the boy I’d wrestled with and picked on and who’d followed me around for most of my life, had tackled me to the ground when the shooting started. He was bigger, and stronger, and no matter how I’d struggled, he’d held me down.
Thud. One heartbeat. Thud. Three heartbeats. Thud.
He’d been hit three times, and I’d felt his body jerk with each one.
There was no way to move past that. No way to come to grips with it. My brother had died shielding me with his body and it shouldn’t have been that way.
I was the elder. It was my job to protect him, not the other way around.
Goddamn him.
I was so fucking angry with him.
When I’d found out about what had been happening, that he’d been hiding this horrible secret from everyone, I’d snapped. I wasn’t sure how I’d had the foresight to cover my tracks, but it must have been ingrained like muscle memory, because no one saw me when I’d snatched Mark Phillips off his front porch the day after I found Mick’s phone.