“My father is giving him away. He’s giving him to my aunt. She’s coming to get him today, so I brought him to the mall—”
“Who did this to you?” Cameron asks, stroking my hair as we stand in front of his house. “Your dad?”
“My wrist is broken.”
“Yeah. How’d that happen again?”
“Patrick,” I murmur. “I should have just apologized to that bastard. I should have.” I start to cry, letting myself because it hurts too much to hold it in anymore.
Cameron makes a sound low in his throat at Patrick’s name, and rewraps himself carefully around me. He’s quiet for a moment, and then he sniffles. I wonder if he’s crying too. Cameron rests his cheek on the top of my head.
“I think I should take you to the hospital,” he says. “You need a doctor.”
“Probably.”
“Hey,” he whispers, leaning over to my ear. His breath is warm and comforting. “I need to get my keys from the house, okay? My mom will watch Evan so I can take you to a doctor.”
But I don’t want to let him go. I cling to him, and he has to reach to gently take my arm. He pulls back to look at me, bending down to meet my eyes.
“Stay right here,” he says, and he’s close enough to kiss me. “I need my keys.” Cameron looks over my face, studying me. When I murmur okay, he runs quickly into the house.
I want to be with Evan, but I can’t let him see me like this. I feel faint, and lean against the house. The pain is dulling, but my hand has swelled. I can’t even bend my fingers. My eyes flutter; I need to rest for a second.
“I’m here,” Cameron says, putting his arm on my back. He leads me toward the Beamer. “My mom’s giving Evan a bath and washing his clothes.” He helps me into the car.
I sit and stare out through the windshield, happy that Kendra will care for him while I’m gone. Guilty that I put my brother in this situation in the first place. The driver’s door opens, and Cameron drops in.
He reaches over, running the back of his fingers over my bruised face. Then he leans toward me and kisses my cheek softly. I try to smile because it’s nice. But I’m too tired.
Cameron starts the car, and I’m lulled by the engine. A headache starts; I might have a concussion. I close my eyes and rest back in the seat.
“Don’t worry,” Cameron says. “I’ll take care of it,” he says. “I’ll take care of you.”
And before I can say anything in return, I fade away.
* * *
“You’re not going home tonight,” Cameron says, sitting next to the bed in the hospital chair. “You guys are staying with me.”
“No.” I’m waiting in the sterile white room for the nurse to bring my paperwork. That asshole did break my wrist. He gave me a nice concussion, too. I hope he’s dead by morning.
“Savannah?”
“I don’t need your pity,” I say without looking over. I’ll have to work out this situation on my own. They gave me meds for the pain in my arm, but because of the concussion, it’s not the good stuff. At least it takes the edge off, though.
Cameron stands, his fingers interlaced on the top of his head as he paces the room.
“You’re making me dizzy,” I say. “Now call your mom and see if Evan’s okay.”
“My mom will take care of him,” he says, stopping in front of me.
“Just call her,” I say, waving my hand. But even the slightest movement sends a shock of pain up my arm, and I moan.
“Hey,” Cameron says. “Take a minute.” I look up at him, and his bottom lip juts out. “You have a black eye,” he whispers, reaching to gently run his finger under it.
His touch sends a shiver down my back. Compared to the way Patrick touched me, it’s so tender. It’s kindness.
My heart is broken—I’m broken. I start to shake. “He hurt me,” I say. “And I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t stop him, and Evan had to watch all of it.” I fall apart, curling up on my side, and then crying harder because of the pain in my arm.
The bed shifts, and Cameron is next to me, his worry and misery radiating to me. He brushes back my hair where tears are making it stick to my face.
“It’s going to be okay, Savannah,” he whispers. “I promise.”
I hate that word. Because no one can ever keep their promises—it’s a lie you tell children to make them feel better. It’s not going to be okay. And it will never be okay again.
“That bastard broke my wrist,” I mumble into the pillow. “I hate him. I hate him so much.” And I want to stab Patrick with a pencil all over again. He’s taken everything from me.
“Did . . . did he hurt you anywhere else?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the memory. “He got his cheap feel,” I say. But I’m playing it down. What Patrick did was so much worse than that. He stole my confidence, my identity.
Cameron shudders in a breath, like he’s about to choke on it. He sits up, and I turn to see him wipe his face. He stands, sniffling hard, and his posture is pure anger, and I watch him slowly get it under control.
“I need to see Evan,” I say.
“You can,” Cameron answers, looking back at me. “But I don’t want to send you home like this. Stay with me. Let Evan sleep at our house. My mom will make him pancakes in the morning—it’ll be really nice for him. You need help.” He winces at the statement. “And I know you don’t need me. So you have to let me help you.”
I close my eyes. Feeling them brim over with tears. Evan loves pancakes. And ultimately, this is about him. He’s all that matters.
“Okay,” I say. “But I’ll need to call my dad. He and Kathy might still be waiting for me. I sort of . . . took off.”
Cameron’s mouth opens, but he doesn’t say anything. He gets out his phone and helps me dial it since I suck at using my left hand.
My father is furious. Kathy waited at the house for two hours for me and Evan, threatening to call the police if my brother isn’t turned over to her tomorrow. Now she gets to make those threats.
I don’t tell my dad about Patrick—he’ll find a way to blame me anyway. I say that I went to the mall and slipped on some ice. I needed a cast, and now Evan and I are staying at a friend’s. I refuse to tell him which one. When I hang up, I hold the phone out to Cameron.
“Take me to your house,” I say, feeling small. “Just get me to Evan.”
The nurse scurries into the room and helps me get through a pile of signatures. My mind seems to be fluttering in and out, drowsy and slightly disoriented.
And the feeling of cold tile is still on my cheek.
* * *
Evan is already asleep when I get back to Cameron’s. Kendra had set up a fluffy air mattress in Marcel’s office, covering it in pillows and warm blankets. He’s curled up, his little cheeks rosy. I sit in there with him for a while, listening to him breathe in deep sleep. It’s peaceful, and when Cameron comes in to get me later, I’m reluctant to leave.
“So where are you going to sleep?” I ask as Cameron folds back his sheets.
“I heard the floor’s nice,” he says. I climb into his bed, and Cameron pulls the blanket up to my neck, making a show of tucking in the corners.
“Seriously,” I say. “Where are you sleeping?”
His eyes sweep over my face. “Do you want me to stay in here?”
“No,” I answer automatically.
He nods, and I immediately regret my answer. “I’ll be out on the couch,” Cameron says. “Doc said to wake you up every two hours, so I’ll be back.”
He leans over and kisses my forehead. He’s too good to me. I don’t deserve it. I really don’t.
Cameron crosses to the door and looks back at me before flicking off the light and walking out.
Sleep isn’t easy. Every time I shut my eyes, my arm starts to ache. My mind won’t shut up either. It’s getting difficult to breathe, like a panic attack. They said my ribs aren’t broken, but there’s a deep pain in my chest. Dread. I don’t want t
he morning to come.
“Cameron?” I call before I realize what I’m doing. It’s quiet. I glance at the clock and see that it’s nearly one. Everyone is probably asleep. Everyone but me.
But suddenly I don’t want to be alone. Suddenly I’m terrified. “Cameron?” I repeat louder.
There’s a noise outside the door, coming from the living room. Then I hear what sounds like bare feet shuffling across the wood floor. The door opens, and Cameron stands there, his eyes squinted. He isn’t wearing a shirt; he looks so vulnerable.
“You okay?” His voice is raspy with sleep.
“No.” I stare at him. I don’t know what I want; I only know that I don’t want to be alone.
Cameron moves slowly into the room, looking like he’s ready to fall back asleep at any second. He stands at the edge of the bed.
“Move over,” he says.
I don’t immediately. Do I want him to sleep in here? I’m not sure, but I keep my cast above the blankets and slide my body farther in to where the sheets are cold. Cameron climbs in, readjusting the blankets, and curls up on his side.
“Good night,” he says, meeting my eyes.
I stare at him, aching all over, lonely. Cameron blinks heavily but doesn’t close his eyes. He reaches his hand out to me.
“Come here,” he says.
And I don’t argue. For once I don’t argue with him. I move slowly, sliding over and into his arms, resting my head against his chest. His bare skin is hot against my sore cheek, but it comforts me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my eyes closing.
“Go to sleep,” Cameron says, chuckling. “I’m tired.”
I snuggle into him, liking the way he smells, the way he pets my hair. I listen to his heartbeat, slow and strong.
Within ten minutes Cameron’s breathing deepens and he’s fallen asleep. I put my lips against his shoulder, waiting to see if he’ll stir, but he doesn’t.
“I love you,” I murmur to him so quietly, it’s barely a whisper. I pause, and when he doesn’t move, I close my eyes and fall asleep in his arms.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I wake up to the sound of Evan’s laughter. I smile before I open my eyes, but when I do, I’m met with an excruciating pain in my arm, chest, and face. I suck in a harsh breath as I try to sit up, which actually isn’t easy with a broken wrist.
Cameron’s room is filled with sunshine, the curtains pushed open. He’s gone, his side of the bed empty, his door closed. My cast lies heavily on the covers, and I stare down at it. My chest and ribs ache deeply, and I pull out the fabric of my T-shirt and peer inside. Damn. There’s dark purple bruising from where Patrick slammed me against the wall.
I close my eyes—just thinking his name makes me sick. The smell of him, the feeling of him near me—it crawls under my skin. I almost can’t bear it. I look around the room and see Cameron’s phone next to the bed. I grab it and try Retha again.
“Retha?” I say as soon as she answers. She must read the panic in my voice.
“Savvy?” she asks. “What the fuck? I’ve been calling you. My grandmother said you sounded upset.”
“How’s Travis?” I ask quickly.
“He’s good,” she says, and there’s a soft lift in her voice. “He honestly is. They have a new program out here; counselors don’t seem like total assholes, at least. Everything’s going to work out,” she says. “Honest.”
I smile, even as my body aches. I almost don’t tell her any of it.
“Savvy,” she says, concerned. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Although I want to save her the worry, my control slips away.
“It’s bad,” I say in a low voice.
There’s a rustling on the line, and I imagine she’s getting out of bed. Retha has always had my back, and I know she’ll have it now.
“He broke my arm, Retha,” I say. “He broke my fucking arm.”
There’s a low growl in her voice when she asks, “Who?”
“Patrick. He found me at the mall . . . he wanted me to apologize.”
“Tell me what happened. Tell me everything so I can figure out exactly how I’m going to kill him.”
So I do. I tell Retha everything, even the parts I wouldn’t describe for Cameron. I can still see it, still feel everything he did. It’s like a horror movie starring me.
“And, Retha,” I say, “he had to see it. Evan had to see it all. He pissed his pants he was so scared, and it was my fault.” I cry hard, loving that I can, loving that Retha doesn’t try to soothe me.
“Where are you?” she asks quietly.
“Cameron’s.”
She pauses. “It’s six in the morning. Did you sleep there?”
“Yeah.”
“Damn, girl,” she says under her breath. “Now about Patrick—did the cops already pick him up?”
“I didn’t call them,” I say. “It’ll probably be the same assholes who arrested me when I stabbed him. His word against mine—who do you think they’ll believe?”
“Right,” Retha says. Her voice is controlled, like that night in the cornfield. Like she’s plotting something serious.
Before she can go on, my heart breaks apart. “Kathy’s taking Evan, Retha. She’s getting custody of him.”
“No,” she whispers. “Oh no.”
“She’s taking him today. I’ve lost him.” The sound of Evan’s laughter filters into the room, and I look toward the door, quickly wiping my tears. “Look,” I tell Retha. “I can’t talk about it right now. I’ll call you later?”
“Of course,” she says, then pauses. “I’m so sorry, Savvy.”
“Love you,” I say. She tells me she loves me too, and we hang up.
Just as I set the phone down, there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I call.
The door opens, and I smile when Cameron walks in with Evan riding on his back.
“Good morning,” Cameron says as if it is completely normal that I’m sleeping in his bed. “Your brother wanted to see you.” He brings him to the bed and then turns around, letting him slide off.
“You’re awake!” Evan calls excitedly. I hold my cast up, and Evan climbs up my body to give me a hug.
“What’s that?” he says, pointing at the white plaster.
“A cast.” It embarrasses me to say it, but I try to smile so he won’t know that I should be ashamed. Cameron watches me, his arms folded across his chest. I hate that he saw me cry yesterday.
“Why do you have it?” Evan asks.
“I hurt my wrist.”
“Your friend hurt you,” my brother whispers, running his fingers over the cast.
I swallow hard.
“He isn’t her friend,” Cameron says, not looking at me. “Friends look out for each other.”
“Like Retha?” he asks.
“Yeah. And like me.” Cameron reaches to ruffle Evan’s hair. “I gave you a piggyback ride, remember?”
Evan laughs. Cameron looks at me, thoughtfully, apologetically—I’m not sure. But I quickly wonder how pathetic I must look to him. In his bed, bruised, bandaged. An emotional mess.
“Your eye looks better,” he says. “Are you hungry?”
I shake my head, and he scrunches up his face like he knows I’m a liar. “Evan,” he calls. “Let’s get Savannah some breakfast. She’s being stubborn.”
“Stubborn,” Evan repeats, and giggles. He hops off the bed and grabs Cameron’s hand, pulling him toward the kitchen.
When they’re gone, I lie back against the pillows. This should be my life. Being with my brother in a big house, eating pancakes. Why is life so damn unfair? Because by the end of the day . . . I’ll have nothing left.
* * *
“Do you want me to come with you?” Cameron asks as he walks me to my dad’s truck. I shake my head no. I wouldn’t even have Retha do this with me. It’s my nightmare—no one should have to go through it.
Evan walks behind us, carrying a bag of things Kendra gave him. Snack
s, crayons, coloring books—he thinks he’s so lucky. He doesn’t realize that kids normally get things like this. Kids without asshole parents.
Cameron opens the door for Evan and stands with me as he climbs in. He lowers his head. “Let me come with you,” he says quietly.
He’s not hiding his feelings for me anymore, but I have to. We don’t work. We can never work. I’m a disaster of a person.
“No,” I say.
He nods, and then leans in the window toward Evan. “I’ll see you around, little dude.” He reaches in his fist and Evan bumps it with his; then they make them explode. Cameron must have taught him that, and it’s incredibly cute.
Cameron takes a step back and turns to me. He wants to touch me, hold me, hug me. I can see it in his eyes. But he doesn’t.
“Will you call me?” he asks.
“No,” I say, and smile.
“So you’ll just show up? Unannounced?”
“Probably.”
“Okay.”
He leans in, like he might kiss me good-bye. I want him to, but I sidestep him and tell Evan to buckle his seat belt. Cameron holds up his hand in a wave to both me and Evan, and then turns and walks back inside his house.
I get in the truck and let out a held breath before looking sideways at Evan. He’s happy, clutching his bag of treats, excited to get home to show our dad. I can’t tell him he’ll be leaving with Kathy. I can’t tell him that.
* * *
Kathy’s dark blue minivan is in the driveway, and as I park, I find her waiting on the front porch of my house. I wonder how long she’s been here. I wonder how pissed she is.
“Aunt Kathy!” Evan squeals when he sees her. I drop my eyes and turn off the engine to get out.
I walk around to Evan’s door, and before I even open it, Kathy’s rushing down the stairs toward us. I can only imagine how much she hates me for this.
As soon as he gets out, Evan runs to her. “Aunt Kathy,” he yells. “I got pancakes.”
“Hi, sweetie,” she says in her quiet, patient voice. I don’t want to look at her. I keep my palm on the handle of the car door, facing the street.
“And Cameron let me play pool and Kendra gave me books!”
“That’s wonderful. It sounds like you had fun.”