In a pool of our shared blood.
And I hadn’t noticed thatshewas here until I looked up and found Jade on her knees between us. Her twelve-year-old hands were through our hair, comforting us as she repeated over and over again, “It’s okay, I’m here.”
And I reach for her fingers at the top of my head and tighten mine around hers. Her stormy blue eyes catch mine, tears streaming down her innocent face.
She is trembling when I whisper, “You were supposed to go next door.”
Then she tears at her bottom lip with her teeth. “Why do you think I asked for your hoodie, Chase?”
I furrow my brow, confused, clasping onto my broken ribs and rising slowly, sitting over shards of glass. I drag myself across the ground until my back hits the wall behind me, then I raise my knees, hang my wrists, letting my shoulders drop forward.
Everything aches.
“Why, J?” I cough into my hand, blood dots my palm.
Jade swallows, trembles harder. “Because if you didn’t make it back to me by the time I was done counting, at least I had a reason to come to you,” she says so quietly with a shrug of her shoulders. “You know, to give it back.”
And I bite the inside of my cheek.
Sometimes I forget just how smart she is, the way she can expertly layer intention into something so simple, masking over it until she intends to use it.
A tear trails my broken nose when she smiles. The glimmer in her eyes, an ember of hope. It’s so small, but I see it.
“It’s me and you, Chase. Against the world.”
And I slump my head back against the wall when another tear falls, but my eyes stay locked on hers. “Against the world, sis.”
Our mother coughs and we both hear it, turning toward her.
She somehow has found her way to the opposite wall and is cradling her torn up knees to her chest. She is a mess, and yet, among all the blood and bruises, I can see her white teeth peeking from behind the depravity of our father.
She smiles when she whispers, “Don’t ever lose that, my babies. Your love for each other, that…” She’s nodding continuously. “Will withstand any andeverystorm.”
The luminescent red glow of the old plastic sign blinks, the D on Devil’s Peak Trailer Park sputters before it bursts, leaving it to read,Evil’s Peak.
“Well, that’s telling,” Jade says, unbuckling her seat belt and twisting into the back seat. She’s grabbing for her bag when my truck's front wheel catches a pothole at the corner of the entry. “Fuck,” she grumbles, falling against me, then back into the passenger seat.
I barely touch the gas. I allow each ditch and rut to rock us to the back of the park, passing a single-wide that shakes to “Hot Dog” by Limp Bizkit. It has five cars parked at its rear—two are police cruisers. There’s a bed sheet tied to the front, and a birthday message spray painted in alternating blue and green. The bubbly words drip like tears, the cotton fluttering in the scant breeze.
I pull up in front of Laiken’s mother’s rundown double-wide. It’s nestled among spindly trees that reach high toward the sky and saggy powerlines. Overgrown brush circles the small perimeter, crawling up the crumbling lilac paint, feathering the broken and rusted shutters.
I kill the engine and push back into my seat, adjusting my jaw, hanging my wrist over the steering wheel. I stare past the purple trailer and out to the murky river that runs along the park's edge, tapping the horn three times. I let the sound settle before clearing my throat to tell Jade, “Thatday…” I sniff, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip and tearing at the rough skin beneath. “Should have been the day I put that motherfucker in his grave.”
I am talking about when I was fifteen, when I took a shot at my father andmissed.
And Jade knew that too, because silence swallows us.
Until she speaks.
“Hey, Chase, can you look at me?” Emotion chokes Jade’s words.
I drag in a long breath, stare unblinking ahead. I wasn’t done yet. “He was never supposed to get his hands on you, J. I let you down, I let Mom down.” I work my jaw again, feeling the ligaments pop. “Should go back and put him there right now.”
But the warmth of a small, trembling hand curls over my forearm.
“Please, look at me,” Jade whispers, and I blink, shifting my gaze to hers. Jade keeps her hand on my arm when she speaks, “You are destined for so much more than a life behind bars.” She smiles mournfully, like she knows she will never receive the justice she deserves, as if she needs to put up with the same abuse Mom does, as if she’s accepted that this is her life, and she has no say in it.
It’s a knife to my chest.
