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“I won’t,” I promise sincerely. I don’t want to risk an ass-whooping from my mother like the one Ryan gave me.

Thorin: 17 years old

Ryan punches me, and my head whips to the side, pain reverberating through my jaw and up to my skull. Fuck. “You promised me, Thorin!” He bellows, holding me up by my shirt. This is the third blow. He has one more before I pummel the fuck out of him. “You promised me you’d take care of her, and you fuckin’ lied, you asshole!” His face is red, his eyes filled with rage. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ryan so angry. He lets me go, and roughly pulls both hands through his hair. We’re conveniently hidden behind the barn, and both Mom and Dad are out—I suspect that’s why Ryan waited to ream my ass. I spit blood from my mouth, and slowly stand. “Care to tell me what I did to deserve this?” My temper boils beneath my skin, but I keep it restrained, caged. Ryan never loses his shit, especially not to this extreme, which means I probably fucked up as good as he thinks. If his irascibility is anything to go by.

“Are you shitting me?” His expression is a fine balancing act between vexation and incredulity, as if I’ve lost my damn mind and he has no clue who I am. Hell, I haven’t changed that much since he left. Right? The look in his eyes not only tells me otherwise, but also tells me how disappointed he is. In me. Parental disappointment is one thing, but disappointment from my big brother, the guy who’s been my hero—alongside my dad— all my life? That’s something else entirely. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, he has a reason. “You seriously don’t know?”

“No, Ryan,” I bite out, refusing to cower. “I don’t.”

“Reese.”

With one word, my stomach plummets.

“What about her?”

Ryan growls in frustration, and then steps closer. He’s got a good three inches on me, but I meet him head-on. “You promised me you’d look out for her after I left, Thorin. You promised me.”

“And I have.” The half-lie tastes like asphalt in my mouth. I kept my promise for the first year Ryan was away, but things changed. Somewhere.

“Don’t you dare lie to me. I know you haven’t. You’ve been too busy partying it up with your new friends, I know you hardly see her.”

I tilt my chin. “And you’d know this how, exactly?”

“Because Reese has been calling me, in tears, for weeks you dipshit. Things at home are worse for her, and to top it off, your new girlfriend is making her life a fucking nightmare. You talk to Jessica about that, huh? Because last I checked, Reese was your best friend, and that means she’s off-limits to whoever you’re fucking.”

My brows furrow, a mixture of confusion and guilt making my guts twist uncomfortably tight. “She hasn’t said anything to me.”

Ryan throws his hands up, completely exasperated with me because, apparently, something’s not clicking in my head. “Why the fuck would she? You’re never around. You never return her calls,”—he lifts his hands when I try to protest—“and don’t fucking deny it because I know our girl, she would never lie to me.”

He’s right, Reese would never lie, but a part of me wants to believe that she’s exaggerating. I haven’t been as bad as she says. Have I?

“You gonna say something?” Ryan asks, his hands planted firmly on his hips.

“I…” My words trail off, and something sets Ryan off because one minute I’m searching for words, a plausible lie or explanation for my asshole behavior, and the next, his fist connects with my face.

Right hook.

K-fucking-O.

When I come to, it’s almost dark out. I roll over, and come to a standing position, leaning on the side of the barn until my head stops spinning and the urge to puke subsides. Mom and Dad don’t ask questions when I walk in to the house, eye swelled shut, dry blood caked around my nose and mouth, but I can tell by their expressions they think I deserve what I got. Great. That means Ryan told them what I did, or in this case, what I haven’t been doing for weeks now. Before I grab my cold dinner—yep, I know my family is pissed when they have dinner without me—and head up to my room, I shower, eat the cold food, and then reach for my phone. I dial Reese’s number, and it rings, and rings, and rings, and then goes to voicemail. I try again, and again, not giving up, and on my fourth—maybe fifth, I’ve lost count—she finally answers.

“Hello?”

The uncertainty in her voice guts me. It’s like she has no clue why I’m calling. Shit.

“Reese,” I exhale, “It’s me.”

There’s an uneasy silence, and I wait with bated breath, trying like hell to find the words to tell her I’ve screwed up, big time, and I’m sorry. So fucking sorry.

“What do you want, Thorin?” Her hostile tone has me choking on my breath, holding back the urge to fucking punch myself, or maybe ask Ryan for round two. Because that tortured, broken crack in Reese’s voice? I put that there.

“I wanted to see how you’re doing.” It’s as pathetic as it sounds. Really.

She huffs, and I can almost hear her eye-roll through the phone. “Let me guess, Ryan put you up to it, right?”

“No.” But his ass-whooping sure as hell did. “I just…I miss you.”

“You’re lying,” she replies. “You just feel guilty because Ryan told you I’ve been calling him.”