This past summer, I lied to Jax and Kaden. I told them that Matt and I got into a verbal argument and broke up and that after Matt left, someone I didn’t see attacked me from behind. My family hates me now because of what I’ve done, but I’m lying to protect them. I’ve walked away from everything to protect them.
If I’d told Jax and Kaden the truth about what happened with Matt, they would have gone after him and then Matt and his friends would have retaliated. All of it on the streets. All of it in pure hatred. The fighting would never end.
And last night...I might have destroyed everything I’ve built in order to protect Jax and Kaden. I broke a rule. I got involved. I hit Matt’s little brother and Matt will want payback.
Even though I miss Jax and Kaden, I made the right decision. I blow out a long breath. It is. It’s the right decision and I’ve lived with this lie for too long to let Matt’s brother ruin it.
My eyes fall to my shoes on the floor and I silently curse. If my uncle finds out that I wore shoes in the house, he’ll throw a fit.
Snatching them up, I tiptoe down the wooden stairs in my socks. Twice the material snags on an exposed nail. At the bottom, I relish the fact that I descended without a loud groan betraying my existence.
I pause, then strain to hear the light breathing of the nine other people sleeping in the house. Straight in front of me is the bathroom. To the right of the bathroom, my uncle’s loud snores can be heard past the shut wooden door, and in the room to the left of the bathroom, my sister strangles her American Girl doll as she rolls over on the floor in her sleep. With her eyes still closed, my mother reaches down and touches Maggie’s head full of tight brown curls.
I take an immediate right and carefully maneuver over Jax, whose bed has become the carpet of the living room. Kaden’s long arms and legs fall off the couch. Even before we moved here, the living room was Jax’s home. My parents displaced his younger brothers by taking over their room. The Dictator banished them to sleep in the unfinished basement. I offered to let them have the attic. Jax threatened to kick the crap out of them if they accepted.
In painfully slow movements, I leave my shoes near the front door. I’m assuming Jax and Kaden’s lie accounted for my missing shoes, but just in case...
The light glowing at the back of the house catches me off guard and I weave through blankets, pillows, T-shirts, socks, arms and legs to gain access to the lime-green kitchen that’s large enough for a stove, fridge, sink and a few cabinets. What doesn’t fit is the large oval table that seats ten people. It consumes the entire kitchen, and, even with the mismatched wooden seats and folding metal chairs pushed in, it’s difficult to walk around.
I’m hesitant as I poke my head in, then I smile.
Dad: dishwater-blond hair, tall like Kaden. He sits at the end of the table, reading the paper while jotting something into a notebook. The joy bubbling inside me is like running downstairs on Christmas morning. I can’t remember the last time I spent time with him alone.
“Hi.” I lean against the doorframe, nervous to enter. Sticking with what Jax originally assumed, I told my parents that I was late for curfew, ran home and Dad’s medicine rolled out of the bag without my realizing it. Regardless of how it happened, I lost his medication. Am I welcome anymore?
His eyes shine as he lifts his head. “Haley—what are you doing up?”
“Just up.” We speak barely above a whisper. It’s rare when this house is quiet; rarer are the moments when anyone can find peace. “How about you?”
The dark circles under his eyes indicate he’s battling insomnia again. Mom said his mind races with everything that’s happened, trying to figure out where it went wrong or scrambling to discover a way to fix it. “Same as you. Just up.”
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Dad motions at the paper. “Job hunting.”
I nod, not sure what to say. Talking to Dad used to be easy. Very easy.
Back when he was younger, he used to train with my grandfather. It’s how Mom and Dad met. It’s all very romantic and love-storyish, and I adore every second of the gooey-eyed tale. He was a kickboxer, like me, and swept Mom, the trainer’s daughter, off her feet.
Dad practically raised Kaden and me in the gym. Kaden fell in love with boxing, then wrestling, then mixed martial arts. Me? I stuck with kickboxing and Dad admired that and me until I left my grandfather’s gym. Then he lost more respect for me when I gave it up altogether.
I bite the inside of my lip and slip into the kitchen, focusing on the scratched brown linoleum floor as I progress toward my father. “Any luck?”
He shakes his head and closes the paper. “Most everything is online now.”
I drop into the chair next to his and hug my knees to my chest. “Library then?” My uncle doesn’t believe in internet access.
“Yep.” Dad taps a beat onto the table. Eventually it loses the rhythm and spirals into a persistent drone. Is conversation with me painful for him or is it conversation in general?
“Kaden’s got a fight in three months,” I say. “He’s going pro.”
My brother will stare holes through me for a week because I told Dad this. I wasn’t supposed to know. I overheard him and Jax discussing it on the bus. For some reason, he wanted to keep it private, but I’m desperate to end the silence. “Odds are he’ll end up fighting one of the guys from Black Fire and you know they dominate in a stand-up fight.” But Kaden is a force of nature on the mat.