When we finally pull into my heated garage, I turn off the ignition and face Gracie, who is still fiddling with her seat controls.
“Do you want me to order burgers and milkshakes for us? The delivery folks are usually pretty speedy to this neighborhood.”
Gracie must be starving, because she easily agrees. “That’d honestly be great.”
Finally, a win. I should’ve started with food in the first place. A rookie mistake I won’t make twice. I unlock my phone and open the delivery app.
Gracie starts telling me her order. “I’ll have a burger, hold the?—”
“—pickles, add extra caramelized onions, substitute shredded lettuce for leaves of lettuce. And I got sides of BBQ sauce and mustard so you can mix them on top of the patty, like a psychopath.”
She blinks slowly.
I raise an eyebrow. “Did you really think I’d forget your hyper-specific burger order?” After eating at our hometown diner with her so many times, I couldn’t forget her order if I tried. It’s like theFifty States That Rhymesong. Useless, except in very specific situations.
Her eyes widen with surprise. “No, I’m just… Wow. You have a great memory.”
“I remember everything when it comes to us, Gracie.”
As her jaw ever-so-slightly drops, I realize I might’ve overshared. But it’s true. I remember all of it, all of us. The something, the everything, the nothing. The good and the bad.
It’s nearly impossible for me to forget the bad.
Chapter 7
Danny
Fourteen Years Old
“Um, D-D-Danny? Is this a b-bad time? Over.”
I’m lying in bed, staring at my ceiling, when her voice comes through on the walkie-talkie. I can tell immediately by her tone that her dad has been drinking again. Gracie only stutters when she’s nervous or rushed, but she never stutters while saying my name. It takes me two seconds to fly out of bed and pull my jeans over my plaid boxers. I grab the walkie-talkie off my nightstand and press the Talk button.
“Gracie, you okay? Over.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Not t-too b-bad, b-but d-do you mind b-bringing an ice pack with you? Uh, over.”
Rage bubbles up through my body. If she’s asking for an ice pack, that means he left a visible mark on her. I clench my fists and then immediately unclench them. The last thing Gracie needs is another angry guy in her life. I check the clock on my dresser—10:00 p.m. It’s Thursday, so her dad must’ve gotten home early from the bar.Shit.
I quietly sneak down to the kitchen and grab an ice pack out of the freezer before heading back upstairs. Carefully opening my second-floor bedroom window, I climb down the drain pipe on the side of our house. As soon as I hit my lawn, I run across the grass to Gracie’s house. I push through the bushes outside her first floor window and impatiently tap on the glass.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Four times makes up our code. Gracie appears at the window, and…Jesus. It’s worse than I expected. The right side of her face near her temple is swollen, a small bump forming.
“Why d-do you still knock on the window? I always leave it unlocked for you.”
“Force of habit, Gracie. Now let me see.”
She backs up near her dresser so I have more room to get through. I take off my shoe and hand it to her before ducking my head and side-stepping into her room on one leg. Then, I bring my other leg in through the window and hover it above the floor before giving that shoe to Gracie. She sets both of my shoes on a plastic garbage bag she keeps on the floor near the window. It’s a dance we’ve done for years.
The first incident was four years ago. After Gracie suffered bruised ribs from being dragged down the hallway to her room in a drunken rage, her dad was extremely apologetic. He blamed his behavior on the alcohol and said it wouldn’t happen again.
It kept happening, but he stopped apologizing.
“It wasn’t really b-bad this t-time, I promise. I’m fine.” She nervously taps her foot on the shaggy pink rug beneath her window. Even in the dim light, a sheen coats her eyes, the purple-tinted iris looking especially blue.
“Don’t lie to me, Gracie. Never to me.” I put a finger under her chin and gently tilt her face toward the lamp for a better look. Blood pools beneath her pale skin, giving it a bluish tint.Lightly brushing my thumb just below her injury, I force myself not to dwell on the bruising. “What happened here?”
