Because of me and my big mouth.
Idiot, idiot, idiot.
I just needed to book a ride and get away before the embarrassment truly set in. A breath shuddered from my lungs as I stepped out onto the driveway and pulled out my phone, finding my location on maps with shaking fingertips.
“Lily, wait.” Dean strode out of the garage with his keys in hand. A muscle ticked in his jaw but there was a softness in his gaze as he slowed to a stop in front of me.
I wiped at my eyes as I said, “I’m sorry if whatever I said—”
“Let me drive you.” The sharpness in his voice told me it wasn’t up for debate, regardless of how awkward the drive to the apartment would be.
I nodded wordlessly before following him to his car.
Chapter 35
Dean
Dust bunnies, lost socks, and a single toy car was his only company as he tucked himself into the furthest corner under his bed. Pressing his hands so tightly over his ears it hurt.
She told him to hide until the yelling stopped, so he did.
He stared at the door, directly across from his bed, and tucked his feet up further when a shadow passed outside. He sucked in a breath and flinched when something in the hallway thudded.
“Where is he?” the deep voice slurred and taunted through the door.
He pressed his palms harder to his head. Squeezed his eyes shut.
It was his first week at a new school and he was already in trouble when he failed to complete his homework.
Another voice drifted through the door. His mother's voice as she pleaded for her husband to leave him, but she was cut off quickly by a muffled slap. Then came the screams, drifting further down the hall before another door slammed shut. He felt the reverberation through the floor as it rattled his bedroom walls enough to knock one of his soccer trophies off the shelf.
The violence had gotten worse since the move. When his father was unable to find work like the kind he had back home in an office, he settled for a factory job but grew unhappy and drank their money away. Whenever he wasn't passed out drunk or working shifts, this is what he did instead.
A muffled cry came from the next room.
He pulled his arms around his head, encasing himself in darkness.
Sunlight streamed through the back window, casting golden rays across the small, round dining table where he sat fixing a model car, wearing a bruise on his cheek from a run-in with the kids at school. His English had improved since the move, but he was still an outsider.
His mother was in the kitchen opposite him. Her long, black, wavy hair tied back into a loose braid as she prepared dinner, humming a song and swaying on her bare feet. She threw a warm smile across her shoulder at him, which he returned.
She stopped dancing professionally when he was born but said she enjoyed dancing regardless of whether it was for work or not.
This rare moment she did get to enjoy herself was brief though, tainted by the back door opening before a figure darkened the doorway.
They averted their gazes as his father walked into the kitchen, going straight for the beers in the fridge, as he always did after a day of concreting. He popped off the cap on the edge of the counter before taking a swig, his dark brown eyes narrowing on his son.
"What happened to your face?" his father said, speaking better English than the two of them. "You letting those kids push you around again?"
He kept his eyes downcast to the tablecloth and nodded.
"And you didn't fight back? Pathetic." Another swig. "No son of mine doesn't know how to fight back."
He remained silent, hands under the table as his right leg bounced.
"You know what? I'll teach you." He slammed his beer on the countertop and marched for his son. "Outside. Now."
His mother grabbed his father's arm. "Gio, please, don't—"
