Warning: Talk of abortion, talk of parental abandonment, child abuse, and gun violence


He calls eight times.

I haven't been on the road for more than an hour when his eighth call comes through and like the ones before it, I don't pick up. I don't answer him and this time, I silence my phone. Because he'll convince me to turn my car around and I can't. So I let him leave another voicemail and I pretend that I'm not hurting. That leaving him behind isn't the hardest fucking thing I've ever had to do.

I keep the radio on for part of the drive, listening to the weather reports predicting heavy snowfall in the next few days and the gentle holiday music swelling from my speakers. None of it makes a difference. It doesn't hit me. Nothing phases me and I don't think I'm breathing right until I'm pulling up outside the address she gave me, checking the GPS on my phone one final time to make sure I've got it right. She's… led me to some kind of animal clinic?

The front door to the clinic swings open before I've even stepped out of my car but I get out and pop the trunk open, hoping that between this and the backseat, we can get everything in. Mom never had a lot of stuff when I was growing up and she left most of it behind when she took off in January but… it's been months. I don't know how much of that has changed since then.

"Dash," mom calls from the doorway and I exhale out heavily, trudging up the sidewalk to her. She's already set out a few suitcases sitting out on the walkway and a gigantic bag that looks too big to be a purse but whatever. Doesn't matter.

Mom's worried – I can see it in her every movement and how her touch lingers on my shoulder when I straighten back up after gathering some of her bags. She touches me softly, her fingertips brushing my cheek and her hesitation is almost painful in the silence.

"We should talk," she whispers and I wish we could. I wish we had time to sit down and talk about everything that's happened. And how I led him straight to her and how much of this is all fucked up now because of me but we don't have time. If I want to get her out of here, I don't have time to tell her all the ways that I've fucked up.

"Later, mom," I mumble, nodding toward my car. "Keep putting your shit out here, we've gotta move."

I carry her bags down to my car and somehow manage to stack all of it into the trunk. There's still a little bit of space left in one corner and I head back up to where she's hovering in the doorway. If she's got any more shit, we have time for her to take it with us. But we need to go now.

"Is that everything?" I ask, stopping at the edge of the walkway when mom shakes her head.

She turns back into the clinic and hands me something with curved handles that I confuse for an umbrella at first. But it has two handles and four wheels and a-

I look up at mom and the worry is back in her expression as she stares back at me. I don't know how to ask her what I'm wondering but she doesn't leave me in suspense for long. Mom disappears from the doorframe for only a few seconds but when she returns, it's with a car-seat, a blue blanket peeking out at the edge.

"Dash, we need to go," mom says, her keys clutched tightly in the hand she doesn't have around the baby carrier.

I step back, letting her out to lock the door and I silently drift down to my car again. I have to rearrange the trunk just a little to get everything in there but I manage to put the stroller in the trunk and I'm left staring down at it.

"Can you hold him for a minute?" mom's asking me, standing next to me at the trunk now. She holds the carrier out to me and I don't know what to do. I don't know how I'm supposed to react to this. To seeing my mom with a baby.

I slam the trunk closed before I reach for the carrier, holding it by the handle and keeping my gaze trained on the pavement beneath me. Mom touches my shoulder as she passes by and she goes to her car instead. I don't know how old this baby is. I don't know how long it's been since mom gave birth and I… I don't know how to think about this. All I can do is stare down at the pavement trying not to think about it because I'll short-circuit if I do. And then I won't be able to function enough just to get us out of here.

"Okay, bring him here," mom calls.

I silently bring the carrier around the car and when I glance in the back seat, I can see that mom's put some kind of baby carrier adaption or something on one of my backseats. She takes the carrier from me and fits it into the plastic with a snap, glancing down at the baby before she shuts the back door and turns to me.

"I'll ride in the back with him," mom says, passing by me again to get to the other side of the car. I don't watch her go like I thought I might. I'm staring at the window her baby's behind and I don't know what to think. I don't know what I'm supposed to do now.

For a few seconds, I don't make a move. Because I'm starting to short-circuit. Because this is jarring. Because I don't know what the fuck to do.

Mom slams the back door closed behind her and it spurs me into action. I don't need to know what to do about this. I already know what needs to be done in this moment. I have to get her the fuck out of here before anybody shows up to take her away on false claims dad has come up with. I don't know where we'll go and I don't even have any clothes with me to change into but I'm going and I'll keep going until I can prove that he's wrong. We can outrun him.


It rains all night but I keep the car moving. Mom talks to me for the first hour or so but she drops off to sleep and I keep my attention on the road. Every now and then, the baby makes a noise in the backseat and my heart jumps into my throat and my blood runs cold. But he seems to settle himself again each time and after a while, I start to get used to it.

I don't really have a plan on where we're going, I just keep driving. And the miles stack up in between us and dad and slowly, I start to breathe easier. I start to believe that we can actually get away from him and for once, I don't let myself crush that hope before it even has a chance to begin.

The first light of morning has just started to appear in the sky when mom finally wakes up again. She groans softly and I spare her a glance over my shoulder before I'm focused on the road. She looks exhausted – like the few hours of sleep weren't enough for her. I know the feeling.

"Hey… where are we?" mom asks, her voice still groggy from sleep.

I look up at her in the rearview mirror before I let out a low breath, shifting my gaze back down to the road. I've been driving all night and even though we're states away, it still doesn't feel like enough to me. I'm breathing easier now and the thought of him finding us has slowly slipped from my mind but I'm still on edge. Still scared.

"Just outside of Pittsburgh," I say, chewing on my bottom lip in the silence. It's only six but I need to make a stop for some coffee soon just to keep myself awake. I drop one hand from the steering wheel to adjust the heat before I glance up at the rearview mirror again to look at mom. "Probably gonna make a stop soon."

Mom nods, settling back into her seat without a word. She turns her gaze out the window and I only watch her for a second or two longer before I'm focused on the road. I feel every ounce of the awkwardness between us. The hesitation in our movements that wouldn't normally be there. If things were different… if she'd told me forever ago… it wouldn't be like this between us.

As if he knows we're both thinking about him, the baby stirs a little in his carrier and it's only a few minutes before he starts to cry. Mom tries to shush him, rocking the carrier a little and cooing at him but he's not interested. When he continually rejects his pacifier, mom gives up.

"We need to stop soon. He has to be changed and fed."

I nod, glancing up at the highway signs above us, letting me know there's a McDonalds in another couple of miles. Sounds like a place for mom to get settled with the baby and for me to get caffeinated. And maybe figure out this whole fucking mess.

"Okay, I'll get off at the next exit," I tell mom as the baby cries even louder. I don't know what she normally does to calm him or if there's anything I can do but the sound is starting to tear at me. I don't know what to do to make this situation better other than drive and every mile feels longer than the last. I just want to help fix this but there's nothing I can do.

Mom continues to try and soothe the baby and it isn't long until I'm pulling my car off the highway and onto a stretch of road in a town not far from Pittsburgh. The buildings and small businesses I drive past remind me of Amity Park. And this sudden, crushing loneliness creeps into my chest and I can barely breathe around it.

It's only been a night but I miss everyone back home so fucking much. I wish I was with Alex and his family right now. Or hanging out with Kwan. I feel really fucking alone in the car with someone I barely know anymore.

The McDonalds isn't that hard to find and I pull my car to a stop in the parking lot beside an old beat-up Ford truck. I kill the engine and lean back in my seat, exhaling out a breath before I look into the rearview mirror.

Mom's focused on the baby and the exhaustion is pulling at her features as she disconnects the baby carrier from my car. She glances around the back seat before she looks up at me again and I can't tear my gaze away from hers in the rearview mirror.

She exhales out a breath. "Where'd you put the diaper bag?"

Diaper bag… right. That must have been the huge bag I put in the trunk. I thought it was a purse cause it was dark and I wasn't thinking that mom could have had a baby. But she's here with one and I'm having to deal with it now and I don't know what the fuck to do.

"In the trunk," I mumble, undoing my seatbelt before I close my hand around the door handle. "I'll get it, you just… get him."

Mom watches me for a second or two but I gather what little strength I have left in my bones and I leave the car. It's cold in this town. Colder than Amity Park. Or maybe that's just the way it feels since I'm a million miles away from home and everyone I care about. It sure as hell feels cold though.

A shiver runs through me as I stand at the trunk of my car, moving things out of the way and acting like I'm searching for the bag. It's in plain sight and though I don't know why, I'm scared to touch it. Like somehow handing it over to mom makes this real. I don't want this to be real. I don't want mom to have another kid.

"Dash?" mom calls softly, out of the car now. She's got the baby carrier balanced on one hip as she pushes the door shut and I watch her in silence for a few seconds.

How has so much changed since the last time I saw her? How has she had a baby and not told me? How old is the baby? What's his fucking name?

"Right here," I respond, pulling the diaper bag from the trunk of my car and passing it off to mom. She takes it from me and nods toward the entrance of McDonalds and I want to follow after her. I want to shut my trunk and trail after her up to the restaurant and order coffee and breakfast before we hit the road again. But I'm stuck in place.

Mom looks over her shoulder when I don't move an inch and I nod toward the entrance. "I'll meet you inside in a minute."

She only hesitates a second or two before she continues on and enters the restaurant without me. And then it's just me standing out in the parking lot, trying to remember how to breathe. I don't know how mom's expecting me to react to this but I think she was hoping for better. I think she was hoping that I'd be okay with this from the second I saw the baby. But I'm not okay and I don't know if it's selfish of me to feel this way.

I slam my trunk closed, bracing my palms against the cool metal and trying to hold onto my sanity. I'm pulling my phone from my pocket before I even think about what I'm doing and I check over the time, trying not to let the missed calls and text messages stab at me. Especially when Alex's name is on several of the missed calls.

Nerves are eating me alive but I hit call on his contact and press the phone to my ear, not daring to breathe while the dial-tone sounds. It rings four times before Alex picks up and his groggy voice lets me know that I've woken him up.

"Hello?"

I breathe out a sigh, a bundle of nerves flaring to life in my chest in the silence of the parking lot. I can't do this. I can't tell Alex about this over the phone. At least, not all of it. But something has to come out before I fucking burst.

"A-Alex, hey… it's me. Sorry I didn't call last night," I mumble, leaning against the trunk of my car. I can't think of what to say or how to say it. Everything inside of myself feels too harsh and biting to admit into the open air.

He exhales softly over the phone and I can tell he's trying to keep his tone calm. "Please tell me you have a good excuse for not coming home last night. Where are you?"

I flick my gaze to the sky, watching the sun peak behind the clouds, before I respond. "Pittsburgh. Just outside of it actually."

"Pittsburgh?" he repeats and I can hear rustling on his end before he speaks again. "What are you doing there? You said you were coming home last night."

I was. I had every intention of coming home last night. But dad called and fucked everything up. I just wanted to spend Christmas with Alex and his family. But I'm here with mom instead, trying to come to terms with everything she never told me.

"Yeah, I was planning on it. But… some things came up," I mumble, running a hand down my face. I try to make sense of this. I try to tell myself that everything is okay. That everything is gonna be fine. But I don't have that kind of strength in my soul. I need someone to tell me what I can't say. I need Alex to tell me.

"What's going on?"

God, I wish I could tell him. I wish I could just spill my guts and tell him everything about mom. All about her baby and how she has a whole other life now and the way dad called me to threaten her. I don't think I'll ever forget the way his voice sounded on the phone last night.

"I'm with my mom," I mumble, pushing out a breath as I slide onto the trunk of my car. "I don't know what to say. Things are… kinda fucked."

Alex is quiet on his end for a few seconds before he speaks again, his voice just the amount of calm I need to breathe again. "It's okay. Tell me what's going on and I'll help you."

I don't think there's anything he can help with. I think I'm in this by myself cause I'm fucking miles away from him. And I can't go back now – mom needs me. But fuck, I just wanna go home. I don't want to be standing in the parking lot of a McDonalds in a place I don't know, waiting on my mom and her baby. I don't want to be doing this. Any of it. Fuck, I don't want this.

"Can't. I gotta go. I'll text you later," I say, waiting for Alex to argue but he doesn't. He stays silent on his end and somehow, that's worse. His silence scratches at me more than any argument he could come up with and I wish it wouldn't fuck with me like this.

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood before I speak again, my words coming out in a rush. "Seriously, I've gotta go."

"You don't have to help her. You know that, right?" Alex asks softly and it kills me. It tears at what little sanity I've managed to gain just from hearing his voice. And I'm back at square fucking one with this whole fucked up situation. Dad was going to come after her. What choice did I ever have?

I blow out a breath, not sure how to tell him how wrong he is. But I know what he wants to hear so I tell him that instead. "I know. I'm fine, I'll just text you or something later."

He sighs heavily. "Okay, hang on. Is there anything I can do to help?"

I don't even know anymore. Everything feels too hard to breathe. I feel like I did the other day in the nurse's office. Maybe not quite as bad but… this is still bad. It still gives me a tight sensation in my chest and I feel like the slightest bit of wind would knock me down.

Alex prompts me by calling my name softly and it stirs something in me. I don't want to be here. I just want to be back in Amity Park where everyone knows who I am and I'm not dragging this sadness around with me. Or hell – maybe that's the only way anyone will ever recognize me.

"Yeah, there's something," I start softly, dragging in a breath like it's makeshift strength. "I know that you and Chuck… hate each other, I guess. But do you think you can… put it aside for a minute and call him?"

Alex lets out a breath slowly. "Okay. What do you want me to tell him?"

I run my hand through my hair and turn my gaze to the sky. I don't want to be standing here in the middle of nowhere with somebody I barely know anymore. I just want to be home again. And as soon as I find somewhere to keep mom and her baby hidden, I'll be on the road, heading home as fast as I can.

"I don't know, exactly. I'm near Pittsburgh with my mom so… get him to throw my dad off? Convince him we're headed west or something?" I ask, squeezing my eyes closed as I let out a slow breath. "Please, just… I want this over with."

"Okay, I'll call him. It's not a problem," Alex says, his voice calm and reassuring. I wish I was with him. I wish his arms were around me and I-

A broken noise escapes me and I know he hears it. "Thank you." I swallow hard, hesitating a second before I add. "I'll call or text you when we're settled somewhere."

My hand curls tighter around my phone but I don't wait for his response before I end the call. I can't listen to his comforting tone or have him try to talk me out of this. There's no way out now. I'm here with mom in the middle of nowhere, trying to make sense of her world again. And wondering if there's even any room left for me.


I go inside the McDonalds even though I'd rather just stay in the parking lot. Not because I suddenly found the strength inside my bones to manage this situation and not cause this shit isn't fucking with me. I go inside because I haven't slept and I need caffeine. And cause it's too fucking cold out to wait in the parking lot any longer.

The guy working behind the counter is a teenager, probably no older than me, and he looks just as exhausted as I feel. Sleep is pulling at his expression the way it's pulling at me and for a moment, it feels like I'm looking in a mirror. It's stupid to draw similarities with a stranger but the way he carries himself as he moves around behind the counter reminds me of myself on the days I'm barely functioning. When insomnia has rattled around inside my chest and my head, leaving me awake for hours at a time and I'm so damn sluggish the morning after.

"Can I help you?" the guy asks, and the quirk of his eyebrow lets me know that I've been staring at him for way too long. It is stupid to think that we're anything alike. It doesn't mean anything. He's tired, I'm tired – we're all tired. It's life. Or maybe just my life. God, I'm so damn tired.

I order two breakfast sandwiches for me and mom along with two coffees. I don't bother to add any sugar or anything to mine. I just snap a lid on top and carry the bag of food along with mom's coffee to a table in the back. I don't know if we should eat here or while we're on the road but I start anyway. Cause mom's still in the bathroom with the baby and I don't know how long she'll take.

My coffee is hot enough to burn me and I drag in two lungful's of air, trying to forget the way it hurts. But fuck, maybe that burn is what I need. Maybe it'll help me fucking see things clearly. Like how mom never told me about her baby. She never even thought to tell me. Fuck, why didn't she just tell me?

I'm finished with my food and nursing my bitter-ass coffee when mom gets out of the bathroom. Her gaze sweeps the restaurant before she spies me at the back and starts my way. I turn my gaze out the window when she comes to a stop at the table and sinks down across from me, setting the baby carrier on the floor.

She rocks the carrier just a little before she glances up at me. I can feel her watching me even though I have my gaze trained out into the parking lot. I don't want to talk about this. I don't want to have to talk about this. I just want it to be over with.

"Got you some breakfast," I say, tearing my gaze away from the window to nod at her food.

Mom holds my gaze for as long as I let her but eventually I look away. I down mouthfuls of gross, burning coffee just to avoid looking at her. Because I don't want to talk about this shit. I don't want her to tell me how this happened and why she didn't tell me. And I don't want to fucking hear her say that she was never planning on telling me.

"Where do you want to go?" I ask before she has the chance to say anything. I keep my gaze on the table, tracing the rim of my coffee cup with my index finger, just so I don't have to look up at her.

Mom exhales quietly, leaning over the table to get a napkin from the dispenser beside me. Her arm brushes by mine when she pulls back but I still won't look up at her. Even when I can feel her staring at me and the silence had turned thick and ugly over the two of us.

"What do you mean?" she asks and the softness to her tone isn't lost on me. I know she's talking quietly because she doesn't want to push me away. But sitting with a baby carrier in between us, I don't know much farther away she can push.

I force myself to drag my stare up to meet hers and even though it comes out broken, even though my tone of voice is pathetic, I speak anyway. "From here. When we get back on the road, where do you want to go? Keep heading north or start for the south?"

Mom's eyebrows draw down and she chews on her bottom lip for a second before she shakes her head. "I don't know yet. Give me some time to think about it?"

I want to tell her that we don't have time. That she needs to make a decision so we can get back on the road and just get the fuck out of here. But I nod and she goes back to eating while I return to staring. I watch the parking lot in silence, wishing I had the kind of words in my soul that would heal. That would make this better between us. But I'm not that kind of person. That sort of bravery isn't found in the bones of someone like me.

Mom finishes her food in silence and the only noise that passes between us is when she leaves the booth. I look up at her and she scoots the baby carrier closer to me. "I need to make a phone call. Can you watch him while I talk?"

I wish I could tell her no. I wish I could say that I'll go out to the car and let her talk inside instead. But I don't know how to do anything other than agree so I nod. And mom leaves. And I'm alone with her baby.

For the first couple of minutes, I don't know what to do. I won't look down at the carrier like I'm afraid of what's inside. But curiosity claws at me until I do. His eyes are closed and his breathing is even, letting me know that he's gone back to sleep now.

He's got blonde hair like mine and something tells me that he's got blue eyes too. He's just a baby so he doesn't really look like much of anyone but I think he has mom's nose. Or maybe I'm just looking for something that isn't there to distract myself from the lump quickly growing in my throat.

I tug my phone from my pocket as I look away from the baby, not entirely sure what I plan on doing. I just know that I can't keep staring at him anymore. Not with the way all this pressure in my chest is crawling up into my throat and threatening to choke me.

Messages and voicemails are stacked up on top of each other and the person that's sent me the most is Danny. There's over half a dozen voicemails and even more text messages with his name on it and I can't bring myself to look at any of them. I don't want to know what they say.

I look through Alex's instead, seeing exactly when his worry at my lack of responses turned to panic. And I feel so fucking shitty for not telling him that I wasn't coming back to his place last night. I planned to but shit happened so fast and I didn't have time to call him.

From: Alex

You still with Danny?

Hey, it's getting kind of late. If you're still with him, could you head back here?

Are you still planning on coming home?

Dash, tell me when you get this?

I might just be paranoid but I'm starting to worry… text me?

Please be okay

Danny just called me? He sounded really upset and he said that you'd left but he didn't know where you're headed?

What's going on?

Dash?

Fuck, answer my call, please

I swallow past the lump in my throat but tears still prick the corners of my eyes, letting me know that I'm seconds away from making a fucking scene over a couple of text messages. I don't have the right to sit in the back of a McDonalds with shitty coffee and fucking cry about texts from Alex. I should have fucking called him last night.

I leave his conversation without typing a single thing back. I want to say I'm sorry. I want to say it a million times over and over again but I don't know what good it'll do. I fucked up. We both know I fucked up. And I'm miles away from him now and I just want to go to his place and fucking hug him.

Tears sting my eyes and I try to blink them all away. I don't know how to do this. I wanted to move in with him and figure out how to be around people that actually care about me. But I'm here with mom instead. Sitting in the back of a McDonalds in a town smaller than where I come from. I'm choking back tears and burning my throat on coffee that fucking sucks. I just want to get out of here. I just want to go home.

I don't know how I collect myself before mom comes back but I do. I manage to cradle that pain inside my hands and shove it to the deepest parts of myself – away from the light or soft words or anything that could make it hurt less. So when the door opens again and mom walks in, I can deal with it. I can pretend that I'm not about to break into a million fucking pieces.

Mom's gaze is trained on her phone as she walks back toward me. She only glances up to look at the baby before she settles down at the table, continuing to stare down at her phone. She's frowning as she types something and I take a sip of what's left of my coffee.

"Okay," she says softly, looking up at me as she sets her phone on the table. "We're going to head to my sister's place. We'll stay there a couple of days while I figure out what to do next."

I push my hand through my hair and finish off the last of the bitter coffee before I look up at mom. "Aunt Vivian, right?" I ask, waiting until she nods before I ask. "Where does she live again?"

"Ohio," mom responds, her gaze on her phone again. It's silent between us for a few seconds before she looks up at me. "The GPS on my phone is telling me that we're only a few hours from her right now so… we should get pretty soon if we get back on the road now before morning traffic gets bad."

It's cold in Ohio. And I don't think I want to be there for a few days. Or even a day. I want to go home and forget this ever happened. I want to just give mom enough money to take the train up to her sister's place while I get back on the road – destined for Amity Park. But leaving mom behind is selfish and I can't spend my whole life only thinking of me.

"Yeah, okay… Let's head out then," I say, pushing away from the table. I step past the baby carrier, keeping my gaze away from him. "The car needs gas so… we'll get it before we hit the interstate again."

Mom nods and I can't stand here anymore. The silence and the awkwardness are both scratching at me and I'm afraid I might bleed if mom gets too close. My hands shake as I carry the trash from breakfast to the nearest garbage can. I don't think I'll know how to breathe right until everything is settled. Until mom and I talk about all of this shit that's piled up in between us and we get it out. Until I know all the reasons she kept this from me, I don't think anything will feel okay.


The drive is a long, slow one. I feel like I've spent days behind the wheel but it's only been a few hours now. There's less than half an hour to go before we hit my aunt's place but the baby won't calm down. So I get off the interstate and it isn't long until I'm pulling into the parking lot of a Waffle House.

We're in another dead-end town with nothing more to boast of than its town hall and police station. Almost every car parked around mine is a truck and there's three guys in plaid standing in front of the entrance to Waffle House chewing tobacco. Compared to this place, Amity Park feels like a fucking city.

Mom and I stopped for lunch a while back but I've got one hell of a headache and I desperately need another boost of caffeine. And it's not like there's much I can do while mom takes care of the baby. Even if there was… I don't even know if I'd want to help her.

I wait until mom's left to search for the bathrooms before I collapse onto the nearest stool and drop my head into my hands. The guy working behind the counter is laughing at something one of his coworkers is saying but it doesn't take him long to slip over to me.

He gives me a hesitant smile and wipes the counter beside me, a laugh tumbling from him. "Hi there," he says, the accent in his voice catching my attention. "What can I get for you?"

"Just a coffee. With room for sugar," I mumble, dropping my head into one hand again. I don't know how long mom'll be in the back but I probably have time to drink at least some of it. And if I don't, I'll take it on the road.

The guy behind the counter sets the mug down in front of me and nudges the canister of sugar in my direction. "Here," he says, his fingers brushing by mine when I reach for the sugar.

I think I know why his face flushes and why he looks away from me so fast. But I'm not obligated to push him away right now. Danny doesn't want me and I'm miles from anyone who does. What does it matter if I let a stranger flirt with me for a few minutes?

"Thanks," I say, giving him a smile when he looks back at me. I add the sugar to my coffee and stir it in slowly, watching the way his gaze is fixated on my hands. On how slowly I'm stirring and the silence between us feels more like tension to me now.

He clears his throat and tries to look casual as he leans his forearms on the counter next to me. He runs a hand through his hair and when he turns his head, I get a look at his nametag. Simon. I don't know this guy but something about the name just fits him. And it's the kind of name I'd expect from a town like this.

"You uh… just passing through?" he asks softly, looking back at me when I stop stirring. There's something in his eyes – some kind of curiosity – that I find hard to look away from. His eyes draw me in and I think the green color reminds me of someone else I know. Someone that doesn't want me and shouldn't have a right to fuck with me while I'm staring at a stranger.

I lean my elbow on the counter and nod, swiping my mug from the counter. "Yeah. On my way up to Columbusto see my aunt. Probably gonna be up there for a couple of days," I say, already wondering if I could make the short trip down here just to see him. To let his green eyes stare into my own until I forget who they remind me of.

Simon lets out a breath and leans his cheek in his hand. His gaze flicks to the front door when the bell on it jingles, alerting us both that people are entering and leaving the diner. "Kinda guessed. You're not dressed like you're here to stay. And no one ever really stays in this town. Andersonvillehas nothing to offer but booze, tractor racing, and the largest population of church goers known to man."

His town sounds a lot like mine. I think we could get along. I think we could swap stories until it's late in the night and our minds are hazy from alcohol and I forget Danny's name. But using a stranger to forget someone I stillwant isn't fair.

"I know what you mean. Where I come from is a lot like this place," I say, shrugging when he meets my gaze again. "Small town living. Greatest place in the world, huh?"

He cracks up and shakes his head with an eye-roll as the bell on the door jingles again. "Yeah, sure. That's what all the old folks here will tell you. But they barely know their own names and they're all obsessed with God and beer. What do they know about anything?"

I grin and I start to respond, start to tell him how it's not far off from my own small town, but someone interrupts us. A guy with beer stains on the front of his white t-shirt and his skinny plaid-wearing friend stop in front of the counter and Simon tenses up.

"Hey, look!" the guy says, nudging his skinnier friend in the rib with his elbow. "The faggot's found himself a friend."

Simon's face turns red instantly and he pushes away from the counter. His hands ball into fists at his sides and a breath rushes from him. "Sh-Shut up, Hank! My dad told you not to come around here anymore."

The guy, Hank, throws his head back in a laugh and the sound grates on me. It makes me want to land a punch right to his stupid beer gut and make him forget that word as insult. No one has a fucking right to say it.

"Why don't you back off?" I ask, my words barely more than a grumble pushed between my set teeth. I don't want to talk to this fucking idiot. I don't want to have to hear him talk and I don't want to have to fucking respond. I don't know him but seeing how quickly Simon reacted to the word tells me how often he's heard it. And he shouldn't fucking have to.

Hank tilts his head to one side, giving me a curious look in the silence that seems to have blanketed the whole restaurant. Everyone settled in the booths against the windows are looking our way and those who aren't are desperately trying to find somewhere else to look.

"You a fag too?" Hank asks and when he grins, he shows me his crooked, tobacco stained teeth. I almost gag just from the sight but in that moment, I realize I'm made of tougher stuff than that. I've faced my mom and her lies. And I've been through hell with dad. Some stupid, fucking, homophobic asshole doesn't scare me. Nothing about this fucking idiot scares me.

I lean back on my stool, swiveling just a little towards this stupid waste of space and I don't know why but words spill from me. "I just drove fourteen fucking hours on no sleep with a baby crying nonstop in the backseat. I want to drink a fucking cup of coffee in peace and maybe look at this guy's incredible eyes before I have to hit the road again. If you're only here to fucking harass people then do everyone a favor and get the fuck out of here. No one here has time for your bullshit."

Simon's eyes are blown wide when I steal a glance at his face but I swivel my stool around again and I don't pay attention to the guy behind me anymore. The look on Simon's face is telling me that Hank's probably considering choking me. But I hear his friend say something about me not being worth it and he's got it wrong. He's not worth my time. He's not worth scraped knuckles and a pounding heart just from breaking his fucking nose. Even if I'd kill to be the one kicking his fucking ass.

"Th-That was… I-I've never heard anyone talk that way in this town before," Simon is saying, his words coming out in a rush, and I wish I could pay attention. I wish that after something like that, I could stop slipping back inside of myself. I wish there was room for Simon inside the small space I've crawled inside. But I can see mom leaving the bathroom and she's looking around for me. I don't have time to find the space.

I leave my stool and I see the disappointment on Simon's face as I dig out my wallet. I drop cash on the counter and it takes me a fucking decade before I drag my stare up to his face but I do. Cause I can't just stiff leg it out of here and pretend that shit like that doesn't rattle me.

"Guy was a fucking asshole," I say, bracing my palms against the edges of the counter. "Piece of advice? Make a plan to get the hell out of this town. People like that never change. And they fucking love places like this."

Simon's expression is hard to read – I can't figure out what he's thinking. He almost looks scared but it's mixed with some kind of admiration and I don't think I'm worthy of it. If this happened to me – in my town – I would never be able to find the strength to talk like that. But I'm exhausted. And I'm so fucking done putting up with people's shit.

"I hope I didn't just make this harder on you," I say, hesitating only a second before I put my hand on top of his and give him what smile I can muster up. "Your eyes really are incredible by the way."

His face flushes but he smiles as he looks away from me, nodding once. I think he whispers, 'thank you' but mom's spotted me so I turn away from the counter. I don't want her to know what just happened even though I'm not ashamed of it. Even though I know that moments like these are what define me. They show me what I'm capable of. I'm capable of fighting back. And when I'm in my town again, I swear, that's all I will ever do.


It's awkward when we leave the Waffle House together. Cause mom doesn't sit in the backseat like she has for this entire drive. She puts the baby in the back but sits in the passenger seat next to me. Her every movement is tense and filled with hesitation and I can tell that the last twenty minutes of this drive is gonna take forever.

Mom's presence unnerves me. It rattles something inside my bones that won't stop banging around and I can't steady myself. I can't seem to find the balance between not caring about whatever's fucking with her and letting her shit fuck with me too. I always let other people's shit fuck with me.

The closer we get to my aunt's place, the more mom fidgets. Her every movement is laced with hesitation and anxiety – the kind that's so fucking contagious. When she jumps at an unexpected passing car, I swear under my breath, and we share a quiet moment of panic in a car that's way too fucking small for our shared anxieties.

"Listen, baby… I need to ask a favor of you," mom says softly, turning toward me.

Her attention renews the nerves in my gut and I can barely breathe as I nod. I don't want to hear her favor. I don't want to do anything more for her. I've left Amity Park and everyone I've ever cared about in the dust for the next couple of days just to be with her. Just to keep her safe. I don't know if I have anything left to give her.

Mom turns her gaze out the passenger window and exhales out a breath that's hard to listen to. It reminds me of all those times that we shared bruises and patched each other up after dad got through with us. I know I'm where I'm supposed to be cause she needs me but… god, why does she have to need me?

"What is it?" I prompt, my voice hoarse even to my own ears. I've barely spoken more than a few sentences to mom since we left that Waffle House.

Mom shifts in the seat, her gaze never straying from the window and the traffic outside. "When I left your father, I stayed with my sister for a few weeks while I figured everything out," she says, her gaze dropping from the window as she picks at a loose thread on the cuff of her sweater. "I don't know how to tell you this…"

From the way my heart is pounding and from how the breath is sticking in my throat, I'm expecting the worst. I'm expecting her to tell me something so horrible, it'll never repair our relationship. But I'm tired of assuming the worst. So I suck in a breath and I spare a glance her way, letting her know I'm listening.

She sighs, dropping her hand into her lap and turning to look at me. "I lied to her. I said that I'd left you with someone I trusted. I told her… that I was coming back to get you." She drags in a breath but I can't look at her. "And today, just for a little while, I need you to pretend that it wasn't a lie. That I came back for you. And that you've been with me this whole time and your father came after us both last night, okay? Can you do that for me?"

What the fuck?

I don't think I know how to respond. If there were words to speak, I would never find them. If there was a way to let her know how insane what she's asked of me is, I don't think my paper tongue would ever figure out a way to say it. I don't know how to tell her how fucking crazy that is. She told her sister that I went with her? This whole time… my aunt has only ever known my mom as this concerned, protective parent that she's not.

"I'll tell her the truth, I promise," mom says, uttering more words that I have no way of knowing whether they're lies or not. "Just not right away. Baby, you understand, don't you?"

I can't do this. I can't pretend that I haven't been on the receiving end of dad's angry hands every day since mom left. Since she picked up her life and started it somewhere else with a baby and a new job and a fucking gallery while I was waiting for her to come back. Hoping that she would come save me from him.

She keeps trying to ask me if I'll lie for her but I can't respond. I can't think of a single thing to say to her in the midst of all the screaming in my brain. Until her hand touches my arm and my entire universe snaps back into focus.

"Mom, what the fuck? Do you even hear yourself? Do you know what you're asking me to do?" I demand, taking my eyes off the road for a second, just long enough to give her my glare. To let her know just how hard my heart is pounding. How angry her words are making me. And she has no fucking right to flinch away from me in that moment. My anger has never been something for her to run from. She's never once had to be afraid of me.

I keep my stare on the road and my teeth gritted together as she continues to talk. She spouts apology after apology and tries to get me to talk. But I know that every broken word from my mouth will only cut her. It will only hurt and despite how much she's hurt me just from a few words, I don't want to hurt mom. No matter how much she deserves it, I don't want to be the one that causes her pain.

Mom falls silent after a few pathetic attempts to apologize and for once, I welcome the awkward tension it brings between us. Because I know she feels it too. It sits heavily on her shoulders like it does on mine and this time, this silence isn't because of something I've done or because of something I won't do. This is because she's wrong. And she fucking knows it.

The GPS breaks the silence with more instructions about where we're headed and I pull off at the next exit. We're less than five minutes away from my aunt's place and we couldn't get there a moment too soon. I just want out of this car. I want to be away from mom and all the shit that comes along with her. And if I can put distance between us for a few fucking seconds, I might be able to make sense of all this shit she's throwing my way. I might be able to make sense of the world again.


It's quiet when I ease my car to a stop in my aunt's driveway. I kill the engine and unbuckle my seatbelt, but I won't look at mom. It still hurts too damn much. And from the way she's hesitating, waiting for me to look her way, I don't think she gets it. She doesn't understand how her simple confession has rubbed my skin raw. It's left my edges jagged and I'm sure I'll cut the next person who touches me – whether they deserve my anger or not.

Mom's hesitating in the car but I get out of it, ready to just have this whole fucking thing over with. I haven't slept all night and the sun's almost down again. I've been existing on coffee and my sheer terror at dad finding us and I don't have any energy left. I'm running on complete empty. And I guess I just have to do this like I always do - grit my teeth and get through it.

I open the trunk for mom but I don't get out any of her shit. I don't know what she wants to take inside and what she'd rather leave here so she doesn't crowd up her sister's place. I don't know. And I really don't fucking care.

"Get your stuff, I'll carry it inside," I say to mom when she steps out of the car. She seems to almost flinch when I speak but I give her a cold stare when she looks my way and she gets my point. I'm not talking about it and she can't fucking ask me to do this.

Mom keeps her head down as she makes her way over to the backseat and she opens the door quietly, trying not to rouse the baby from sleep as she gets his car seat out. I watch her in silence until she's closed the door and come around to the trunk.

She has the diaper bag on her shoulder and is balancing the car seat on her hip, unconsciously bouncing the baby up and down in a rhythmic motion. For a second, I wonder if she ever did that with me. If there were nights when I was a newborn that she soothed me back to sleep. Or if after I was a few months old, she was up with me, rocking me back to sleep. I wonder if dad ever did it instead. If they took turns. If I was ever more than just a fucking pawn to either one of them.

"I suppose… we could just take in my clothes for now… and whatever else I need, I can get from here later," mom says, nodding toward the duffel bag in one corner of my trunk. "That one, with the stripes on it."

I don't say anything as I lift it from the trunk. I just sling it on my shoulder and wait until she's stepped back before I close the trunk and take my keys from the lock. I don't want mom to think that this is okay. That any fucking part of this is okay. But it's not like I can spend the next couple of days avoiding her.

Mom's breath catches in her throat when I look at her and she holds my gaze in silence. A thousand unspoken words fall between us and neither one of us are brave enough to speak them out loud. We're too caught up in all the hurt we've shared over the years. All the hurt we've caused each other. And I refuse to be the one to broach the silence. It's her place to reach out to me this time. I'm done lying for her.

I turn away from mom and start for the house, not bothering to wait for her. If I wasn't so exhausted, I'd leave mom and all of her shit here with her sister and I'd hit the road back to Amity Park. I don't want to stay here. But I don't have a choice right now.

The door opens before I even hit the stairs up to my aunt's place and she pushes open the screen door, stepping out on the porch. She's smiling when I step on the first stair and she opens her arms for me – inviting me in for a hug.

"My favorite nephew," she says, her smile widening when I take another step up to her.

That used to be a joke between us when I was a kid. She'd call me her favorite nephew and I would laugh and say that I was her only nephew so how was that fair? And she would hug me and say that she could have a thousand nephews and I'd still be her favorite.

But I'm not her only nephew anymore so the joke hurts this time. It's not her fault but it still stings. It pricks against my skin like the cut glass mom threw at me when she told me that she lied. When she said that for all this time, my aunt's believed that I've been safe.

I don't know how to respond to that joke so I just dodge it instead and continue up the stairs to her. I let her hug me even though I feel like I'm gonna suffocate from her nearness. She senses my hesitation and only holds me closer. And I somehow manage to not fall apart in her arms like I've done so many times with other people.

"It's good to see you again." I pull away, giving her a smile that she returns with a sad one.

She puts her hand on my arm and pats gently. "I wish the circumstances were different, Dash. But it's good to see you again, too," she says softly, looking like she wants to pull me into another hug but she doesn't. She steps away from me when mom comes to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

"Vivian." Mom steps up one stair and hesitates only a moment before she climbs the rest of them up to her sister.

I step back to give them room and mom sets the baby carrier at my feet before she wraps her sister in a hug. I watch the two of them in silence with a lump in my throat and tension coiled so tightly around my stomach, I think I'm gonna fucking puke.

"Cynthia," my aunt says softly, her voice a little pinched on the name.

Something passes between them when mom pulls away and I don't think I fully understand the look they're sharing. The thought crosses my mind that maybe it's a sibling thing I wouldn't understand. But the baby makes a noise at my feet. And the harsh reality of this situation slams into me again.

"Come inside, it's too cold out here," my aunt says, beckoning the three of us into her home with one hand, using her other hand to hold her sweater closed. She holds the door open for mom as she gets the baby inside and then for me as I carry mom's duffel bag. And then she's following me inside and we're all standing in the foyer.

For a few seconds, none of us make a move or a sound. I guess my aunt doesn't know what to say and maybe mom's still too nervous about all of this to speak. I'm too exhausted and angry to say anything so I don't. And I think that weighs heavily on mom's silence too.

"Have you eaten dinner?" my aunt asks quietly, taking a small step toward the kitchen when mom shakes her head. "I made pot roast… if you want some."

Mom nods, taking a half-step away from me. "That'd be good. Viv, can we put our stuff down and wash up first?" she asks, and her sister nods, leading us down a short hallway.

She shows us to a small room with one bed and apologizes, saying that one of us will have to sleep on the couch. I don't say that I'll be the one to take it even though I know I will. I don't feel like saying anything. So I just follow my aunt out of the bedroom once I've set mom's duffel bag down.

I offer to set the table and I leave mom and the baby behind in that small room. And for just a few minutes, while I help my aunt, I can pretend that I've left them behind entirely. That I'm here on my own and all of my fucking baggage didn't come with me.


The three of us make small talk over dinner but by the end of it, I can barely keep my eyes open. Mom slept while I drove through the night so she's still talking animatedly and keeping up with the conversation. I try to pretend that it doesn't sting when it's my aunt who realizes that I'm practically falling asleep over my plate, instead of mom. But in the end, it doesn't matter. I'm ushered away from the table and into that tiny room to sleep for a few hours.

My aunt promises to wake me up in just a little while but I don't think I care if she does. I shed my jacket and shoes before I collapse onto the bed, lying on top of the covers. I'm gross from travel and I'm sore from being behind the wheel all night. I'm so fucking exhausted and I think that's why tears spring to life behind my lids when I finally close them.

I can feel the tears stinging as I roll over and shove my face into a pillow, pretending that this doesn't hurt. That I don't need someone here to hold my broken pieces and tell me that everything's gonna be okay. But I suck at pretending and this hurts.

My phone vibrating softly against the mattress is the last thing that registers in my mind. For a second, I wonder who's sent me a text. But that moment ends and sleep overtakes me. It drags my mind far away from the present and I enter into a dream-world where everything is fine and nothing hurts and I never want to wake up in the present again.


It feels like it's been days since I collapsed onto the bed in my aunt's spare bedroom but it's only been a few hours. I should feel more rested than I do but I'm not. Maybe it's the drive and lack of sleep kicking my ass. Maybe it's all the shit I've dealt with up until now. I don't know what I'm feeling but something's sitting on my chest and making it hard to breathe.

I can hear mom talking quietly in the living room and the baby's making little squeals and laughs every now and then. My aunt's quiet in her responses but I can pick out her voice from mom's if I listen hard enough. I'm awake enough to join them but I don't know if I want to be a part of their conversation. Not yet anyway.

My phone lights up when I roll over on it and I decide that I've spent long enough avoiding everyone. It's not fair to keep everyone in the dark just because I'm going through hell right now. Even though I hate how I left things with Danny, he shouldn't have to spend his time worrying about me. Especially over the holidays.

It takes me a long fucking time to open his string of text messages and I choke when I see how many times he's sent me a text just to apologize. To say he feels awful about the way things went the other night. He tells me to come home in a few texts. Begs me not to leave Amity Park in another text. And I can't fucking deal with it. I might be strong enough to face down mom and her lies but Danny will always be my soft spot.

It's selfish and stupid but I close out of Danny's texts and go to Kwan's instead. He's calmer in his messages, and maybe that's because he's not the one I traded harsh words with last night. It was Danny I pushed away but Kwan's still coming after me, trying to figure out what's going on. And I fucking owe him the truth.

From: Kwan

Hey, Danny just called me. He sounds really freaked out… what's going on?

He says you're not answering your phone but I thought you would if I called. I guess this is something big, huh?

Did something happen between you two?

Is this something to do with your dad?

Are you okay?

Dash, please text me and just say that you're okay. Even if you can't talk, just tell me that you're fine, okay?

Please be okay, I'm worried

It's stupid of me to close myself off like this. Kwan's my best friend. He knows all of my shit. And he deserves to know the truth about this.

I don't want to text him about this. I want to hear his voice as I tell him what the fuck's going on. I want to hear him tell me that it's gonna be okay, I don't want to read his words on my screen. I want to know what he's thinking just from the tone of his voice. So I push myself off the bed and I put my shoes and jacket on before I leave the bedroom.

Mom and aunt Vivian look up at me when I clear my throat. I'm standing at the edge of the living room, watching the two of them in silence. My aunt's expression is concerned but mom's is hesitant. Like she's still thinking of everything she told me in the car. All the lies that are standing in between us like tangible, stagnant anger.

"I'm gonna make a phone call," I say, dragging my stare away from mom's to glance around the living room. I see the small hallway out to the foyer and I know I can't stand somewhere in the house and hope that no one hears me. I need to be away from them. Away from mom. "I'll talk outside."

"You don't have to," mom says, getting up from her place on the floor beside the baby. She wrings her hands nervously and my aunt looks between us at the movement. Maybe she's trying to understand what the hell happened between us but there's no point. I'm not gonna say a word if mom's not going to. I won't be the one to shatter this pathetic illusion she's built for herself.

I shrug, shove my hands into the depths of my pockets and start for the hallway. Mom hovers halfway between coming after me and staying in place. I don't know which one I'd rather her do so I leave before I can see her decision.

My breath hangs in the cold air of the night and I zip my jacket closed all the way before I slide my phone from my pocket. I don't really want to tell Kwan all of these things but at the same time, I want to get it over with. I want to hear his reaction and I want to know what I'm supposed to do from here. How I'm supposed to get the fuck over this.

I choke when Kwan answers the phone. When his soft "hello?" leaves his mouth and I can hear it, I lose my footing. I sink down onto the top stair of my aunt's porch and I scrub at one eye with the heel of my hand. I don't want to do this but I'm so goddamn confused.

"Kwan," I choke out, dropping my head into my hands as I try to keep myself together in the quiet. There's too much silence for me to make sense of the storm inside my own head. But maybe with a little help from my best friend, I can figure this out.

He exhales into the receiver and even though it sends a momentary shock of panic through my veins, I think I know that it has nothing to do with me and my shit again. He's just worried. "Where have you been? I've been calling and texting you all day," he tells me, the static crackling heavily between his words. "Danny said that you were at his place last night but you left in a hurry? I don't know, I could barely understand him, he was hysterical. What's going on?"

Of course Danny was hysterical. He saw me completely fucking wrecked when I was at his place. But I don't think that's the only reason he was in such a weird state when he called Kwan. I think everything else – every other ugly part of my visit to his place – was stuck in his head and he didn't know what to do with it all anymore.

"I'm… at my aunt's house," I say softly, listening to his quiet breathing for a second before I continue. "In Ohio. Got here a couple of hours ago."

"Ohio?" Kwan asks softly, exhaling out again before he continues. "Dash, what's going on? I've been really worried about you since Danny called."

What's going on is that I'm a thousand miles away from anyone that's ever really cared about me. I'm with my mom who's lied to me for months and with my aunt, who thinks mom's been there for me all this time. I don't know what to do with all this tension and loneliness twisted around my insides and I want Kwan or Alex to fix it for me. I want one of them to tell me that everything will be okay. Please let everything be okay.

"My dad… called me. When I was at Danny's place last night? He called me and I-I… he threatened my mom," I all but whisper, my voice losing strength just from the few words I've spoken. This hurts to talk about. I've barely begun but it hurts on the way out.

Kwan is quiet and it spurs me on. It makes me want to tell him everything so it's all out there. So this is over. So I can just get in my car and leave mom behind while I go back to Amity Park. I just want to go home and be with the people that care about me. Even if Alex's place isn't really my home and even if Kwan's the only one who will know what's really going, I just want to get this all off my chest and have that be it. Have this be done.

"She has a kid," I spit, my teeth gritted together on the words. It's like I'm admitting something horrible. Something unforgivable. I don't hate mom for having a baby. I hate that she didn't tell me. Like she was never planning on letting me leave Amity Park with her after all. Like she was fucking stringing me along and I would never catch on.

"Jeez," Kwan says softly. "You're with her now? At your aunt's place?"

I nod even though Kwan can't see me. Maybe I'm just telling it to myself again. Reminding myself that it's real. That this is actually happening and that inside the house just behind me, my mom's in there with her baby. My brother.

"Yeah. I don't… know how old he is or what his name is or… fucking anything about him. And mom was never going to tell me. She wasn't gonna tell me because she never actually wanted me to go with her like she promised. She's… god, Kwan, she's been fucking lying to me for so long and I never saw it. I never fucking saw it."

That's the part of this whole mess that hurts the most. Mom lying to me stings. Mom having a kid that she never told me about hurts. But knowing that I should have figured this out before – realized that she didn't actually want me to come to her after high school's over… that's the part that fucking aches. She never wanted me and I've been too fucking stupid to realize it.

"I don't think she's ever wanted me," I whisper, ashamed at the tears that sting my eyes – even though it's only me out here.

Kwan groans softly. "Dash, it's not your fault. Parents can be so stupid," he says, trying to breathe new life into my bones but it's too late. My heart is way too fucking shattered for me to believe that mom ever wanted me. That she ever loved me. Maybe when I was a kid and I didn't fuck up so much, she cared. But I've fucked up for so long now, I can't remember a time when I didn't.

"She wants him," I whisper, shaking from the cold and the confession that runs through me like ice. "The baby. She wants him, not me. A-And it's fucking stupid to be jealous of a baby but how come she couldn't want me?"

It's true. We both know it. If mom ever wanted me in this new life of hers she's been creating, she would have told me the truth. She would have mentioned the baby to me. She would have let me see him before now. He's my brother. If she ever wanted me to be a part of their life, she would have let me meet him. But we've met only by chance. Because in mom's eyes, I've never deserved the truth. I've never been worthy of it.


Kwan and I talk for an hour and even though I get close, I can't bring myself to tell him about everything that happened with Danny. I can't find the words to explain the way my heart felt as I drove away from him. I can't remember the tears in his eyes without feeling them in mine so I don't talk about it. When Kwan asks, I push the conversation in another direction and he gets the hint.

I ask him how things are going with Keith and though he tells me a little of it, we're interrupted when the door opens behind me. For a few minutes, out here on the porch, I almost forgot where I am. But I look over my shoulder and mom's standing there, her expression pinched and her every movement hesitant.

"I've gotta go. I'll text you later," I say, and wait until Kwan's quiet "okay" comes through the line before I hang up. I stare down at my phone, watching the call disappear on my screen, before I look up at mom.

She sinks down on the stair beside me and turns toward me. She puts her hand on my knee and the touch feels foreign. It feels like she's forcing herself to touch me. Maybe it's all the fucked up thoughts running through my head but right now, I feel like she hates that she's even having to talk to me.

"I told Vivian the truth," mom says softly, holding my gaze even when her bottom lip trembles. She shakes her head, letting out a breath slowly, before she speaks again. "I never should have lied to her. I don't know what I was thinking but… Dash, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to lie for me like that."

I should just accept her apology. I should let that be it – the end of this whole fucked-up saga. But it's not enough. Maybe I deserve more or maybe I'm just selfish. Either way, it's not enough. It doesn't soothe my raw skin the way I want it to and I think I've put up with enough shit in my life to deserve something.

"Is that all you're sorry for?" I ask, meeting her gaze when she looks up at me again. For once, I don't feel like an asshole for pushing this. For wanting more than just a pathetic apology that doesn't do shit for the way that I feel.

Mom's eyebrows draw down and she shakes her head – like she doesn't understand. And I can't help but wonder why she's confused at all. What doesn't she get about this?

"What about when you had me lie to your attorney? Was that really just to protect me?" I ask, and I watch mom flinch and I can't stand it. This isn't my fault. I'm not doing anything to her, except reminding her of every fucked up thing she's put me through.

I lean back on the stairs, flicking my gaze to the sky. I want to hit the road and head back for Amity Park. But I feel like some sick part of myself has to see this through. At least until the end of the night.

"I'm leaving in the morning," I say, not looking at mom even at the noise she makes in the silence. I won't feel guilty for this. I came to her when she needed help. I don't owe her anything else. And as much as she's put me through, I don't know if I even owed her that much.

Mom exhales out softly when I rouse myself from the top stair and stretch my arms over my head. She keeps sitting there in silence and I can't think of anything else to say. There's a ton of shit I could spew at her, remind her of everything I've suffered through because of her, but I don't care enough to say a word.

I shiver as the warm air from the house hits me when I open the door. I step into the foyer and hover in the hallway in silence. There's a framed photograph of myself with my mom. I'd just played my first football game in little league. My team lost but mom took me out for ice cream anyway. Wanted me to remember my first game as positive thing. And even though we lost the stupid game, mom called me a winner. Dad called me a little bitch when he broke my jaw the day after.

Mom's the one who's supposed to be on my side. She's the one I could always run to as a kid. But out here in the middle of nowhere in Ohio, there's no one for me to run to. Everyone who cares about me is back in Amity Park and that's where I should be. Where I'm heading to as soon as daylight hits tomorrow morning.

It's not until my aunt calls my name that I realize I'm still staring at the photo hanging on the wall. I take it in a final time before I start for the living room instead. I don't know how far back my mind would have wandered if I'd kept standing there. I feel like I might have stood there all night if my aunt hadn't called out to me.

"Hey," she says softly when I make an appearance at the edge of the room. Her eyebrows draw down when her gaze shifts behind me. "Is she still outside?"

I nod and cross over to where she's sitting on the floor, the baby crawling around her. She glances toward him but looks up at me, patting the carpet beside her. And that's all the invitation I need.

She puts her arm around my shoulders almost as soon as I'm sitting next to her and I let her pull me closer to her. I know why she's doing this – why she's holding me like I'm breakable. She just found out how badly mom's been breaking me. But I'm not some kind of glass doll. I know how to piece myself back together when shit like this happens.

"I didn't know. I promise, I didn't know," she whispers, holding me closer, and guiding my head to rest on her shoulder. I know she never realized what was happening to me. She didn't see us enough throughout the year to know when things were really fucked up – or that they were even fucked up at all. She only saw the good parts of our family because that's all mom ever wanted her to see.

I want to stay like this forever. Resting my head on her shoulder and pretending that mom's long gone. But with her kid crawling around on the floor beside my aunt, I can't pretend this isn't happening. It's real. And I don't know what the fuck to do with it.

"I'm leaving in the morning," I tell my aunt and she's hesitant as she pulls away from me.

Her eyebrows are drawn down, expression pinched and she looks so much like mom. It hurts how similarly she wears the expression and I'm almost braced for the harsh words that mom would spit at me. But this isn't mom. My aunt is far kinder to me.

"Are you sure that's the best idea?" aunt Vivian asks, shaking her head a little. "I know Cynthia is… hard to deal with but… don't you think it's better than your father?"

That makes my breath catch a little. I think between the two of them, I'd rather deal with dad. At least I know where I stand with him. At least I know that he'll come for me, swinging and slurring insults. Mom's a backstabber. And I think I've had about all of that I can take.

"I'm not staying with my dad," I say, heaving out a sigh before I finish. "There's someone else. He's like… I don't know. A pseudo uncle, I guess. He's… he's good."

She gives me a look like she doesn't believe me but it doesn't matter. I'm not staying here through the holidays. I'm going home to be with Alex and his family and people that actually fucking care about me.

I lean forward, scrubbing at my tired eyes, and she puts her hand on my back. Her touch is comforting. It reminds me of all those nights I stayed awake with mom when dad would leave. When we'd stay up just to avoid him sneaking up on us while we were asleep. There'd been too many times I woke up in the middle of the night because he was dragging me from my bed or screaming at mom. This feels like that. This feels nothing like that.

"Is she going with you?" she asks softly and seems to understand immediately when I shake my head. "Will you be okay driving back by yourself? It's a long way to Amity Park."

The baby crawls between us, trying to climb onto aunt Vivian's lap and she picks him up, holding him on one side. She gets him settled before she returns her attention to me and I feel selfish for saying it but I spit the words at her like they need to get out.

"I don't even know his fucking name," I say, dragging my fingernails across my scalp to ground myself. To stop from thinking about all this stupid shit that's piled up around me in less than a day. There's so much distance between mom and I now and it's not my aunt's fault. This isn't her shit to deal with and I hate that I've made it about me again.

Aunt Vivian stops me when I try to apologize. She gives me a firm look, putting her hand on my shoulder. She tells me without words that I have nothing to apologize for. Even if I feel like I should apologize for a whole world of fuck-up's she just hasn't seen yet.

"His name is Jacob," she says softly, only glancing down at him for a second before her gaze is on mine. "And your mother should have introduced the two of you before now. It's… completely unfair of her to have sprung this on you like that."

I know it's not fair. None of this is. It's not fair that I'm so far away from my friends. It's not fair that all this shit happened between Danny right before I left. It's not fair that mom asked me to lie to her attorney or that she left me with dad for all that time. None of this is fucking fair but hearing my aunt say it helps ease the knot in my chest just a little.

"Yeah," I manage from between my broken teeth. I wonder how much my aunt knows about this situation that I don't. That mom's just never bothered to tell me.

My aunt shifts the baby when he starts to squirm, trying to get away from her and crawl around again. "He's a little under seven months old now. I've heard that he's hit a lot of major milestones in that time though."

"Is he… my dad's?" I ask. I don't even know if I want to know the answer.

Aunt Vivian looks from the baby to me, letting out a slow breath. "Your mother says he's not." She looks up at me again. "But she also said that she'd taken you with her. And…" She hesitates, dropping her gaze back to the baby. "You two have the same eyes."

Fuck. No wonder she ran with him. If dad knew that she was pregnant again, he'd have-

I sit upright, drop my hand from my face. Fucking hell, this makes so much sense. No wonder he's been so obsessed with finding her. Why he's threatened me to try to get the truth. He's not looking for mom, he's looking for his kid. And as horrible as he's always been to me, it's not like I can fucking blame him. Mom just took off and dad never even got to meet him.

Mom's always been good at lying. When I was a kid and my teachers would question her about the bruises on me, she had an answer ready. I was rough-housing on the playground. I got into a fight with one of the older boys. I was a careless child. Mom had an excuse ready for everything and I know she's got one for this too. She'll probably say that she didn't tell me because she didn't want to hurt me. The truth is probably that she was hoping to run from me and dad. Start over somewhere new.

I don't think I want to know any more about this whole fucked up situation. So I push away from the couch and drag my fingers through my hair again as I get to my feet. "If you don't care… I wanna sleep now so I can hit the road as soon as I wake up tomorrow."

My aunt nods and she stands up from the floor with the baby, balancing him on one hip before she puts her hand on my shoulder. "Sleep well, Dash. I'll see you in the morning," she says, patting me on the shoulder once before she leaves with the baby.

I end up standing in place, staring at the hallway where she disappeared, before the exhaustion of today slams into me. I sway in place before I collapse back on the couch. I kick my shoes off but I leave my jacket on. I'm too exhausted to care about taking it off.

The front door opens again before I've drifted off but I feign sleep when mom stops in the living room. I can feel her watching me and I keep pretending I'm asleep even when she comes over to me and tucks a blanket around me.

I almost want to quit pretending and tell her that it's too late for her to play a parent again but she's gone before I can. And I don't think I have the energy to push her away again. Tomorrow, I'll get up and I'll get the fuck out of here, and that'll be it. It'll be over and done with and I'll never have to see her again. God, just get me the fuck out of here.


I sleep hard all night. Maybe it's the exhaustion from the drive or maybe it's dealing with all of the lies and shit that mom's put me through. Maybe it's cause yesterday was so fucking weird and disjointed. Whatever the reason, I'm knocked out for hours and I almost hate when I wake up again.

Mom and aunt Vivian are talking at the dining room table and I can hear the baby making garbled noises too. I should find my phone somewhere on the couch with me and check the time but I don't move a muscle. I keep my stare on the ceiling and I let my mind wander back through the past twenty-four hours.

I remember the panic in my chest when dad nearly ran me off the road. I can remember Danny pulling me close to him, trying to make sure that I was okay. And a tiny knife of guilt wedges in between my ribcage when I think about Danny's tear-stained face as he begged me not to go. The heaving of my own chest as I drove away from him.

Aunt Vivian says something that makes mom laugh and it brings my attention back to the present. To all the shit that happened between me and mom. And it scratches at my skin until I'm sure I must be bleeding. Until the ache in my chest is enough to knock the breath out of my lungs and I know I have to get out of this place.

I sit up on the couch and find my phone on the floor where it must have fallen in the middle of the night. The time blinking back at me is just past nine and I groan as I run a hand down my face. I don't want to make a big deal out of the shit between me and mom but I can't stay here any longer.

Mom is the first to notice me when I leave the couch and she calls out to me while I'm looking for my shoes. I sigh heavily and mom leaves her place at the table. She's got the baby on her side, bouncing him just a little, and I hesitate a long fucking time before I cross the distance between the living room and enter into the dining room.

"What?" I ask, completely aware of the bite in my tone as I lean against the doorframe.

I fold my arms over my chest in the silence and mom watches the action before she lets out a breath, closing her eyes for a split second. When she opens them again, I can see all the determination and anger she had in her bones when we lived together. Years of living with dad has taught me what mom looks like when she's reached her breaking point. I understand the look in her eyes. But I don't fucking deserve it.

"Look, I understand why you're angry with me," mom says, her voice controlled – a clear sign of just how pissed off she really is. She draws in a breath and lets it out just as quickly, standing a little taller when she speaks again. "But this has to stop. I've apologized all I can and if that's not enough for you then… I guess this is over. Because there's nothing more I can do."

I push away from the doorframe and even though there's a million things I want to say, I don't speak a word of it. Because I don't care. Because it's pointless. Because this whole fucking thing is over. Not because I'm too selfish to accept her apology but because I decided it's over. I don't want any part of this anymore.

"Whatever, mom," I mumble, turning my back to her as I start for the living room again. I only get one step outside of the dining room when mom speaks again.

"So that's it?" she demands, her voice rising to fill my silence. "You're just going to walk away from this like you don't care?"

I turn back to her and even though I'm over this whole fucking thing, the words that spill from me betray just how much this is still hurting. Just how much she's fucked with me even after all this time. Even though I'm not supposed to care anymore.

"Yeah, well… you taught me how."

Mom reacts like I've slapped her and my heart pounds in the silence that stretches over us. I hate that this is happening. I hate that I'm standing here, unable to push her away or leave. Why can I run from Danny, who's never done anything to hurt me but with mom, I can only stand here in silence?

"Why do you hate me?" mom asks, her voice soft on the question. From the expression on her face, I think she means the question. I don't think she gets why all this shit is so fucked up between us. Why it hurts just to look at her. Why my soul aches just being around her. I don't think she'll ever understand why my heart climbs into my throat and chokes me into silence just from the way she looks as she utters a simple question.

I drag my hand through my hair, nervous tension coiled around my bones. "I don't hate you, mom."

She starts talking again, asking me why I'm pushing her away if I don't hate her, but my aunt interrupts her. For a second, the two of them just stare at each other and I can't look at either of them. I don't want them to see how close I am to breaking again because of this same, stupid shit.

"I think that Dash just wants to go home, Cynthia," aunt Vivian says, glancing toward me in the silence. I can't meet her gaze but I nod to her question. I just want to go home. I want to see Alex. I want to fall apart in his arms and not have it matter. I want to see Kwan and tell him about all of this in person and hear him say that it's gonna be okay. I want to fucking hold Danny as soon as I see him. If he'll even let me.

Mom lets out an exasperated sigh, bouncing the baby again. "I know, Vivian. But I don't understand what the big deal is. Why am I the bad guy?" she asks, looking at me now. "Why – because I didn't tell you about the baby?"

Aunt Vivian tries to cut in – tell mom that it has nothing to do with the baby – but mom's not listening. She's busy telling me that I'm being juvenile about this situation and that she expected me to be happy for her. To be supportive of how she's finally standing up for herself and leaving behind the things dad's done to her. And everything she says is just more excuses piled on each other and I can't hear any of it. So I stop her with the one thing she can't argue against.

"Mom, it's not about the baby. It's the part where you left me behind with dad to start your new life," I say, watching her expression fall in the silence. The lump in my throat almost chokes off my words but I speak anyway. "I don't… care that this is what you're doing now. That all of a sudden… I have a brother. It's not about that. It's about me and I just… I don't think I can do this anymore."

She meets my gaze at that and sighs, shaking her head. She keeps one arm around the baby and runs her free hand through her hair. She mutters something under her breath that I just barely catch but I hear it. And from the way my aunt has stiffened, I think she's heard it too.

You've always been such a difficult child.

"Cynthia," Aunt Vivian hisses, her tone sharp and biting. Her expression is angry and I don't think I deserve that kind of reaction. This shit with mom hurts. It burns so badly, I can hardly breathe. But it shouldn't drag anger from the depths of anyone else's soul. The way that I feel isn't worth their energy.

Mom gives her sister a look and her words are even sharper than my aunt's. "You're not a mother, Vivian. You don't understand what it's been like for me. Dash has never been an easy child. I've put up with so much shit from him and his father and this is what I get in return?"

"What have I ever done to you?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper on the question. I feel like I'm breaking right in front of her. Like I've held on for so long but I just can't any longer. And from how heavily my heart is sitting in my chest, I don't think I can. This all hurts too damn much.

Mom turns her gaze to mine and for a moment, her expression is unreadable. Dad's always been the one to settle things with his fists but I get the distinct feeling that mom is gonna hit me. Her dark gaze is almost flashing from the anger I can see brewing just under the surface.

Her one hand is clenched into a fist at her side and her posture is tense. Like she really will hit me if I say another word. And even though I have a million things to say, I can't find the strength to speak a word.

Mom says something under her breath that I don't catch. But from the look on my aunt's face, she heard it perfectly. She yells mom's name and the two of them start to talk over each other and I try to claw onto a shred of information in between the flashes of things I'm hearing.

"-and he promised that we'd be a family, Vivian! We were supposed to be a family! If I'd known back then that it was all just a lie, I never would have had the baby!" mom's yelling, her voice drowning out my aunt's and I don't think I'm following what the hell they're both saying.

"That's not his fault!" aunt Vivian comes back with and I can barely hear mom's response, it's all just a garbled mess in my mind.

I don't get it. I don't get any of it. If she never wanted this baby, why'd she have him in the first place? God, I don't know what the fuck is going on but my aunt's right. This isn't the baby's fault. And if mom's not gonna take care of him, maybe she should give him up to someone who will. Maybe then he won't turn out anything like me.

"I knew I should have just had an abortion," mom says and glares at her sister when her name is called again. "You don't have to deal with shit like this. You don't understand."

I'm not a parent either but when Paulina's dad told me she was pregnant, I started thinking about how everything would change. About how every part of my life would be affected by a baby. And it scared the hell out of me but I talked to Paulina about it anyway. Because if I had a kid, I'd never make them feel like shit the way mom's done to me. And I can't let her do the same thing to my younger brother.

"Mom, if you're not going to… take care of him, you should give him to someone who will." I drag in a breath, my gaze darting to my aunt's before I look at my mom again. "Aunt Vivian's right, it's not his fault."

The expression on mom's face is one I don't recognize from her. Usually the looks of pure hatred come from dad. But with the way mom's staring at me, I get the feeling that she'd rather I just drop dead than ever open my mouth again. God, what the hell did I do wrong? Tell her to give him up if she's not gonna be a fucking parent? What the hell's so wrong with that?

"Abortion was never an option with Jacob."

She's put just enough emphasis on his name that I know it was an option with me. He's not the one mom never wanted to have. I'm the kid she hates the guts of and wishes I'd never been born. Why the fuck did it take me this long to fucking see it?

I pull back like she's slapped me even there's too much distance between us for her to reach. But her words hurt worse than if she'd hit me. At least with dad, there's always been the pretense that he was beating the shit out of me to make me stronger. To toughen me up. But with mom… with these words hanging between us… I don't know how it's supposed to make me stronger. Shit like this can only ever break me.

Aunt Vivian calls my name when I turn my back to the two of them but I can't hear any of this. I don't want to be a part of this fucked up situation anymore. Mom doesn't want me? Fine. I don't want any part of this either.

I tell myself it doesn't hurt as I tug my shoes on. I remind myself that I want to go home anyway as I leave my aunt's house. I convince myself that the tears gathered in my eyes aren't because of my mom as I leave the front porch and walk through inches of snow to get to my car. As I drag out all the shit that mom packed into my car and just dump it on the snow. Every piece of her disappears from my car and it's still not enough. It's still breaking me. But I tell myself that the cold is stinging my eyes and that's why I'm tearing up. Mom can't break me if it's just the wind in Ohio.


I don't know how long I drive after I've hit the interstate until I make the first stop but I know it's hours. It's long enough for the mask of numbness I always wear to fit back into place. It's long enough for me to convince myself I don't care about what mom said. To where I'm able to play it off like it doesn't matter. Like it doesn't burn.

My car needs gas and I need food so I take an exit and stop at the first gas station I see. It's a long way to Amity Park and I don't feel like making a million fucking stops just because my stomach's bitching for food. So when I go inside to pay for the gas, I load up on a ton of stuff that's easy to eat on the road. And I get back on the interstate and I keep going.

The miles start to stack up between me and mom and I almost feel like I'm running in the wrong direction. She's supposed to be the one I spend all day in the car driving to get to. Not someone I run from.

When I stop for gas a second time, I've been on the road for hours but I feel like I've gone nowhere. I crossed the Ohio border miles ago but it might as well have been five minutes since I saw the stupid sign, telling me I was leaving the state. I don't fucking care about the state or who's in it. I want to get back to my town and I want to see everyone I care about but there's so much fucking mileage between me and them.

I almost call Alex when I get back in my car after I've filled up my tank but I don't. The crushing weight of everything hits me square in the chest and I can't breathe. I can't fill up my lungs enough to talk and I end up curled up over my steering wheel, dragging in heaving breaths just to stop the tears from coming. Just to make myself feel strong again.

I drive through snow and rain and my car skids on the ice once or twice. And even though losing control of my car for a second like that scares the fuck out of me, I don't let it stop me. Even when traffic thins out and officials are warning people to stay off the roads, I keep going. I have to get home. I have to see Alex and hear him say that it's all gonna be okay. I know I'll never be able to breathe right until I'm in his apartment, hearing him say those words to me. Please let everything be okay.


The sun is sinking lower in the sky and I'm only a couple of hours from Amity Park when I hit the worst of the weather. But I've only got twenty minutes on the interstate so I push through it, gripping my steering wheel tighter with every passing second.

I used to love driving. Just being in the car in general has always put me at ease. Maybe it's the calming sound of my wheels on the asphalt or the way it feels like I'm the only person on the road. Or maybe it's cause mom used to take me on late night drives when I was a kid.

When dad would fuck with me and leave me bruised, mom would take me out driving. We'd get an ice cream or a milkshake from the local McDonalds and we'd drive for hours. We'd have to sneak back inside when we got home so we didn't wake dad but it was worth it. Because for a few hours, it was just me and my mom in the car. It hurts like hell to know I'll never have that again.


Amity Park draws closer and closer with every mile I drive. I'm making my way through Dryden and every fucked up part of this shit with mom is tied up into this town. So I don't stop for anything. I just want to get back inside my own town and fall apart with someone who will pick up my fragmented pieces.

When Dryden gives way to Amity Park, I take back roads to avoid the traffic and linger in the feeling of being the only person on the road. It's less than half an hour to Alex's place and though I think about calling him, I don't. I just keep my foot on the gas and I drive straight to his place.

My every nerve ending is on fire inside my chest as I take the familiar roads to his apartment. I start to question what he's doing right now. If he even wants me to show up. If he hates me for not calling him the other night to tell him I wasn't coming back to his place. I don't know if I can take it if he hates me too.

His car is parked in front of his building and I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding since I got back inside Amity Park. The nerves inside me are coiling up higher and higher in my chest and I can barely breathe as I leave my car. It's cold in Amity Park – colder than it was in Ohio – but there's no snow on the ground yet. I can't decide if that's some kind of sign and I'm too exhausted to think about it any longer.

My every step fills me to the brim with a new wave of anxiety and I almost talk myself out of going up to his place. But I'm cold. And I don't have anywhere else to go. And I'm so fucking lonely. So I end up standing outside his place, trying to work up the nerve to knock on his front door. To let him know that I'm standing outside and beg him to let me in. Even if he doesn't want me to spend the night, I want to come inside his place and ask if he'd give me a hug just so I feel less alone.

There's movement on the other side of the door almost as soon as I knock and I breathe out a sigh of relief when it's him who opens the door. For a split second, I realized that Kendra might be the one to answer and I don't know what I'd say to her. But I never need words with Alex. He always just seems to know what I'm thinking.

Alex has a cigarette propped between his lips but he pulls it out when he sees that it's me. "Shit, I wasn't expecting you. I thought you'd call before you came home," he says, stubbing the cigarette out on the doorframe.

I shuffle my feet, drop my gaze to them, and I try to speak but nothing comes out. There's nothing left inside of me to spill out into some kind of intelligible string of words. And thank god that Alex understands that. Cause I don't know what I would have done if he didn't.

"Come in," he says, flicking the butt of his cigarette out onto the stairs outside his apartment. He closes the door after me and turns to look at me. His hands are immediately on my shoulders and then his arms are around my back and I didn't even have to ask. I didn't even have to ask before he's pulling me into a hug and I'm burying my face in his chest and I didn't mean for the tears to come so quickly but they're here and I can't breathe.

Alex sways from the force of me pushing against him as I try to hold on tighter, but it doesn't stop him. He holds me hard and keeps me crushed against his chest, his hands working to soothe the tension in my back.

"It's alright, I've got you," he says softly, his mouth only a few inches from my ear as he promises me that I'm okay. Everything's gonna be okay. And I can't breathe and everything hurts but I'm here with him and he's telling me what I need to hear and for a moment, I pretend it's enough. I tell myself that his few words have soothed every jagged part of my soul even though they don't even come close. Even though I don't think anything can or ever will.


We end up on his couch, his arm around my shoulders and me with my head in my hands. I've been trying to tell him the whole fucked up story for ten minutes now but every time I start, my voice breaks. I can't find the words to tell him about the phone call from dad and how fucking terrified I was when his voice was on the line. And I don't even know where to begin with mom.

Alex is patient as he waits for me to speak and I desperately try to find the words. I don't want him to think that I drove all this way for nothing. That everything that happened these past two days wasn't completely fucked up. I've barely slept and my stomach and heart are empty and it wasn't over nothing. It couldn't have been over nothing.

"Dad… called me the other night," I mumble, dropping my hands from my face. I keep my gaze trained on the carpet and even though I start just a little when Alex puts his hand on my back, I don't look at him. I can't meet his gaze while I talk about this shit.

I run my fingers through my hair, trying to breathe right again but it's a lost cause with me. "He was… threatening my mom so I had to go to her. I… didn't have a choice, Alex. I wanted to just come back here but she… god, she needed me."

Alex is quiet beside me but from the way his hand has stilled on my back, I know he doesn't like where this conversation is headed. He's spent so much time trying to warn me about her and I just ran to her on a moment's notice. And I can't help but feel like Alex sees this as some kind of slap in the face. Like I just couldn't trust his instincts.

"Y-You were right," I whisper, dropping my head into one hand again. He was so right about mom. She is selfish. Why did it take me so long to see it? Was I just so blinded by wanting to live with her and leave my dad that I couldn't see the truth? And why the fuck does it still hurt so fucking much?

Alex rubs my back in a circular motion for a few seconds before he asks it. "What did she do?"

He knows. Without me ever saying a fucking word about these past few days being wrecked cause of her, he knows. Because he sees what I couldn't. He knew back then that mom's a selfish person and I just couldn't accept it. I was too fucking blinded by what I wanted. What I need. But mom doesn't care about me. And I hate that it hurts so much.

Before I work up enough courage just to answer, someone comes in the front door. It sends my heart racing and I know Alex senses it. He hesitates a second before he rubs a circle on my back again.

"That's Kendra. I'm going to go tell her that you're in here with me so she'll give us some privacy, okay?" he asks softly, his voice working over time to soothe me. "She's probably brought home dinner so… we can eat after we talk, okay?"

I nod, pressing my fist to my lips to try to calm myself down. I don't know how to do this without shaking. Without completely breaking apart. And I know Alex can see it. It's why he hesitates next to me until I tell him to go to her.

As soon as he's not beside me, the shaking courses through me like I've got fucking hypothermia or something. I run my hands down my face, trying to bring myself back to some semblance of calm and normal while he's gone. I need to compose myself just a little before he gets back or I'll never be able to talk about any of this. And as much as I don't want to… I need to tell Alex. I need to tell someone.

Alex is talking softly with Kendra and I'm only half-listening until I hear my name. It's faint but I recognize Kendra's voice when she says my name and suddenly I'm all ears. I know he's telling her that I'm here but I want to know how he says it. They're talking too quietly to hear that well and I debate for a few minutes on if I'm gonna get up from the couch to hear them better. But in the end, my curiosity scratches at me too much to ignore them.

I'm quiet when I leave the couch but Kendra's voice has risen just a bit in volume. She's talking about how Alex thinks of me but I don't catch all of it, it's only snatches. But the irritation in Alex's tone has my heart racing.

"-not like he doesn't know how to deal with his own shit," Alex says, his voice barely more than a whisper and Kendra responds with a sigh.

My heart is in my throat as the silence stands between the two of them and Kendra's the one to finally break it. Her tone is soft as she talks and she gets right to the point. "He doesn't have a family, Alex. Who else is he supposed to go to?"

"Someone other than me," Alex responds, scoffing in the quiet. "Come on. It's not my job to fix him. I know he looks up to me and after everything we've been through I should put this shit aside but… I can't. He doesn't listen, Kendra. You know he doesn't. And it's too late to fix anything between us anyway."

Kendra sighs and her tone is soft again, like she doesn't want me to hear this. Like she's trying to protect me from what Alex really thinks of me. And I'm standing only a few feet away, fighting like hell against the tears trying to spring to life in my eyes.

"I thought you cared about him," she says and he sighs, letting me know exactly what he thinks of me. What he's always thought of me. Why can't anyone ever just tell me the fucking truth and stop stringing me along?

Kendra makes a surprised noise when I come from around the corner but I don't stop. I've got my duffel bag on my shoulder and it feels like fucking years ago that I asked Alex if I could stay here for a few nights. It feels like a damn lifetime ago now. I head straight for the door and pull away from him when Alex catches my arm. There's nothing left for me here.

"Hey, where are you going?" he calls, following after me when I don't stop. "Dash, wait. Why are you leaving?"

I pull the front door open but I turn to look at him, my heart in my throat as I speak. "B-Because it's not your job to fix me," I manage to say and the confusion on Alex's face only lasts a few seconds before recognition appears in his expression. He knows that I heard him. That I heard what he really thinks of me. But I'll never let him see how badly his words are breaking me.

"Dash, I-"

"Why couldn't you have let me down easy?" I cut him off before all the air leaves my lungs as I step out of his apartment. I can't wait around and listen to his excuses. He doesn't care about me. I'm just too much of an idiot to see when someone's just putting up with me. God, why did it take me so fucking long to realize it?

Alex follows me down to the parking lot, calling my name and trying to explain and I can't hear any of it. I can't give myself the hope that there's someone in my life that doesn't fucking hate me.

My hands are shaking as I try to get the keys into the lock but Alex catches up to me before I can. His hands are firm on my shoulders but it doesn't stop the panic from racing through me.

"Hey, look. Listen to me. What you heard in there… it had nothing to do with you, okay? Dash, I promise we weren't talking about you," he says, holding me in place even when I try to push him away. "Stop it. It was about Chuck. Kendra and I have been having the same stupid argument about him for the past couple of weeks, alright? It had nothing to do with you, I promise."

I don't believe him. He's just good at thinking on the spot. It had everything to do with me. It had to. Cause it's the only thing that makes sense. My dad hates me. My mom hates me. Danny probably never wants to see me again… it only makes sense that Alex hates me too. And I fucking get it. I panic too easily. I ask so fucking much of everyone around me. I never deal with my shit and I let it fuck with me and I'm fucking tired of me, too. So I get it. I fucking get it.

"Stop fucking lying," I spit, pushing away from Alex. His hands drop from my shoulders and for a few seconds, we just stare at each other in silence. But I drove from the middle of nowhere in Ohio all the way home and I'm fucking exhausted. I can't do this. I don't want to do this.

Alex tries to stop me from getting into my car but I push him away and I get in the drivers seat. And he can't do anything other than watch me drive away from his apartment and I can't do anything other than what I always fucking do – break the fuck down.


I drive for a while. I don't know where I'm going but I go down every back road in Amity Park until he stops calling. Until Alex's name shows up on my phone for the last time. Until I can push all of my hurt back inside and pretend that I'm okay. That I'm not fucking breaking just from seeing his name on my screen.

One of the only two gas stations in Amity Park has a sign out front, boasting that it's closing tomorrow and won't be open again until after Christmas. So I fill up my car even though I don't plan on going anywhere. I'm staying right here in Amity Park with everyone that doesn't give a shit about me.

There were so many times Alex could have told me the truth. So many instances where he could have just pushed me away gently and not crushed me like this. And then to try to cover it - to say he was talking about Chuck? Why couldn't he have at least admitted it?

I don't know if I run out of roads to drive down or if the sound of holiday music on the radio picks at my skin too harshly but either way, I end up back in my neighborhood just before nine. And I park my car at the edge of the driveway, not even sure if I plan on going in.

Spending the holidays alone in my house sounds so fucking depressing, I almost want to go back to Alex. At least with him, there was the pretense that he cared. But with mom and dad… I know they don't. I know that neither one of them give a shit about me. But it's not like I have anywhere else to go.

I get out of my car slowly, not entirely sure that I want to spend the night here after all. But every time I try to come up with somewhere else to go, I come up empty. Kwan and his mom are going out of town for the holidays. They've probably left already. Alex doesn't care about me. And I can't imagine that Danny wants anything to do with me now. I've ruined everything with everyone I've ever cared about and there's nothing I can do to take it back.

The world is quiet as I make my way up my house. It's the only one in the neighborhood with all the lights turned off and no holiday decorations outside or inside. It's the saddest looking place on this street and I'm the saddest person in the whole neighborhood. Christmas Eve is in two days. Shouldn't the world feel just a little brighter to me now?

The TV's on low when I step inside the house but dad's nowhere to be seen. His car is sitting out front but my body doesn't have the energy for its usual panic when I think of him. I just drop my bag on one end of the couch and cross the living room to get to the stairs.

Every part of me aches as I climb the stairs and I just want to sleep. I want to take a shower before I crawl in bed but I don't want dad to hear me and start any of his shit. I just want to be alone. I don't want to have to watch my actions carefully or think about what I'm saying. I don't want to talk at all. I just want to sleep and wake up tomorrow and have everything be different. I want to wake up inside a different home in a different town and with a completely different life. I don't want to be me anymore. I don't want to be the kind of person that drives people away and fucks up so badly that no one wants to be around me anymore.

I should have noticed that my bedroom door was cracked open. I should have noticed that all the lights were on. But I was too lost in my own head to realize that the tension climbing in my gut had returned and was trying to warn me. I should have listened to my instincts when I pushed open my bedroom door. But I wasn't expecting dad to be waiting for me on the other side.

He's sitting in my desk chair, dressed in his uniform, with all my shit strewn from the desk drawers and the dresser too. He's been in here, searching for something. I don't know what he expected to find or why it even matters. I'd never give mom up to him even after everything she's done to me.

I stand in the doorway, frozen for a split second. But dad looks up at me before I can make a move and it's too late now. I almost want to egg him on, make him hit me so the pain ripping through me will at least have marks to show for it. So I'll have a reason to down painkillers and sleep the next two weeks away.

"Son," he greets me with and the tone of his voice is so broken, it almost breaks me.

I don't know what to do. I'm staring at him from across the room and I think it's just now hitting me. I was gonna run from him. Fuck it, I was already running from him. He chased me in his fucking police cruiser and here I am. Crawling back because no one else fucking wants me either.

Dad heaves out a heavy breath and when he gets up from the chair, I react. I keep the distance between us when he shuffles forward a step. I can't let him get close to me or it will all happen again.

"You… went to your mother, huh?"

The question stops me cold but there's no hint of his usual malice behind the tone. He's just asking a question. He already knows the truth – he's just making conversation. But I don't want to fucking talk.

I shift my weight, shrugging one shoulder as I look away from him. I don't want to talk about this. Of course I went to her. He was threatening her and she's my mom even if she never wanted to be. I had to save her. Or maybe I just wanted to be the one who saves her, I don't even fucking know anymore.

"Did she keep… was it just her?" dad asks and the tone of his voice isn't lost on me.

My dad doesn't cry. In my whole lifetime, I've seen it happen twice. But he's got tears in his eyes when I look back at him and I know what he's asking. He wants to know about the baby. My brother.

I swallow hard, think it over. And even though I owe him nothing, I shake my head. Because what does it hurt? I'm never gonna see the baby or mom ever again. What does it matter if dad knows that mom kept the baby?

Dad lets out a shaky breath and it picks at me. I remember being in that hotel room with mom when I was five. When dad had just started with us and mom was gonna leave him. But he came to the hotel and they both cried and he somehow convinced her to stick around. I wish she would have left him then. Or fuck it, if I'm making wishes, I'd wish that she'd never had me in the first place. Her and dad would both be so much better off if they'd never had me to deal with.

"What's his name?" he asks me and I choke at the question.

Tears are stinging my own eyes now because I can't tell him that. I can't give him my brother's name because… because what if he somehow uses it? What if it'll help him find mom again? I got her to Ohio. That's at least a head start for wherever she wants to go now.

"Dad, I… I can't tell you that," I whisper, swallowing hard as the tears clog my throat and make it hard to breathe. I don't want to be doing this anymore. It's three days 'til Christmas. Shouldn't I be with people that care about me? Drinking hot chocolate and sitting around a fire?

It hurts when dad approaches me slowly. Like he's afraid of scaring me off. Because he will. I'm seconds away from bolting out of here. But I'm sticking it out because it's not like I have anywhere else to go.

"Dash, please… I-I just need to know his name," dad's whispering now too, tears free-flowing from him and making me choke even more. "Please, he's my son, too."

It takes more than sperm to be a father. It takes guts and courage and all of the things that my dad has never had under his skin. It takes kindness. Strength. Love. Everything I wish I had from him but never did. My brother deserves all of those things. But he'll never find any of it in Howard Baxter.

"No, dad." I'm more forceful with my words this time and I see the shift it causes in him. I think I know his next move before he grabs my arm. But I don't let myself run because what if this is what I need? What if pain will make this ache in my chest go away? What if it helps?

He's angry now, his chest rising and falling as he drags in shaky breaths. "I asked you a question, son. It's not that hard to answer. What is his name?"

I don't care anymore. He can wreck me – he can destroy every last piece of me. He'll never get my brother. If I'm good for anything, I'm good for this. Mom was supposed to get me the hell out of here so this wouldn't happen to me anymore. But she didn't so I guess it's up to me now. If I have to be that driving force that keeps him the hell away from someone that should never grow up calling him dad, then… that's what I'll have to be.

"I said no, dad." I try to pull my arm from him but his grip is stronger than I anticipated. And I don't know that I really care. So he kicks my ass again. So I spend the holidays inside my house, covered in far too many bruises. I don't think I'd recognize it as the holiday season without a few marks from him.

Dad pushes me backward and I end up with my back flush against the wall adjacent to my door. Definitely his new favorite thing to do to me. He's spitting acid in my ears and I don't think I even hear what he's saying. It doesn't sound like words to me. It just sounds like every other harsh thing he's hurled at me in the past. It's just dad. It's just the way he is.

His hands slide from my shoulders to around my neck and I almost wish for him to just snap my neck. To end every fucked up thing he's ever put me through. To make me forget that mom ever promised to get me out of this hellhole.

My vision tints black but he lets up on the pressure before I can pass out. I'm coughing and sputtering, trying to drag in any bit of oxygen that I can, when dad punches me in the mouth. And I choke over the blood. I wilt under all the emotions slamming into me. And I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to stand here and be his fucking punching bag again.

I duck under his arm before he can get his hands around my neck again. But dad catches my arm and drags me backward. So I drop to my knees, trying to crawl away from him. And he knocks my fucking dresser down on me.

Pain splits through me but I don't let it stop me. Adrenaline surges through me as I drag myself out from underneath the dresser and I'm on my feet in seconds. He tries to grab onto me but I get away. I move quickly across the landing and immediately start down the stairs. I guess I should have thought about how much stronger he is than me. I should have thought about the advantage it would have given him. But I didn't. And it doesn't hit me until I feel his hands on my back and I feel my upper body tip forward. I should have thought about the possibility of him pushing me down the stairs.

I hit my head on the way down and one of the stupid family pictures still hanging on the wall crashes down on top of me, the glass flying everywhere as I hit the hardwood floor in the living room. I'm spitting glass from my mouth and raking it from my hair and it's all stained with my blood. But it doesn't stop dad. A hurricane couldn't stop him when he's like this.

He towers over me like he always does and though I try to crawl away from him, he lands a kick to my rib that blinds me. And from how bad the pain is just from one kick alone, I know I can't let him get another one in. I won't survive it, no fucking way.

I roll over, laying on my aching rib just to protect it from him. But it doesn't stop him – he just finds a new place to kick and when he exhausts himself with that, he uses his fists. Every time he touches me, he bruises, and I can't do anything other than take it. So fucking much for not being his punching bag anymore.

Dad twists his fingers in my hair and drags my face up to look at him. He's talking about mom again but none of it makes any sense. He says her name and asks about the baby but I'm not really hearing it. He's dragging me across the living room floor by my hair and even though I manage to break away from him once, he lands a kick to my back and starts dragging me forward again.

I try to fight back against him but he shoves my face into the fireplace and my skin breaks against the brick surface. I taste blood in my mouth and I feel it running from my nose. And when I try to breathe, I can only smell my own blood.

"Thought you were being clever, didn't you? You got her out of there to keep her from me, right? Guess you thought I'd just welcome you back with open arms," dad spits, kicking my bad rib and dragging a gasp from me.

I roll over onto my stomach, curling up to protect my bad side. It hurts so fucking badly but I know that dad's nowhere close to being done with me. He only knows how to kick and punch and bruise and I'll be lucky if I survive tonight.

"This will teach you not to go behind my back again." Dad's voice is unnerving as he talks, the low tone sending shivers down my spine. He puts his hands on my back but he doesn't hit me like I expected. He rips the back of my shirt open and before I even have time to consider what he's doing, something hot and blinding presses against my lower back.

My ears are ringing from my cry of pain but whatever the fuck dad's got in his hands doesn't move an inch. My skin feels like it's on fucking fire and dad kneels beside me, keeping one hand on the back of my neck to hold me in place.

He pulls back from me for just a moment and from the flash of black I can see, I realize what the fuck he's doing to me. As he rests the end of a fire stokerin the fireplace, I try to get away from him. I try so fucking hard to move out of his reach but he anticipates my movements and he holds me in place. The white hot metal of the fire stoker hits my skin again and the scream ripped from my throat hurts my whole body.

Dad's talking but I can't hear anything he's saying. It's all white noise to me. And when he pulls the metal from my skin again, I practically collapse against the floor. My chest is heaving and though I fight like hell to get away from him, he's stronger than me. And I feel that burn of metal against my skin again and again and again. Until I see white. Until my every muscle has given out and my every scream has died.

He drops the fire stoker then, the clattering sound ringing in my ears long after it stops. I'm panting and retching but nothing's coming up out of me. I'm just dry heaving as I curl into the fetal position, trying not to give him access to my rib again.

I'm just starting to drag in breaths that don't shake when dad rolls me over onto my back. The pain is blinding and I try to roll over again. But he presses his foot in the middle of my chest. And when I manage to look up at him past the pain, he's taken his gun out of the holster.

He leaves it hanging at his side and for a second, we just stare at each other. I lied the last time he had his gun aimed at me. I wonder what's gonna spill out of me this time. Is it gonna be the truth or my own fucking blood?

"I didn't want to have to do this, you know."

I don't know why I laugh but I do. Because this is fucked up. Because my own dad is threatening me with his gun. It's not funny but I laugh, the sound hollow in the back of my throat.

Dad scoffs, pressing down on my chest further. It cuts my laughter off but it's not enough for him. He leans forward to put the gun to my forehead. But I'm not scared this time. I was terrified he was gonna shoot the last time but now… I just don't care anymore.

"I don't want to ask you again, Dash. Where is-"

"Just shoot me," I egg him on with, another laugh escaping me at the look on his face. "Come on, we both know I'm never gonna tell you where she is."

He's surprised, I can tell in his expression. But I think I mean what I'm saying. If this is it – if it really comes down to this, he can shoot me. At least this pain in my chest and all the marks he's left on me will be gone. Maybe I'll float above this town and watch from a distance. Maybe Danny will still be able to see me.

I exhale out heavily with a small laugh, looking up at the man I've always called 'dad.' Two years ago, I never would have pictured it all ending like this. But he either kills me now or he'll never get the chance to again. Cause I'll pack a bag like mom and get the hell out of this town. There's no one left for me here. No one cares for Dash Baxter – the quarterback with the fucked up past and two parents that don't give a shit about him. Who wants to be friends with that guy? Who would want to date that guy?

"Come on, stop dragging it out," I push him, shaking my head when his eyebrows rise on his forehead. "It was always gonna come down to this, right? I tell you the truth or you shoot me. I'm not gonna tell you about her or my brother. So I guess you have to shoot me."

His hand shakes on the gun and it's laughable. Howard Baxter's not scared of anything. If he's shaking, he's hesitating. And why he'd have a change of heart when I'm telling him to shoot is ridiculous. We didn't get to this point for nothing.

"Just shoot me, already. I'm sick of waiting around," I snap and he lets out a breath that sounds more like a snarl.

Dad cocks the gun and it sends this rush through my system. He's actually gonna do it. I watch his thumb leave the back of the gun, his fingers firm around the trigger, and it's like my whole life plays out in front of my eyes. All those days spent reading comics with Kwan as a kid. Football games mom used to come to. Finding Danny covered in blood in the woods that early morning. Alex taking me to his cousin's bar when my mom fucked with me. My birthday, looking at cars with the only boy I've ever loved. The way he looked that night on his porch before I left him. The last thing he's gonna remember of me is that I pushed him away. He's never gonna know that I loved him.

I brace myself for the shot – I can almost hear it already – and time slows down around us. But dad doesn't shoot me. He pulls the gun back from my forehead but I don't get a chance to process it. He turns the butt of the gun toward me and when he strikes across the side of my head, the blackness is instant. All-consuming. I don't even remember what fleeting thought I was trying to grab onto before the dark fell over my mind. And I guess after everything… it must not have been important.


Every part of me is heavy. Like the world is pressing down on me and I can barely lift my head. I can't move even a little without blinding pain ripping through me. I try to work up the energy to lift my torso just high enough to get my phone from my pocket but I can't even manage that. And even if I could, I don't think there's anyone I'd call.

I pass out again, somewhere between tears and agony, but I welcome the darkness. For just a little while, I can forget. About mom and all her lies, about how badly I fucked up with Danny, and how much Alex has probably always hated me. But more than that… I can forget how much I hate dad. How much I want to be the one pointing the gun this time. How much I want him to just drop dead.


My ringing phone wakes me from a solid sleep and when I jerk awake, pain shoots through my whole body. It hurts just to draw in a breath but I fight to stay awake. I use most of my energy just rolling over onto my side and by then, my phone's stopped ringing. But I dig it from my pocket anyway, just to see who was trying to reach me.

I thought it was gonna be Alex's name on my screen but it's Chuck's instead. And I can't help but wonder if Alex actually got Chuck to call me. To try and convince me to go back to Alex's place. I don't know if he'd go to all that trouble if he really does hate me but Chuck's name appears on my screen again before I have the chance to think about it.

It takes me a few seconds to decide if I'm gonna answer but in the end, I don't think I can face Alex yet. Even if he didn't mean for me to hear any of what he was telling Kendra, I don't want him to lie to me anymore. If he hates me, I want him to tell me. I just don't know if I'm ready to hear that he does.

When my phone rings for the third time, I give in and answer – mainly just to get him to stop calling. I don't think I'll be able to move an inch for the rest of the night anyway so… it's not like it matters if Alex wants me to come to his place again.

"Hello?" I answer with, pain shooting through me at the position I'm in just to answer the damn phone.

Chuck exhales heavily into the receiver. "Dash… I tried calling Alex but he said you'd gone home," he says, his voice heavy and tinged with some kind of hesitance. Like he doesn't actually want to be calling me. Fuck, does anybody even want to talk to me anymore?

"Yeah," is how I choose to respond, wishing I'd never answered the phone in the first place.

He's quiet on his end and I can hear the noise of the station behind him. I can't think of why he'd call me unless Alex put him up to it and I don't want to pretend that I don't know why he's calling. I get it. Alex feels bad that I overheard him. But I think it's better this way. Might as well get the truth from everyone all at once rather than slowly learn what they all think of me. What they've always thought of me.

"Look, I know Alex is worried about me or whatever but I'm fine, okay? Tell him I'm fine and that you called me. Just tell him that I'm gonna stay here for the next couple of days instead and I'll-"

"Dash," Chuck interrupts me, a sense of urgency to his tone that I don't understand. "This isn't about Alex. It's about your father."

Great. Just what I need. Dad to send one of his officers over here to make sure I keep breathing long enough for him to kick my ass again. I hate to break it to Chuck but I can barely move, there's no way in hell I'm letting anyone drag me to the hospital.

"He's been shot."

I don't think it hits me right away. I hear the three words Chuck says but they don't sink in. They float in the open space between us and while I process them, he starts to tell me how it happened. He mentions something about a shootout downtown between the police and a few gunmen trying to rob a gas station. But it doesn't make any sense. None of what he's saying phases me. It doesn't cut through the fog wrapped around my brain. It's not until Chuck says that he's in the ICU at the hospital that it all hits me. And he stops talking immediately at the breath I drag in.

It stabs at my lungs and my back is practically screaming as I sit up. I'm swaying and unsteady from the movement. But I can't hear this and not do a fucking thing about it. I can't just hear that my dad's been shot and not care. As much as he kicked my ass and as often as I've wanted to just get away from him, I'm not capable of not caring. Fuck, I care.

"Ch-Chuck, what are you… h-he was shot?" My voice is barely above a whisper as I ask it – like I can't believe it. Of all the officers in this whole goddamn town, why did it have to be my dad? Why does he have to be the one that takes a bullet when he's just trying to do his fucking job?

I move from the floor but I hit my knees before I manage to stand up. Everything hurts too much to go anywhere but I can't lay here and not go to him. He's in the hospital. He's in fucking intensive care. How can I just stay here and not go see him? How can I not see him?

"A-Are you at the hospital?" I ask, already moving from my position on the floor despite the pain it brings me. Every movement hurts worse than the last and I lose my footing twice because of how fucking dizzy I am. But I manage to get up. I manage to put one foot in front of the other.

Chuck sighs into the receiver but he says yes. He says he's been at the hospital for half an hour, sorting paperwork and shit but I'm not listening to that part. I'm waiting to hear him say that dad's okay. That he's gonna be fine. But he doesn't say that and it scares me more than I thought it would. He's my dad. Despite everything, he's my dad. And he has to be okay. Or I don't know how to be.


I don't take the time to climb the stairs or to put on a shirt. I just pull off the torn one and get a hoodie from my bag on the end of the couch. I slip it on over the marks dad's left on my skin again. It doesn't matter anymore. My stupid feelings and his anger don't matter. All that matters is that he's okay. That he lives.

Everything in me is on fire as I leave my house and get into my car. As I drive out of the neighborhood I thought was sad. But this isn't a sad place – it's just a sad night. And I thought it would all end with dad's fists and my wounds but it's not. Dad's the one fighting like hell to live and I'm upset because he was angry? God, why do I always make a big deal out of everything? So he was angry. So fucking what?

The roads are almost empty as I drive straight to the hospital but it doesn't calm the nerves racing through me. I'm running on pure adrenaline and it keeps me going as I park my car in the lot in front of the hospital. But the pain that shoots through me when I leave my car is almost enough to cripple me.

My gut is aching and my back is on fire but I don't let it stop me. Even though I sway as I walk and even though I'm practically seeing double, I keep going. I walk to the entrance of the hospital and I go inside. Because it doesn't fucking matter how much pain I'm in when my dad's been shot.

On my way inside the hospital, I pass by this woman and her young son – both giving me curious looks. I don't know what my face looks like but from the expression on the woman's face, I'm guessing it's not good. Which is why I don't stop at the receptionists desk to ask her what floor I should be on. I don't need to anyway. I've been in the intensive care unit twice in my life. I don't think I'll forget what floor it's on for as long as I live.

I walk past the receptionist's desk and head straight for the elevators. A doctor in a long white coat does a double take as I pass by him so I put my hood up, tugging it down just far enough to cover the worst of dad's damage. And I keep my head down so no one can see it. Cause this isn't about me. This is about my dad. He was fucking shot, what do a few bruises matter now?

Some guy talking on his phone steps off an elevator just as I stop in front of them so I take his. When I'm in the elevator, I get a look at my face in the reflective surface of the doors. There's a lot of shadows surrounding me in the elevator from all the poor lighting, making this look worse than it is. And even though the reflection is distorted and the shadows play a part in how it all looks… it still looks fucking ugly. Just from the bruising alone, I think dad might have broken my nose. Or maybe my jaw. Fuck, no wonder people were looking at me.

I get off the elevator as soon as it comes to a stop and I start down the hallway to the same waiting room mom stayed in after dad broke one of my collarbones. The same place I waited for hours when mom's throat was too swollen to even talk because of his hands. The doctors told me she needed emergency surgery to fix her windpipe or it would collapse. And now I'm here for dad. I don't know if the feeling in my gut is worse now than it was then but either way… I'm terrified.

There's three police officers standing together when I get off the elevator and round the corner into the waiting room. They're standing halfway across the room next to a window and I recognize the back of Chuck's head. But I don't want to just walk up to them. I don't know who they are. They don't know who I am. They won't understand why I'm like this.

"Chuck," I call softly, my voice faint on his name.

He hears it anyway and glances over his shoulder at me. I lift my head just a little and his expression changes in an instant. He turns back to the other officers and says something quietly to them, clapping one on the shoulder, before he starts for me.

I duck back into the hallway next to the elevators, pushing my hood off my head to run my fingers through my hair. The movement stings just a little and when I pull my hand away, there's fresh blood on the tips of my fingers. It turns my stomach to see it so I shove my hands into the pocket on the front of my hoodie just as Chuck rounds the corner.

"Jesus, kid," he says softly, cupping my chin in his hand. He gently turns my face to each side, shaking his head at the damage he can see. I avoid his gaze as long as possible and eventually he lets go of me. "He did this to you?"

I shrug, my gaze on the ground in between us. I'm studying my beat-up Converse next to his bootsand I can't admit it. Not even to our feet. It's too hard to say that my dad's the one who did this to me when he's in some room back there, probably fighting like hell just to stay alive. My bruises – my pain – don't matter.

"How's my dad?" I ask, never looking up from where I've trained my gaze. I can't lift my gaze to Chuck because I don't want to see the look in his eyes. I don't want to know that he pities me for both parts of this situation. For everything dad's done to me and for the fact that he might fucking die. I've been in the intensive care unit three times now. And I don't think I've ever been this fucking terrified.

"I don't know. They haven't let me see him yet," Chuck says and at that, I look up at him.

He holds my gaze and I lose my breath. He doesn't have a fucking clue how dad is. Fuck. Dad could be fucking flat-lining for all we know. And they won't tell him a fucking thing. Why haven't they fucking talked to him yet?

"Wh-What about me?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "Th-They have to let me… see him. I'm… I'm family," I say, turning for the hallway. I don't even bother to put my hood up. I don't care who fucking sees me like this anymore. I have to get to my dad. I have to know that he's okay.

Chuck calls my name softly but I push away from him, starting for the doors marked "Hospital Staff Only" and I almost make it there but Chuck comes up from behind me. He loops one arm around my chest and pulls me backward. I desperately try to pull away from him but his grip is strong and I can't break free. I'm fucking steps from those doors and he won't let me go.

"I'm family, Chuck!"

It takes me a second, and fucking everyone in the waiting room turning to look at me, before I realize that I yelled it. But I don't want to take those words back. I am his family. I'm dad's only family. And he's all I've got left of mine. We might be fucked up. He might take his anger out on me and I might deserve it sometimes but… god, I need him. Even when things get bad between us, I still fucking need him.

"He's… he's my dad," I whisper, dropping my gaze down to the floor again as tears prick the corners of my eyes. I don't want to do this. I don't want to cry in front of the entrance to the intensive care unit. I don't want to come all this way and not be able to see him. To not see that he's okay. That he's gonna make it.

Chuck turns me toward him, his hands firm on my shoulders. And though his touch hurts from everything dad's done to me, I embrace the touch. And I let him pull me into a hug. Even though his tight hold on my back is more pain than I can handle, I let him hold me. Because it helps. Because it hurts. And right now, I think I need that hurt. I don't think I know how to function without the pain.


I don't stick around the hospital even though Chuck tries to convince me to. I know it's only a matter of time before he'll try to get me checked out and I'll have to tell him that I don't deserve it. That all this pain I'm in is only fair. It's my fault dad's in the hospital. I don't have a right to get any kind of medical care. Not yet. Not until I know he's okay.

Chuck promises to call me if he hears anything about my dad and I leave the hospital, slower than when I came in. I leave my hood off all the way to my car but I keep my face down anyway.

I feel like driving until I hear from Chuck again but I don't know that I have the strength for it. Driving home is harder than it was on the way to the hospital. The dizziness is killing me and I run a red light by accident because the colors are all meshed together in my head.

It's kind of a fucking miracle that I make it home in one piece but I don't know that I really am anymore. I'm barely seeing straight and every step forward feels like two steps backward. It takes me forever to get inside the house because I can't get the keys to work in the lock. But eventually, the door handle turns and I practically fall inside the house.

I'm shaking all over from the adrenaline or maybe the fear coursing through my veins. I want to start a fire just to get warm but I don't have the strength to carry any of the logs over to the fireplace. So I just sit on the floor in front of the couch and draw my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them to keep warm.

The silence inside the house is enough to break me. It picks at my open wounds until every shitty moment of the past few days catches up to me. Until it hurts just to breathe and with every staggering breath I drag in, pain is shooting up and down my spine. It hurts to cry. But it hurts even more not to.


I sleep intermittently for an hour, waking up every now and then from the pain or just to check if Chuck has called me. My phone never has a text from him and the pain stays the same. So I just keep laying on the floor in front of the couch and dozing off.

It's almost two hours after I left the hospital that someone comes to my front door. The knocking is quiet at first and the muffled voices outside don't sound like ones I recognize. But the knocking turns to pounding and I recognize Alex's voice as he calls my name through the door.

"Dash, open up," he calls, in between his obnoxiously loud pounding. The sound makes my head hurt worse and I try to find my voice to tell him to go away but I don't have the strength. Sleeping has made the pain more noticeable now that I'm awake again and it hurts just to move my mouth.

I drag my phone from my pocket instead and slowly type out a text to him, wincing every time there's another pound on my door.

To: Alex

Please just go away

I'm fine

The pounding stops for a few minutes but I hear Alex's groan even through the door. And I fight back against the tears gathered in my eyes as I wish that things were different. That I wasn't just a fucking burden to him and that he actually cared about me. I could use someone tonight. I could use Alex tonight. But he doesn't care about me the way I thought he did. And I don't think I can deal with that right now.

"Chuck called me," Alex calls through the door and I think he sighs before he talks again, his every word muffled by the door but I can hear the concern in his tone. "Please just open the door and talk to me. He said you're hurt."

Of course I'm hurt. Alex doesn't want anything to do with me. He's just too kind to push me away completely and I wish he would already. And I'm bruised from dad. I'm fucking terrified for dad. I don't know how to deal with everything I'm feeling. And I wish he'd just go away.

To: Alex

I don't want to talk

He suddenly pounds on the door again, completely scaring the shit out of me. Every bruised part of myself aches from the sudden movement I make cause I didn't expect the noise. But I take a deep breath and I try to pretend that my heart's not hammering in my chest.

"You have to," he says and the tears are pricking at the corners of my eyes again. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to fucking talk about it. I just want to be sad and I just want to ache and I want that to be okay. I want it to not matter that I'm making this whole fucking situation about me again. My dad was fucking shot. And I'm feeling fucking sorry for myself because Alex has only ever pitied me instead of actually wanting me around.

I get up from my place on the floor and I shuffle over to the door. I open it not because he's right and not because I want to talk but because I need him to see that I'm fine. Even though I'm bruised and even though I'm fucking broken inside, I need him to know that I'm okay. Even though it's a lie.

Alex's eyebrows are drawn down when I open the door but his expression changes quickly. His eyebrows shoot up on his forehead and his mouth hangs open just a little. I keep the door tucked close beside me, only my head and part of my chest sticking out from behind the door. I'm not letting Alex inside and I've left just enough space for me to duck inside again without letting him in.

"Dash," he breathes my name like he's terrified for me. Like he actually cares what happened to me. And I wish he did. I wish this kind of shit didn't matter to me. I wish that I wasn't on the verge of breaking down again cause of what my dad's done to me. I wish I could stop making everything about myself and just be scared for my dad instead.

He drags in a breath and puts his hand on the door, trying to push it open further. "Dash, let me see you," he says softly, but we both know he's seen enough already. The rest of me is just as banged up as my face but I don't want him to see any more. I don't need his pity now.

"I told you I'm fine," I practically spit the words at him from between my teeth and I think he can hear how much strength it's taking me just to talk. Cause it fucking hurts my jaw and my nose just to move my mouth at all. But I need him to know that I'm fine. That I've got this. After all these years with dad, I can handle this part of tonight. I just can't handle the part where he's in the hospital.

Alex's expression is concerned and even though I want nothing more than to open the door and let him in, I can't. I know I can't. Because I'll go back to his place with him and he'll try to make me feel better and fuck. I don't want this to continue. I don't want him to pretend that he cares about me just to give me somebody that does. I want someone to actually care about me and god-fucking-dammit , I wanted it to be Alex.

"Dash, wait-"

I tuck myself back inside the house and close the door, turning all the locks before Alex has a chance to stop me. I don't want to go back to his place and play at being fine. I don't want to pretend that we're gonna celebrate Christmas together when I know that the next couple of days is just gonna be me at the hospital, waiting on news about dad.

He calls my name through the door and starts pounding on it again and I lean my head against the door, his every hit vibrating through my skull. It makes the pain in my head more intense but I don't move an inch. Because if I do, I'll let him in and I can't do it tonight. I can't pretend any longer. Not with Alex.


I don't know how long he stands out there, calling my name and begging me to open up, but eventually he leaves. I hear his car pull out of the driveway and I collapse against the door, leaning my shoulder against it because my back hurts too bad to touch it to anything. I know at some point I'll have to assess the damage dad's done to me and actually do something about it but not now. Not while I'm still waiting on a text from Chuck to tell me how dad's doing.

It feels like hours pass in between the time Alex leaves my place and when his car pulls up again but it's barely been an hour. I don't want to open up or let him in but I don't think I'll be able to resist him this time. So I leave the foyer and all but drag myself over to the floor in front of the couch, keeping my back far away from touching anything.

Alex rings the doorbell and I start a little at the noise. My sudden movement makes the hoodie I'm still wearing hitch up higher on my back and I wince from the pain. It's too cold to sit here without it on even though it hurts my skin.

"Dash?" he calls through the door, sounding less like Alex and more like someone else I know. Someone younger. Someone who knows about all this horrible shit and has never seen me any differently because of it. Someone like-

My phone vibrates from a new text and it takes me a few seconds for his message to sink in. To realize who the hell's standing outside.

From: Danny

Alex called me. Let me in.

I don't want to open the door. I don't want him to come inside and see me like this. I don't want to see the expression on his face when he sees just how badly dad's fucked me up again. I don't want his pity. I don't want anyone's.

"No," I croak out, my voice hoarse from not being used and my jaw and nose ache just from the one word. It hurts to talk and that's another reason I can't let Danny inside. He'll ask me questions and I'll have to answer and… fuck, I don't want to talk about this. Not while my dad's in the hospital because I wished he just wouldn't come home.

Danny knocks on the door softly, his voice muffled but the meaning is clear as day. "You know I can just come in anyway."

Fuck. He really can just come in. It doesn't matter if I bolt all the locks and board up the windows. Danny can still come inside because he's different. Because he's special. He could just pass right through any barricade I set up but he's not. He's giving me the option to let him. He's leaving it up to me.

"Danny," I practically whisper, not entirely sure he can hear me.

I don't want to open the door. I don't want to let him in and hear him exclaim over the state my body's in because of dad's hands. I don't want to have to tell him that my dad's been shot because I wished for it. Everybody knows that whatever you wish for isn't supposed to come true.

He knocks on the door again, and I leave my spot in front of the couch. I don't want to let him in but I go to the door. I don't want to open up but I turn the locks anyway. And I end up with my forehead pressed against the metal door, waiting for him to make the final move. To push me into the right decision. The one where I open the door and let him inside my house and into my arms because everything hurts so fucking much.

I hear him call my name softly one final time and I pry the door open, stepping back to let him inside. He's frozen on the front porch, just staring at me, and I shuffle my feet in place. I shrug my shoulders but it's accompanied with a wince so my pretense of casual is shattered.

Danny closes his eyes for a second or two before they're open again and he's stepping inside my house. I move backward a few paces to make room for him and he closes the door behind him, leaning his back against it.

For a few seconds, he stares at the floor – almost afraid to look up at me – but he does. And I stare back at him. And it's like we're the only two people in the world right now. Even though I have no right to stop thinking about it, the thought of dad leaves my mind. When Danny steps away from the door, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, I stop thinking about everything.

"Alex said you looked really bad," Danny practically whispers, crossing the distance between us in a few short steps. He reaches for me and his hands almost come to a rest on my shoulders before he pulls them back. He seems almost scared to touch me and I can't decide if it's because of the bruises or because of the last conversation we had.

He lets out a low breath, fidgeting nervously before he seems to come into himself a little more. He stands just a bit taller, speaks just a little clearer, and I think the determination is something he's worked hard to perfect. So that I won't fight against him.

"I'm taking you to the hospital," he says, his expression set, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. I hate to burst his bubble but I'm not going anywhere. I'm taking painkillers to bed with me and I'm sleeping this off. There's no fucking way I'm going to the hospital for myself when dad is still there. When I still haven't heard any news.

Danny's expression falls when I shake my head and step away from him. I turn my back to him, mumbling softly that I'm not going anywhere, and the breath he drags in startles me. I look over my shoulder at him and he shakes his head.

"Turn around," he says, his touch gentle as he turns the back of my head toward him again. I know he's being as gentle as he can but he touches something on the back of my head and I pull away from his touch with a wince. "Shit, you're bleeding."

I put my hand up to my head, coming away with more blood from that same area that was bleeding earlier. Great. Just what I need. Fucking head trauma.

"It's fine," I mumble, turning around to look at Danny with a shrug. "It barely hurts."

He gives me a look like he knows that's absolute shit and I can't meet his gaze. Of course it hurts. Dad's put me through hell again but it doesn't matter anymore. Dad's in the hospital because of a fucking gunshot wound. I can't make this about me again.

"I'm fine," I stress the word but I already know he won't believe me. The look on his face is too determined, his jaw too set, to ever believe that I'm okay. To ever believe my lies.

Danny takes my wrist in his hand and tugs me forward just a step. Enough to almost close the distance between us. His head is tilted back so he can meet my gaze – and it reminds me just how much shorter he is than me. How much height I've got on him.

"Either I take you to the hospital or you let me patch you up," he says, that same determination in his expression oozing out into his words. It tells me that he's not planning on backing down and I know I should just give in. I should just let go of this stupid fucking hang-up and let him take me to the hospital. But it's my dad. And I can't let it go.

He groans when I shake my head but he doesn't stop there. He tugs me forward another step, taking one backward, before he speaks again. "I'm being serious. You either go to the hospital with me or I look at what he's done to you. It's your choice."

I don't want to choose. I just want this whole fucking situation to be over with. I want Danny gone and I just want to be alone. Fuck, I don't ever want to be alone again.

"Danny, I'm not… going to the hospital," I say, hanging my head when he groans again. I know he's just looking out for me. I know he only wants me to go because he cares. I don't know why the fuck he still cares but he does and he's here and I'm so fucking sorry.

He draws in a deep breath, seems almost like he's composing himself, and then he nods once. "Fine. I'll take care of you then," he says, and when he pulls me forward a step, I go with him this time.

I follow him to the master bathroom connected to my dad's room and though I try not to look at any of his things, he's everywhere. His clothes littered on the floor. His bed unmade. The scent of his aftershave is lingering in the air when Danny takes me into the bathroom. He points to the tub and I sit down, my fingers gripping the edge. He moves some of my dad's things further back on the counter to make room as he starts looking around the bathroom.

"Do you have a first aid kit or something?" he asks, opening and shutting the cabinets in the bathroom, tsking softly when he comes back with nothing. "Do you guys even have bandages or alcohol at least?"

I shrug when he turns to look back at me and his expression changes. He crosses over to the tub and kneels in front of me, putting his hands on either side of my face. It could almost be romantic if our last conversation wasn't so fresh in my mind and if he didn't look so terrified.

"Dash, holy shit," he breathes, holding my head still as he gently parts my hair. It elicits another wince from me and he stills his movements for just a second before he starts again. "I'm sorry… there's just a lot of blood and I'm worried. Just… hold still, I'll try to clean some of it away."

He leaves the floor in front of me and searches through the cabinets again, coming back with a washcloth. When he comes back over to me, he leans over me to wet the cloth in the tub, turning the spout on but shutting it off almost immediately again.

"This might be a little cold," he warns, standing next to me now rather than kneeling again. His stomach and chest are against my shoulder and the side of my face and I don't think the butterflies have a right to awaken now. After all the shit that's happened between us, I thought those damn things would have died by now but they're here.

Danny's gentle with his movements but it still hurts. It still makes me wince and curl my fingers tighter around the edge of the porcelain tub. He stops twice to rinse the cloth again and the second time, he leaves the water running.

He says something to me that I can't hear over the running water but I get the general point of what he's trying to tell me. The blood's matted in my hair and he can't get it out. And it's already hurting enough to make me wince, he'll have to hurt me even worse just to check the wound. And I decide I can't deal with that.

Before he can try to stop me, I leave the edge of the tub despite his protest and I step into the shower. I pull up the shower spigot and let the water hit my back before I turn toward it, letting the water run through my hair.

I work my fingers through my hair, water running down my face and masking the tears building up in my eyes. It hurts just to wash my fucking hair. I don't think I've ever felt this fucking weak before. And Danny's standing beside me, seeing this whole fucking breakdown.

He puts his hand on my back and the pain makes me flinch away from him. It drags a stupid fucking gasp from me and I stumble forward a little in the tub. I turn to look at him and he hesitates a second before he kicks his shoes off and steps into the tub with me.

"Hold still," he says softly, tipping my head down to look at the top again. I hear him tsk softly but my heart is pounding in my chest. I'm so terrified of him always seeing me this way. I'm so fucking sad.

I pull away from him, trying to tell him to go, but he talks over me. He drowns my words out with his own and he keeps telling me that he needs to check the area. He says he needs to make sure that I don't need stitches. He says there's still a lot of blood.

He keeps talking, rattling off instructions, until I look up at him. Until I'm staring into his eyes and I feel like he's seeing me for the first time. No more stupid lies or false pretenses. I'm standing, completely dressed, in the shower with the boy I love and I think he's finally seeing me. I feel naked in front of him. Like every part of myself is on display for him and this is finally the moment where he decides if he likes what he's seeing or not.

Danny hesitates for a long fucking time again but in the end, he reaches for me. He's probably just trying to get me to hold still so he can look at the wound again. He probably didn't mean what he said the night I left him in his front yard, calling after my car and begging me to come back. But he told me that he'd talk about this if I stayed. He said we'd figure it out. I'm here now. And I don't want to wait another second. I want to figure it out now. I want him now.

He stumbles back a pace in the tub but I chase after him. I've spent all this time chasing after him, what's one more step? His back hits the wall and he lets out a breath that practically hangs between us. It asks a question. I give the answer.

I kiss him then. I stop waiting for the perfect moment. I stop thinking about how everything has gone wrong between us until now. I stop feeling so damn pathetic and I kiss him. I kiss him.

I thread my fingers through his hair and I pull him closer to me. His arms slide around my neck and he pulls me down to him, breaking apart for air. His forehead rests against mine and we're both panting, breathing in the shared oxygen between us.

Our eyes are closed and he runs his fingers through the hair at the back of my head. He holds me tighter as the silence creeps in, punctuated only by the running shower water, and I start to shake from the cold. From the pain, or the fear, or from something.

"Please," I whisper from between my chattering teeth and he holds me closer. He holds me closer for just a moment before he gives me what I want. He tilts his head back and invites me in for another kiss. And I fucking take it.

I kiss him until I can't think. Until this stops hurting. Until I forget that I'm standing in the tub with him and the water running down my back is killing me. I kiss him until everything else leaves my mind and what's left behind is this sort of pink, nakedness. This feeling that when this all blows over… everything will be okay.


A/N:

My god. This chapter is done. I can't believe it – I've waited SO long to have it out there and now it is and I… can't believe it. It's here. They've finally kissed. These fucking boys have FINALLY kissed!

Soooooooooo… what do you think of this update!?

Obviously, I know what you're all thinking about BUT… the chapter as a whole, I'd love any and all thoughts about it. What do you think of his mom? Did you suspect the little brother angle or did that come as a surprise? I tried to keep the hints subtle enough without completely blind-siding you guys with this but maybe it's a total shock. I'd love to know either way!

How about the miscommunication with Alex? Any thoughts around that? It's so sad to me cause like… if Dash wasn't so messed up from everything with his mom, he would have believed that Alex wasn't talking about him. But he didn't so he went home and got the shit beaten out of him again. Then again… if he hadn't, the kiss probably wouldn't have happened so like, it was probably worth the pain, right?

BUT HONESTLY. Let's talk the kiss. I'm sure a lot of you thought I was dragging this out just for the hell of it but this is the EXACT moment I knew the kiss would happen when I started this story fucking forever ago. I'd love to know what you think of it – any thoughts about it all, good or bad, I'd love to hear what you're thinking

The title of this chapter comes from All The Kings Horses by Karmina. If it's not Dash, I don't know what is honestly. I mean, the chorus goes, "All the kings horses and all the kings men, couldn't put me back together again"... like how is that NOT Dash?

My other choice for this chapter was Kiss It All Better by He Is We but I thought that might have been a dead give away ;P

Writing this story has always been such a wild ride but I love it. The feedback I get is always so constructive and kind – I really appreciate it. Thanks so much for giving this story a chance, it never would have reached this point without your support. I appreciate the hell out of you all more than you know

Next chapter will see lots of cuddling, tears, and general fluff mixed in with all this heavy angst. I hope you look forward to it – I know I look forward to reading all of your thoughts about it!

See you all next update!