by Lindsey Iler
“It’s about damn time you realize what a piece of shit he is.” Dixon lets his arms fall, making a show of moving out of the way for me to come inside. “And yes, I was eavesdropping. Now, let’s see how I can help you figure out his game.”
Reagan huffs, rolling her eyes, while smiling as she passes him. “It’s like he lives for digging in other people’s business.”
“No, I prefer to dig around yours, sweetheart.” He winks at her.
“You know, if I’d known this was buried under your clothes, I may have chosen a different Glass House Boy.” I grin, knowing damn well he knows what I’m saying isn’t true.
“Quit flirting with my boy . . .” Reagan’s voice trails off at her slip up.
“Did you hear her?” I giggle, eating up the awkward tension lacing around Dixon and Reagan.
“Can’t be your boyfriend, Reagan, if you won’t even let me see the best parts of you,” Dixon says, closing and locking the door once we are inside.
“Is the best part of her under her skirt?” I flop onto her bed, observing the clothes strewn about the small room. Most of them belong to Dixon.
“Is that the only thing you guys ever think about?” Reagan looks between Dixon and me. “Is it sex all day long?”
“Well . . .” Dixon shrugs, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head. I’ve never seen him be so gentle. It’s strange and yet, completely reassuring. “And the best part isn’t in your skirt. It’s in here.” He taps her forehead, smiling like a boy who’s hit his first homerun in Little League.
Dixon walks around the corner, disappearing from sight. Once the bathroom door shuts, I grin at Reagan.
“Wipe the scheming smirk off your face,” she says.
“What? You trying to say that shit wasn’t the cutest thing anyone has ever said to you?” I tap my feet, trying to grab her attention as she gazes at the wall separating Dixon from us.
“There’s nothing cute about that boy. He’s made up of shards of glass and a lifetime of future horrible decisions. The boy is damaged.”
“Look around.” I sit up and spin around, making a show of proving my point. “We’re all damaged. Don’t go looking for a hero in a place that’s full of monsters.”
“She already knows she won’t find a hero in me,” Dixon says, rounding the corner. “The hero shit is Breaker’s domain. Now that we’ve cleared up that confusion, why don’t you tell me what you need from me?”
“I need to know everything you can find out about my father and the DuPonts,” I confess. “Whatever their business is with each other, I need every last bit of information.”
“I may find things you don’t want to know.” It’s a warning, but I see the brightened hue in his eyes. I’ve asked him to open Christmas presents early.
“I’m a big girl, Dixon.” I challenge. “If he’s hiding something, I need to know.”
“Before I do this, what’s going on with you and my boy?” He smirks.
“Your boy is a thorn in my side.” Memories of him reading my journal come to mind. Breaker Davenport is awfully talented in getting what he wants.
“True, but everyone likes to get poked once in a while.” Dixon heads for the door.
“Hey, where’re you going?” Reagan asks, urgency in her voice.
I grin the entire time watching Dixon gazing at her. He has her in his trap, and she has no idea her leg is stuck. A thrilled smile etches onto his face.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be back.” He winks at her. “And you”—his head swings towards me—“whatever I find, it will change everything. It always does. Be ready for that.”
I nod in understanding, and he’s gone, off to expose the cracks in my not-so-perfect life.
Chapter Eleven
Breaker
My comforter must be made of lead, heavy and restricting, keeping me locked in this bed like a vise around my body. Dread creeps in as I realize what today is. Gauntlet day.
Before that happens, I have some past due business to tend to.
I throw off my covers, force myself out of bed, and into the shower. The hot water cascades over my body, and I allow it to go cold until I can no longer handle it. Through washing my hair and body, my mind races with ideas of what today could hold.
Avoidance is my favorite coping mechanism. Most would agree it’s the safest way to keep demons at bay. My demons like to come out and play, far too often, and they don’t hold any punches. My demons bite.
I wrap a towel around my waist and walk into my bedroom. Water drips from my hair, hitting my shoulders. At my dresser, I prop my hands on the top and fully prepare to give myself a minute for a pity party in quiet with no one’s eyes on me.
Fear of being not enough trickles into my mind. Intrusive thoughts are what my therapist called them when I bothered to see him. I’m prone to them. The worst-case scenarios are a constant in my mind. If I do this, then this could happen. What happens if I don’t do this, then what will the outcome be?
My head is not a fun place to be when these thoughts take over.
Overcome by the what-ifs, I slam my hand on the dresser, rattling the mirror I refuse to look into. With a loud huff, I reach for my towel, ready to move this day along.
“For fuck’s sake, don’t drop the towel,” Marek says. I spin to see him sitting at my desk.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?” I ask, grabbing my clothes from the dresser. Without giving him notice, I drop the towel.
“Come on, man.” He makes a big show of closing his eyes, as if anyone on this fucking Earth can make him uncomfortable.
“It’s just a dick.” I slip into my boxer briefs, followed by my jeans.
“You’re not exactly my type.” He chuckles.
“Funny, because last time I checked, I’m everyone’s type.” I tug on a white Henley and head for the door.
“Where you headed off to?” He approaches me, uncertainty and worry etched into his face.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be here before the gauntlet.” I tap his chest twice before opening the door.
“You know you can bow out. No one would blame you.”
“You know I can’t.” I eye him up and down, hoping he won’t push this matter any further.
“This is going to make me sound like such a pussy, and if you tell a single soul, I’ll fucking kill you. You know I love Delaney. She’s Palmer’s person, which makes her my person. I can’t help but think this is for nothing.” He shrugs, unashamed of the words he’s laced together with conviction.
“She’s not for nothing. She’s every-last-thing.” I mimic the lift of his shoulders and leave. I’m halfway down the hall when I hear his footsteps behind me.
“Break?” he says, grinning. “She may be Palmer’s person, but you’re mine.”
“I think Palmer’s making you soft.”
“I’ll slit his throat if he steps over the line during one of his gauntlets,” Marek announces, then changes direction and walks away, completely uncomfortable with the intimate moment he’s created.
Marek’s words play over and over in my head as I make my way through the house undetected. Music blares through the truck speakers as I leave. The drive is long, but when familiar scenery appears, everything starts to bleed together. I’ve driven these roads thousands of times. This is home, even though I feel like an outsider entering it.
At the gate, imposter syndrome sets in. This place isn’t who I am. It’s who they were before. My sisters are too young to remember the terror inside these walls. To them, they aren’t tainted with memories turned nightmares. This place is their sanctuary and their soft place to land.
I mash the button on the gate, and the speaker crackles to life.
“Hello?”
“Aunt Emily?” My voice breaks with her name.
“Barrett? Is that you?” she responds.
The excited hopefulness in her voice causes my chest to ache. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“Girls, your brother’s here!” she yells,
forgetting to take her finger off the intercom button. “Get your butt inside this house, boy,” she demands.
The gate buzzes, then starts to swing open.
I roll up my window and drive forward, parking inside the large circle drive. The fountain is covered for the winter. I’d run through it as a kid, always getting yelled at, but doing it anyway because there was no better fun than playing in the water.
“You know, if it was warmer, I’d let you dive right in, kiddo,” Aunt Emily says from the front stoop.
“You know I’d be tempted.” I fall into her arms, and her signature perfume transports me to when I was young, embracing her when no one else was there to mend my soul.
“It’s good to see you, Barrett. It’s been too long.” She rubs my back as if I’m a child, unaware how badly I need the connection. When I break away, she smiles.
“I don’t have any excuses.” I shrug, ashamed to admit it.
“Well, that’s not true.” She leads me inside and shuts the door behind us. “I’ve seen the news. I called you, you know?”
“I should have called, you know, before now.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m a big girl. You don’t have to check in on me, but them?” Her eyes dart to the stairs. “They deserved a call.”
“I’ll make it up to them.”
“Well, good luck because they inherited your stubbornness, and my guess is it won’t be an easy task.” She winks. “Now, go up there. Spend some time with them. We’ll talk before you leave, okay?”
“You got it.” I walk to the stairs, overwhelmed with emotions, and pause to look at my aunt. “Aunt Emily?”
“Yeah?” In this light, I can see her age coming through. She’s two years older than my mom would be. I admire the similarities they share, the silvery blonde hair and emerald eyes. My eyes. “Everything all right, Barrett?”
I shake my head, forcing myself out of my thoughts. “Thank you for everything you do for us. I know I’m not here to help, and I’ll try to change that. I’ve been selfish.”
“Your job is to survive high school. That’s all I need from you.”
“That and maybe a phone call now and then.” I grin.
“Yeah, that would help.” She laughs and heads into the den.
One tread at a time, I move closer to where my sisters are hidden behind their doors. They share one large suite, divided by a big archway frame. It’s what they prefer. They’re close to each other, but they have their own space.
Tatum is the oldest by two minutes, and she loves nothing more than reminding her sister of this fact. Charlie has a domineering personality. She’s strong and ruthless, compared to Tatum’s softer demeanor.
I knock once and open the door.
“No hug for your big brother, then?” I close the door, and it slams behind me, startling them.
Tatum flings the headphones I’m certain I sent her for Christmas, while Charlie gawks at me from across the room. They look so much older than the last time I saw them.
“What are you doing here?” Tatum sits up. The attitude is something I appreciate. I expect nothing more from a twelve-year-old girl.
“You have every right to be mad at me.” I hold up my hands, hoping to tread lightly with them.
These girls deserve to hate me. I did the one thing I promised I’d never do. I abandoned them.
“Let me guess, Dotty told you she saw us and basically kicked your ass until you felt guilty enough to come see us,” Charlie accuses.
“Excuse me, when did you start cussing?” I lean against the bookshelf, crossing my legs at my ankles and folding my arms over my chest. It’s my best attempt to look the part of the protective big brother.
“Since you showed up today.” Charlie rolls her eyes, completely fed up with me being in her space.
“Listen, you want to cuss, don’t let Aunt Emily hear you. She’ll wash your mouth out with dish soap,” I warn.
“Do you know this from experience?” Tatum rolls off the bed and grabs a book from the shelf. Before she can walk away, I jerk her into my chest, hugging her. “I miss you.” Her voice breaks in the middle of her whispered words.
“I miss you, too, Tatum.” I cup the top of her head, running my fingers over her blonde hair.
I refuse to let Aunt Emily send them to Glass Heart Academy. They’re at a public school. There aren’t many opportunities for them to flourish there, but at least I know they aren’t being corrupted by the institution that has a vise grip on me. It’s better this way. They resent me for it.
“Well, I don’t miss you!” Charlie yells.
“Don’t listen to her. She has. She’s just strong willed.”
“Let me guess, you’ve heard Aunt Emily say that exact same thing?” I laugh at the maturity in Tatum’s voice.
“Maybe.” She wiggles until I release her, then she sits on the edge of her bed.
I walk over to Charlie, her head hung low enough that her hair falls around her face, shielding her as she intends. I fall to my knees in front of her, bending until she gives me enough space to see her expression.
Unshed tears in my sister’s eyes are enough to break me.
“Listen to me, okay?” I brush her hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry.”
“For what, exactly?” Charlie’s head lifts, and a single tear falls down her cheek.
“You want me to say it?”
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Me, too,” Tatum says.
I motion for Tatum to join us and drag Charlie’s desk chair over to the bedside. We sit in silence for a minute until I’m ready to say everything I need to say.
“You’re almost thirteen now, and that means you’re old enough to be honest with.” I take a deep breath, releasing it to prepare for the reality I’m about to slap them in the face with. “I haven’t been around because it can be hard for me.”
“Because of Mom?” Tatum asks, her young heart pulsing through her eyes.
“Yes, because of Mom. I know you don’t remember her that much, and all you have left is photos.” I wave my hand at the shelves filled with frames. Most are ones of them with their friends, but one in particular stands out. My mom holds both of them in her arms, a bright and happy smile plastered on her face.
“She left us.” Charlie bursts from the mattress like her skin’s on fire, but I grab her arms and bring her to sit on the edge of the bed. “Ouch! What was that for?”
“She didn’t leave us. She struggled long before you two blessed this earth. She fought for you, and don’t ever think differently.”
“She left us. You can spin it any way you want, but she’s gone.” Charlie crosses her arms over her chest, glancing away, too afraid of being seen. This is a move I know far too well.
“You kept her alive for as long as she could stay here. You two did that.” I point between them.
“And what did you do?”
“I promised her I would look after you.”
“Seems broken promises are a family trait then, huh?” Charlie grabs the photo of our mother holding them, staring into it as if she could actually speak to our mom through it. “Having a baby is an unsaid promise to take care of them, to ensure they are happy and healthy. She broke that promise the minute she made the choice she did.”
“You don’t understand, but one day, you may. One day, you may wake up, and it will be too heavy. The difference between her and you is, I won’t allow you to jump over the ledge. I won’t allow you to tumble into the abyss before it’s too late.” I reach for Charlie, feeling the heaviness in her before she can.
“No, the difference is that I’m not weak like her.” She holds up the frame and throws it over my shoulder. The glass shatters on the carpet, and she falls with them. Cries rack her chest. “She was weak, too weak to stay alive for me.”
I fall to the floor, wrapping her body within my own. She’s small in my arms, reminding me of when I would hold her to give my mom a break.
“Why’d she have to g
o?” Charlie screams. “Why couldn’t she hold on for me?”
“If she could, she would have, Char.” I rock us in place, hoping to ease both our souls. It doesn’t work until a small hand grips tight to my shoulder, and Tatum somehow harnesses the strength to ground the three of us with a single touch.
“We need you here more,” Tatum says in her most stoic voice.
“You’ll have me. Whatever you need.” At my promise, Charlie moves away. Her pink cheeks make her appear younger than she is. “Whatever you need.”
For the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening, I run around the house with Charlie and Tatum, ignoring the outside world. With their laughter, I can pretend life isn’t waiting to crush me.
We play hours on the Nintendo Switch and watch a movie. They ask me questions about Glass Heart Academy, proving they know how to use a search bar. They ask even more about the beautiful blonde photographed with me outside of the courthouse. What happened in that room, or what they wanted the public to believe, had been plastered all over the news.
At the mention of Delaney, my mind travels. The finishing credits roll, and the names are a blur.
“Barrett, you okay?” Tatum asks, nudging my knee to bring my attention to where it belongs, with Charlie and her.
“Yeah, I have a lot of things going on.” As if the universe knows this, my phone in my pocket vibrates. When I check it, Marek’s name lights up the screen with an incoming text, followed by one from Palmer.
My face must show my dread. Charlie shifts down the couch cushion, plastering herself next to me. “I’m sorry for how I reacted when you first showed up. I wasn’t being fair to you. I know you have your own things going on.”
“Your things will always be my things.” I ruffle her hair and squeeze her tight to me. “What this is, isn’t any of your concern. I know you’ll worry, but I promise I’ll be okay.”
“Don’t make promises, Barrett.” She flashes a sad smile at me. “Show up when we call.”
