Page 63 of My Undead Love Life

“Oxi’s cuter,” I said quietly.

He huffed a surprised laugh. “That’s what you took from that?”

“No. But Owen doesn’t fit you.”

“What fits me?”

“Oxi.” I pulled back just enough to look at him. “It sounds more edgy. I like it.”

His gaze moved over my face. “That means a lot from you.”

The wind shoved at us again, rattling some loose piece of metal near the edge of the roof.

Oxi looked away first. “My only positive back then was my sister, Olivia. She was younger than me. Sweet in a way none of us deserved. She used to sneak into my room when our parents were fighting and crawl under my bed because she thought monsters couldn’t find her there.”

My chest squeezed at the innocence of that action.

“She was always kind when everyone else was cold. She’d draw little bows and stars on my homework. She made birthday cards for staff members no one else remembered. She cried when one of the gardeners got fired because he let her plant roses in the front flower bed.”

“That’s cruel.”

His mouth trembled faintly, but he pressed it flat. “She was better than that house.”

“What happened?”

“When I was eighteen, I walked in on my father abusing her.” His voice dropped, roughening around each word. “He’d hit me before. Plenty of times. He’d put his hands on my mother, too, though she always pretended he hadn’t. But he had never hit Olivia before. Not that I knew of.”

I gasped. “Oh, God.”

His heartbeat picked up beneath my cheek. “He was drunk. Again. She was on the floor when I found them. Unconscious. She looked so small.” He swallowed. “There was blood in her hair.”

My stomach turned. “Oxi…”

“I don’t remember deciding to move. I’d never fought back against him before. One second I was in the doorway, and the next, I was on him. I beat him until he stopped moving. I thought I’d killed him then.”

“Did you?”

“No.” His laugh was hollow. “Not then.”

I held onto him tighter. “What about Olivia?”

“I carried Olivia to the car myself. I was covered in his blood, and she was barely breathing. The hospital staff took one look at us and called security before they called anyone useful.” His jaw flexed. “I kept trying to tell them she needed help. I remember screaming that she was hurt, that her head was bleeding, and that she wasn’t waking up. But all they saw was a teenage boy covered in blood who wouldn’t calm down.”

“That’s horrible.”

“They eventually took her back. She had a concussion, fractured wrist, and bruised ribs. A lot of things a child should never have to explain to a doctor. All consistent with the abuse she faced.”

My eyes burned from unshed tears.

“I called my grandmother from the hospital,” he said. “She was the only person in the family I trusted. She responded immediately, storming into the emergency room in the fur coat she wore everywhere, threatening to buy the hospital just to fire everyone who had ignored my sister while they were busy restraining me.”

Despite everything, a weak smile pulled at my mouth. “She sounds terrifying.”

“She was.” His own smile flickered and died. “She sat with Olivia all night. I wasn’t allowed in the room at first because I was too agitated, according to the staff. Grandma got me in anyway. Olivia woke up once and asked if I was okay.”

I pressed my forehead to his chest.

“She asked if I was okay,” he whispered. “With bruises all over and a bandage around her head.”