Forty-two
It doesn’t erase anything.
If anything, when the bruises on my thighs start throbbing again, I feel worse.
We get dressed without saying anything. I know I broke something between us and I’m afraid talking will make it worse, so I don’t. All I can hope for is that he’ll take me to his house anyway and Liz will still be awake.
Sam is helping me worm my way into a pair of jeans without pissing off the burn on my hip when someone pounds on my front door. My gaze flies to the clock.
9:28.
“Who the hell…” Sam yanks on his own t-shirt and jogs to the front door.
Pound-pound-pound.
I shove my arms into a lightweight shirt, bypassing my bra completely because no way am I going to be able to put that thing on, then gingerly pull the hem over my head and down my sides. It’s Detective Lilly, has to be. Who else would show up this late at night to harass us? He’s probably hoping to intimidate James again. I’m actually looking forward to giving him a piece of my mind.
It’s not Detective Lilly.
Alex and Sam are arguing in the foyer when I stalk into the room, sharp words poised on the tip of my tongue. I don’t miss how Sam is nudging Alex back toward the door or how pissed off Alex looks about it. When he sees me, he shoves Sam aside and wraps me in a huge but painful bear hug. “I hope he winds up every guy’s shower bitch for this,” he says.
Men raping my father is not an image I want stuck in my head. Wincing, I shrug out of his grasp. “Did James send you to check on me?”
“Not exactly.”
He shoots Sam an uncertain look, which is met by a sharp shake of the head. Whether or not he should blurt out what he came to say wars in Alex’s eyes. Whatever it is must be important if Sam is trying to protect me with secrecy.
I’m tired of secrets. Mine, my mother’s, everyone’s.
“What aren’t you guys telling me?” I demand. “Where’s James?”
“You gotta tell her, man,” Alex says to Sam, a pleading note in his voice. “Tonight’s gonna be bad and he won’t listen to me. Maybe he’ll listen to her.”
“He has to tell her himself,” Sam snaps.
“He’s gonna get himself killed before that happens!”
The room wobbles and blurs. “Will someone please just tell me? Sam?”
He shifts his glare from Alex to me, his expression softening immediately when he sees the tears I can’t keep from streaking down my cheek. “Your brother’s been fighting for money.”
The pain in my chest is sharper than one of my father’s punches, but I refuse to crumble. “He’s boxing? The Armory is letting him?”
When neither of them say anything, their expressions grim, I know things are much, much worse. “Tell me,” I whisper.
“The fights aren’t sanctioned, and they sure as hell aren’t boxing,” Alex says. “Think MMA, boxing, and street fighting, but dirtier. They put ‘em in a cage and don’t let ‘em out until someone needs a stretcher.”
The resigned look on Sam’s face is all the evidence I need. They’ve been keeping this from me on purpose. “How long has this been going on?”
Sam doesn’t answer, so Alex does. “He went pro a couple months ago, but this is only the fourth of these dirty fights he’s been in. The organizers keep upping the ante, throwing more money and bigger opponents at him, because he’s been killing the guys they bring in.”
“He quit his job two weeks ago,” Sam says quietly. “I went to talk to him about me and you, but he wasn’t there. That’s when I found out about the dirty fights. He’s been talking about it for ages, fighting behind the Armory to get the organizer’s attention when going pro didn’t work, but I didn’t know they let him in.”
“But you found out,” I say. “You found out and you didn’t tell me?”
“You don’t get it, Sarah.” Alex glances at his cell phone and winces. “He’s drawing huge crowds and a shitload of side bets. If he wins tonight, the organizers are paying him five grand. That’s double what he made last time, on top of whatever Leslie pulls in running the floor. There’s no way he’s gonna turn down that kind of money, but I saw the guy they’re pitting him against tonight. He’s massive. James doesn’t stand a chance.”
When we were eleven and thirteen, my brother got cocky and tried to take on our father. I’d accidentally vacuumed up something, a beer tab, probably, which sent our father into a rage. Instead of taking my beating like he usually did, James threw the first punch.
He never had a chance to throw the second.
I’ll never forget the sight of my brother’s blood streaming in thick rivulets from his nose or how quickly his eyes swelled shut. The hospital had no problems with our tree climbing story, especially not after our father scratched James up with a handful of twigs he tore from the tree in the Espinosas’ yard and rubbed pine needles in his hair. I spent the next three days home with the flu, or so we told the school, alternating bags of frozen chicken nuggets and cold beers to numb James’s face.
I never want to see my brother that messed up again.
Gentle pressure on my arm drags me from my memories. I blink up at Sam, who has an I-did-this-for-your-own-good look on his face. “I’m sorry,” he says. “If I knew about the fight, I would’ve told you, I swear.”
“But you knew he went pro two months ago,” I say. “And why didn’t you tell me he quit his job?”
My mind whips through all the horrifying scenarios that could’ve played out in the last two weeks: Me sleeping in Sam’s arms in my bed, Sam stripping out of his work clothes and kissing me senseless, having sex with Sam…All of them end with James walking through the front door in his coveralls and way-too-clean-for-work t-shirt and shooting Sam with the gun in the closet. There’s no way he’d be so devious. No way he would’ve risked his life or mine to make a point.
Except, he did.
I feel the anger boiling up inside of me, the betrayal hurting more than the throbbing burns on my side. I point my finger at him. “You knew he might walk in!”
“And you knew I never wanted this to be a secret,” he fires back.
“Setting it up so my brother catches me having sex with his best friend is lower than low, Sam. I thought you loved me.”
“I do love you!”
Alex edges toward the door, but I grab the sleeve of his black t-shirt. “You’re not going anywhere without me,” I tell him, “and we’re going to the Armory.”
Sam straightens. “I can take you.”
“You already had your chance to fix this and you didn’t. Alex?”
“No can do,” he says, trying to pry my hand from his shirt. “I’ve only got one helmet.”
“Then I’ll ride without one.”