Zach
Merci's screams rip through the air like shattered glass, each one tearing at something inside me. The confined space of the closet amplifies every sound, every ragged breath, every desperate cry. He's spiraling fast, and every instinct I have screams at me to fix this.
To make it stop.
So, I do the only thing I can think of.
I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling his back flush to me, my lips pressing against the shell of his ear. "Merci, focus on my voice. You're safe. I've got you."
His legs kick wildly, his body twisting as he tries to break free. His head snaps back and connects with my already bloody nose. Pain flares—dull and distant but there. But I don't loosen my hold.
"Let me out!" His nails rake down my forearms and draw blood. "Please, Daddy. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
He’s screaming for a ghost, for the bastard who put this fear in him, who broke him. My stomach twists withsomething I can only guess at. Something close to rage, helplessness, guilt.
His biological father may be dead, but the man’s shadow is suffocating my little scorpion.
"Zach!" Connor's voice carries through the door. "We're trying to get it open!"
"Hurry the fuck up!" The usual flat tone of my voice cracks due to the pressure building in my chest.
Merci kicks at the door, so I spin him around so we’re chest-to-chest to stop him from hurting himself even more.
He continues to jerk and twist, fighting with everything he has. Each blow, each scratch, each desperate attempt to escape—I take it all. Let him unleash his panic against me because right now, I'm the only thing keeping him from completely shattering.
"Little Scorpion." I force my voice to be steady, controlled—the complete opposite of what’s raging inside me. Every fiber of my being screams to destroy the fuckers who triggered this, who dared put their hands on him. "I need you to breathe. Just breathe."
He screams again while clawing at my skin, tearing into me like he's trying to break through a barrier between us.
"Connor!" My voice booms with an urgency I rarely display. "Get this fucking door open!"
“Working on it! Just hang on!”
Hang on.
Like it’s that fucking simple.
I tighten my hold on Merci, pressing him harder against my chest. “You’re safe, Little Scorpion. No one’s going to hurt you. I won’t let them.”
His body trembles violently against mine, each shudder like a blade twisting deeper into my heart. The guilt is crushing, suffocating—because I understand now. I understand what I did to him that night five years ago.
"Almost got it!" Someone shouts.
The door suddenly swings open, and I blink against the flood of light spilling into the tight space. Coach Harper is the first one through, Henneman is right behind him, his wide-eyed gaze locking onto Merci.
“Help get them out of there,” Coach orders.
Henneman steps forward, reaching for Merci, his hands tentative as he tries to pull him away from me. The growl that rips from my throat is deep and primal, a sound I barely recognize as mine. “Don’t fucking touch him.”
Henneman flinches, holding his hands up as he steps back. “Okay. Sorry.”
I gather Merci into my arms and carry him into the hallway, then set him down on the ground, his back against the wall.
Eli appears beside us, his face pale as he rubs Merci's back. "Breathe with me, okay? In and out. Nice and slow."
Merci's breathing is still erratic, but his screams have quieted to whimpers. His hands are a mess of torn skin and blood, and his right eye is swelling shut from where that fucker hit him.
"He needs a hospital." My tone is once again mechanical and detached, like I'm reporting stats after a game instead of discussing my boyfriend's critical situation.
