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My mother’s hands grabbed at me, urgent and hot. The smell of garlic from her fingertips made me recoil. It was just like when I was a kid, one of those rare drunken nights when my father’s temper was too hot, and I paid the consequences.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” my father grunted. “The boy was mouthing off at me. It was a reflex.”

The same kind of reflex I’ve heard you had with suspects? Or prisoners?

I’d heard whispers about my father, but I never wanted to believe they were true. Now, I was pretty damn sure they were. I’d been brushing shit off and pretending he wasn’t as bad as I remembered.

I was right. He was worse.

“Get off,” I said as my mom dabbed at my bleeding cheek with a towel. “Mom, stop! Fuck.”

I picked myself up off the floor. Mom’s doe eyes tugged at my heartstrings, making me want to pull her to me and apologize. However, she was just as guilty as he was. History was repeating itself, and I was a scared kid getting blood wiped off of my face while she bribed me with treats and another hour of TV past my bedtime.

My chest squeezed so painfully that I could barely breathe. The images were too strong. The feeling of helplessness grew.

I can’t be here.

I didn’t look back at my father or mother as I turned on my heels and stormed out of the house. Her voice followed me, shaky and sorrow-filled. The old me would have stopped and gone to her because she was just as much a victim as I was. But I was over that bullshit. I was the one that should have been protected, and she was still defending him.

He didn’t mean it. How many times had she whispered that to me while cradling me in her arms?

Shivers raked over my body. I opened my car door, sliding inside before I slammed it. I risked one glance back and caught sight of my mother hurrying down the stairs.

I’ve never peeled away so quickly in my life.

What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have come back to this goddamn house.

My throat tightened, and my hands gripped the wheel so tightly it hurt. No matter what I did, my father was never going to give a damn. If I failed, he wouldn’t blink an eye. If I succeeded? He would still remember all the times I failed.

I’d tried so hard to change things between us, to prove that I wasn’t a pathetic screw-up. Now, I was sure that was how he would always see me.

A stoplight forced me to look into the rearview mirror. My cheek was still bleeding, as my face swelled.

Hospital, then a place to sleep tonight.

I wished I was going where Pen was. Never had I ever needed a warm, comforting hug more. My mind flashed to Enzo; the way he held me, talked to me, and kissed me. I felt the pricking of tears gathering behind my eyes and forced them down. My father’s words echoed in my head.

Real men don’t cry.

God, I needed something to numb the pain.