PROLOGUE
SIXTEEN YEARS OLD, JUNIOR YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL
BROOKE
A shiver runs through me,and it’s not from the cold. Something is wrong. We should be celebrating Beck’s win, but as we get closer to him, I see his brows pulled together and furrowed. His girlfriend, Charlie, is standing beside him, worry etched across her face. Beck is yelling at someone standing in front of him. It’s a woman, but I can’t see who she is since her back is to me. She’s petite, with shoulder-length sandy-colored hair.
The look on my brother’s face is one I haven’t seen in a long time—not since a time we don’t talk about. My heart starts racing, and when my dad takes my hand in his and squeezes it, I know for sure there is a problem.
We finally reach them and stand next to Charlie. She’s aged, yet the lines on her face make her appear even older than she probably is. They’re hard and deep. Like she’s lived a rough life.
A life away from me.
I feel like I’m moving in slow motion as I watch my dad’s gaze move from Beck’s to the woman in pure recognition.
“Beck! What’s going on? Stevie? What the hell? You’re not supposed to be here,” my dad whispers angrily.
I look up at my mother.
My heart races in my chest, and my lungs feel like they’re packed with cotton as I stare at her.
Tears are running down her face, her hands covering her mouth. She’s looking directly at me. “Brookie? Oh my God, you’re so beautiful.”
At the sound of her voice—and,God, the nickname—my spine straightens, and I freeze. I don’t feel my dad release my hand, nor do I feel my brother protectively wrapping his arm around me.
Faint memories rush through me. They’re flashes really. Tiny pieces that are buried deep in my mind.
Brookie.
She would always call me that when she apologized. That I remember. Clearly. My mother is an alcoholic, or she was anyway. She’s supposed to be in prison for burning my brother’s hand and arm. I have some memory of that day. Mostly of Beck’s screams and me holding on to my mother’s legs, begging her to stop hurting him. And the smell. Burning, smoke.
My dad’s voice pulls me out of the memory.
I do what I do best.Five, four, three, two, one.
Five things I see. The Jumbotron blazing overhead. A hand-painted poster board bobbing in the crowd. A news camera angled too close. The orange Gatorade cooler by the bench. A man dancing like the world isn’t watching.
Four things I can touch. The rough denim of my jeans. Turf biting through the soles of my sneakers. The soft cotton of Charlie’s sleeve beneath my fingers. My own skin as my hand curls into a fist.
Three things I hear. A baby crying somewhere behind us. A woman cheering. My own breath—too loud, too fast.
Two things I smell. Sweat. Firework smoke.
One thing I taste. I dig into my pocket, find the mint I alwayskeep there, and pop it into my mouth. Cool. Clean. Something solid to hold on to as I pretend like nothing bad is happening.
“Let’s go, Stevie. Don’t ruin this celebration by embarrassing him like this right now.” My dad turns to us. “I got this, Beck. Go celebrate with your team. Brooke, you stay with Charlie, and we’ll meet you in the waiting area.” Then he turns back to my mother. “Start walking.”
She tries to get to Beck and me, but he grabs her arm, stopping her from getting any closer to us. “Ryan, I just wanted to see him for just a minute. I haven’t been able to see him or Brooke in two years! Just give me five minutes. If they don’t want to speak with me, I’ll go.”
I glance at my dad’s face, and it’s starting to turn red. He’s barely controlling his anger. “Nope. Not happening. You will not lay a single finger on my kids again.”
“Ry …” she starts.
He bends down and gets in her face. His voice is quiet, trying not to bring attention to us, but I can hear him. “NO! I said no. If you don’t start walking, I’m going to call your parole officer. You aren’t supposed to be within ten feet of the kids. Ever.”
He starts to pull her away from us, tilting his head and leaning it to the side. He leads her in the opposite direction from the locker room.
Charlie comes to stand beside us, reaching for my brother. Casey, her twin, is behind her. “Beck?—”
