I nodded, unable to say thank you, but I think he understood.
For a long time after he left, I watched the sunlight inch across the floor. I listened to the noises of the ranch—the lowing of a distant cow, the rattle of a tractor, the laughter of Jojo somewhere in the kitchen.
I replayed the words I’d said in the bathroom, over and over. Each time, they felt less like a hope and more like a fact.
I was never going back. Not ever.
Somewhere outside the room, I heard Burke’s laugh, quick and bright, and even with all the pain, I found myself smiling.
For the first time in my life, I wanted to be here tomorrow.
And the day after that.
And the day after that.
* * * *
The next time Burke brought food, I was ready for it. Not hungry, exactly, but steady enough to sit up without getting dizzy. The tray came loaded with actual silverware, a folded napkin, and a note in Jojo’s handwriting that read, “Eat or I’ll spoon-feed you myself.”
Burke set it on my lap and perched at the edge of the bed, eyes careful but open.
We watched each other for a while, the space between us charged and brittle. I wasn’t sure how to start. The words crowded in my throat, too big to swallow and too sharp to spit out.
I pushed the eggs around, then finally said, “I don’t really remember the first time he hit me.” My voice was flat, almost bored, but I saw Burke’s jaw flex.
“Dennis?” he asked, gentle.
I nodded. “I mean, I remember the first time it mattered. I was eleven. He’d just turned seventeen, had the truck, the job at the mill. I asked Mom if I could join chess club instead of football. He broke my wrist with a door.”
I didn’t look at Burke. Couldn’t. “Mom said it was my fault for being underfoot. Dennis told the ER it was a fall. He was good at that. Everyone believed him.”
A long pause. I forced myself to keep going.
“It wasn’t always like that. Sometimes, he’d be…normal. He’d bring home pizza, let me watch movies with him. But then something would set him off and it’d be like a switch flipped. He’d just—” I made a vague exploding motion, my fingers shaking. “He got real creative, after a while.”
Burke’s voice was soft. “Nobody ever tried to stop him?”
I snorted. “This is Black Butte. Alphas don’t get in trouble for handling their omegas. Especially not ones with a record for ‘acting out.’ He made sure I got labeled the troublemaker early.”
I dropped my fork, appetite evaporated. “Dennis took every paycheck I made. Since I was sixteen. If I tried to hide money, he’d take it out on me or on Mom. If I tried to leave, he’d trash my stuff, threaten my boss, call the cops and say I’d gone missing. I started working doubles at Harmon’s because it was the only time he couldn’t get to me.”
Burke’s hands fisted on the quilt, but his voice stayed even. “I saw your transcripts. You were top ten in the whole county. That’s not nothing.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “I was supposed to go to state. I got a scholarship letter. Dennis found it first. Tore it in half and said only losers went to college out of state. He made me call the registrar and turn it down, with him on speaker so he could listen.”
Burke didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.
I finally looked up. “You think I’m pathetic. It’s okay. Most people do. I could’ve run away. I should’ve fought harder.”
Burke shook his head, slow and deliberate. “I think you survived something nobody should have to. That’s not weakness, Danny. That’s fucking resilience.”
My throat closed up. I looked down at my hands—knuckles covered in old scars, fingernails bitten to the quick. “Every time I tried to save money to leave, he’d search my room. The day I got enough for a bus ticket, he cut up my debit card and beat me so bad I missed a week of school. Nobody even asked why. They just said omegas get fragile sometimes.”
I thought about that word—fragile—and hated how perfectly it fit.
I picked at the toast, not hungry but not wanting to stop talking now that I’d started. “He hated when I did anything he couldn’t. Computers, coding, even the garden stuff. If I ever showed I was smarter than him, he’d find a way to take it out of me. Once, he broke three of my fingers because I tried to fill out a scholarship application online.”
I blinked, the memory coming hot and clear. “He laughed while he did it. Said it was ‘character building.’”
