I try to catch Ayden’s eye as Lila finishes chatting with the officers, but he won’t look at me. Won’t look at anything, except the scars on his hands.
Lila is sobbing by the time she returns to the living room. Ethan looks like he’s about to throw up. And I feel as sick as Ethan looks.
“I’m going to go do my homework.” Ayden abruptly stands up from the sofa and walks out of the room at a normal pace with a relaxed expression.
So normal.
Like nothing’s wrong.
Lila’s shoulders shake as she reaches for a tissue on the table, her eyes filled with tears, and her makeup running everywhere. “Oh my God, this is so horrible. I need to go check on him.” She starts to get up, but Ethan drapes an arm around her and pulls her back down. “Let Lyric do it, okay? You need to calm down before you talk to him.” He looks at me for help.
I nod, getting to my feet. “Of course.” I leave the living room and start up the stairs, but pause when I hear the two of them whispering.
“We knew this was a possibility when we took him in,” Ethan says in a gentle tone. “We knew that those people were never caught, and that something might happen one day.”
“But I never expected it to happen like this.” Lila sniffles. “And did you see the look on his face. It was the same look he had when we picked him up that first day. God, what if he goes back to barely speaking.” Tears flood her voice. “I just want him to be happy.”
So do I. More than I want my own happiness.
I rush up the stairs and pause in front of Ayden’s shut bedroom door, hesitating before I knock.
“Come in.” His voice sounds so hollow that I almost start crying as hard as Lila. Instead, I collect myself and push the door open.
“Hey,” I say as I tentatively enter.
He’s lying on his stomach on the bed with a math textbook opened in front of him, doing his homework just like he said, as music thrums from the speakers of the stereo. He’s grasping something in one of his hands.
He finishes writing out the problem before he glances up at me. “Did you need something?” he asks, the life in his grey eyes dead.
I press my lips together. “I just wanted to see if you were okay.”
He shrugs, returning to his paper. “I’m fine. It’s not like I didn’t expect that to happen.”
“You expected your brother to die?” I question as I close the door. “Why?”
He shrugs again, continuing to move the pencil across the paper. “I don’t know. I just thought it could be a possibility after I found out he disappeared. I honestly am surprised any of us are alive, so …”
I should just walk out. Give him time. The space he seems to want. But I can’t leave him. So I sit down on the bed, highly aware when his grip on the pencil constricts.
“Ayden, talk to me.” I suck in a breath before I dare place a hand on his back.
He goes as rigid as a board. “I don’t know what to say.” His voice cracks, and then he starts to cry, tears spilling out as he hunches over, hiding his face from me. “I don’t think I can do this again.” His hands free the object he was clutching, and a few tears slip from my eyes. It’s a photo of him when he was younger, along with a young teenage boy and a girl. Probably his brother and sister.
All those years I spent wanting to experience life to the fullest, feel love and heartbreak, and now I feel so grateful that I haven’t. Haven’t been through what he has.
“Yes, you can.” I rub his back as each of his sobs ruptures my heart. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need. I got your back.”
But this time, it might not be so simple.
This time, I might not be able to help him.
Chapter 15
Ayden
Somehow in the midst of the chaos, I manage to fall asleep. When I wake up, my limbs are tangled with Lyric’s, so much so that I can’t tell where my arms start and her legs end.
Her head is nuzzled in the crook of my neck, her arm resting on my stomach, and her fingers are splayed across my rib cage where the tattoo is hidden beneath my shirt. The branded flesh scorches like it did the day it was put on me. The pain is one thing I’ve always been able to remember.
Charred skin.
The scent of dying flesh.
Listen closely.
You’ll hear the scream.
Of someone breaking.
Burned alive from the inside.
I lie awake until the sunlight hits the window, watching Lyric sleep, trying to figure out how I managed to drift off with her in my bed.
I’d been such a mess last night, cold, distant, then I freaking lost it and cried in front of her. She’d held me, and instead of panicking, I’d felt better.
Felt safe.
Eventually, I leave the bed.
After slipping into the bathroom to change, I go downstairs, hoping no one else is awake. The moment I catch the scent of bacon, though, I know Lila is up and cooking.
I hesitate before I enter the kitchen, debating whether to run or stay. The obvious choice is to bolt. I used to do it all the time, and it was easy. Run away, live on the streets for a few days, then by the time I was found, the foster family didn’t want me anymore. I have a feeling that things aren’t going to be that uncomplicated with the Gregorys.
So, summoning a deep breath, I walk in.
Just as I guessed, Lila is standing near the stove, watching bacon sizzle from the pan. She’s still in her pajamas, her hair unkempt, and her eyes have bags under them. She probably slept like crap last night, all because of me.
“Oh, hey,” she says, startled when she sees me. “I didn’t know anyone was up. I was actually about to wake you.”
“I just woke up.” I rub at my wrists then trace the long, thin scars on the back of my hand. “I’m not sure how much trouble I’m going to be in, but you should probably know Lyric’s asleep in my bed.”
She reaches to turn the burner off. “Yeah, I know that. So do the Scotts. We thought it’d be okay for the night, considering.” She moves the pan off to the side, then wipes her hands on a paper towel. “How about we have some breakfast and talk? There’s a few things we need to discuss.”
I stare at her with wariness as she crosses the kitchen to the table where there’s a plate with eggs and a fork on it. She takes a seat then pats the chair next to her, and I reluctantly sit my ass down.