Page 95

I step forward, lacing my fingers through his. “What did you have?”

He pulls his other hand out of his pocket and drags his hair back. “Not much. Dad made enough to barely scrape by on rent while destroying his liver. Mom was never there. It was mostly just Grant and me trying to get by. Mowing lawns, pulling weeds, and working odd jobs so we wouldn’t starve. At least, until we were old enough to get real jobs.”

“You started working young, then?”

“It’s not that different from you doing chores around the ranch when you were kids. Except that we made money off it. It wasn’t that bad,” he says, like he’s trying to shrug it off when they don’t sound one and the same at all. “Grant and I looked after each other.”

“Were you close in age?”

Shane nods. “He was only a year older. When he turned sixteen, he got a job at a motorcycle restoration shop, and that’s how I was introduced to riding. We had a lot in common. And a lot we didn’t, I guess.”

“Like snakes.” I trace the ink on the back of his hand.

“I’m sure it sounds ridiculous, but they move so damn fast without any legs. It’s unnerving.”

I can’t help but chuckle, and that draws out a smile on Shane’s face. But it just as quickly falls.

“We grew apart as we got older. Dad was getting… worse. When we were kids, alcohol used to knock Dad out cold. And we resented him for it. But then we got older, and his tolerance improved or something. Booze stopped making him tired, and instead, it made him angry. Grant and I quickly learned there were worse things than Dad disappearing into his depression.”

My throat tightens as Shane looks away, avoiding my gaze.

“I don’t know what changed—if it was one thing or a hundred leading up to it. Years of frustration at our mom or his dad or life that he pent up until it was ready to get out. All I know is that he couldn’t take his anger out on them, so he took it out on us. Put my brother in the hospital once. After that, I’d piss Dad off to keep his attention on me.”

“That’s horrible.” My stomach turns at the thought of anyone laying a hand on their child, especially in ways that leave scars like Shane’s.

“The abuse wasn’t the worst of it. I can take a punch or… whatever else Dad did.” Shane clears his throat, looking away. “The worst was how it drove me and Grant apart. My brother hated that I was always trying to protect him, but I couldn’t help it. Eventually, he started finding any excuse not to be at home until he stopped coming back at all. We kept in touch for a while, but I didn’t try hard enough. I was too distracted by my own shit. When I got the call Grant was dead…” He sighs, dropping his chin. “I didn’t even know he was using. We swore we’d never depend on drugs and alcohol because we knew firsthand what that did to a person. I can’t figure out how he went down that path. All I know is I failed him in more ways than one.”

“You aren’t responsible for other people’s actions.” I step closer, and Shane finally looks at me. “People have to make their own mistakes.”

“I just wish I’d done something sooner.”

I trace his snake tattoo, the ink for his brother, the one person he couldn’t save. The guys are always giving Shane crap about playing the hero, but now it makes sense. He failed the most important person in his life, and he doesn’t want to repeat that mistake.

It’s something I understand all too well.

My hand slips beneath his cut, my fingers grazing his ribs. I can’t feel the cigarette scars through his T-shirt, but I know they’re there.

“Your dad put these here?”

He nods. “Those and a few others. He’d tell us it was Mom’s fault because she’s the one who left us with him. I think he hoped the pain would make us hate her as much as he did.”

“Did you hate her?”

“Sometimes. But I didn’t blame her for leaving him.”

It’s not quite forgiveness, but it’s more than I can understand. She left her own children in the hands of an abusive man. How does anyone do that? And how does he so easily forgive the people who hurt him?

Shane grabs my hand, pulling me close and tipping my chin up. “I promise I survived.”

“Surviving is the bare minimum.” My eyes burn, but I swallow down the emotion. “You brush off your pain like it’s nothing. Like what your father did is acceptable because at least if it was you, then he wasn’t hurting your brother. But you have worth too, Shane. You didn’t deserve those things either. I understand you were protecting him—that you’re always protecting everyone but yourself. But I hope you know you’re worth more than being a human shield for others. You deserve to be protected too. To be seen. To be valued. You have a lot to offer, and I’m grateful you came into my life because of who you are, not just because you’ve been there to help me.”

His thumb drags the line of my jaw, his expression deep. Shane holds me close, staring into my eyes.

“I sense you wanting to argue with me about everything I just said,” I say, and he smirks.

“Maybe.”

“Don’t.”