Chapter 119
Summer's POV
Lily took another sip of her hot chocolate, leaving more whipped cream on her face, and her tone stayed light and matter-of-fact in that terrible way kids had when they didn't fully grasp the weight of what they were saying. "He went to jail because he hit Kieran. A lot."
The air left my lungs. I felt like I'd been punched, the words sinking in slowly, horribly, each one a piece of a puzzle I hadn't known I was missing. The scars. The right hand that didn't work right. The way Kieran held himself like he was braced for a blow even when no one was near him.
"When—" I started, but my voice failed. I swallowed hard and tried again. "When did this happen?"
Lily tilted her head, thinking. "Like… two years ago? Mom was at the grocery store working late. Dad came home drunk." She said it so calmly, like she was reciting a story she'd been told, not something she'd lived through. "Kieran told me to stay in my room and call 911 at 9:30. He wrote me a paper with all the words really big—like this big—" She held her hands apart to show me. "So I could read them on the phone."
Her small fingers traced invisible letters in the air, her face scrunching up as she tried to remember. "It said… 'This is Lily Cross. My brother is bleeding. My dad is hurting him. Please come fast.' I had to practice saying it three times before Kieran said it was good enough."
I stared at her, my vision blurring. My hands were shaking so hard I had to press them flat against the table to keep them still. I could see it so clearly—Kieran at fifteen, his face already swelling, his right hand probably already ruined, taking the time to write out those words in block letters big enough for a six-year-old to read, making her practice the cadence until she could say it without crying, because he knew he might not be conscious when the time came.
"I did it perfect!" Lily said, her voice brightening with pride. "The police came and took Dad away. But Kieran…" Her face fell a little. "He was really hurt. I saw blood on the floor the next day."
I couldn't breathe. I thought about Kieran at seventeen, standing in a hallway with a bag slung over his shoulder, his face blank and closed off. I thought about him at fifteen, telling his little sister exactly what to say to save his life while he bled on the floor. I thought about him now, across the street, teaching physics to middle schoolers with his ruined hand hanging at his side, and I wanted to scream.
"Kieran told me to tear up the paper after the call," Lily continued, oblivious to the way I was falling apart across from her. "I threw it out the police car window, like confetti." She paused, her face scrunching up with worry. "Do you think we did something bad? Kieran said it's okay, but sometimes I wonder…"
"No," I said, my voice fierce and cracked. "No, Lily. You didn't do anything bad. You saved him."
She looked at me, her big honey eyes searching my face, and then she nodded slowly, like she was deciding to believe me.
I wanted to ask her more—how badly Kieran had been hurt, when their father was getting out, where they were planning to move—but the words stuck in my throat. I didn't want to make her relive it, didn't want to push her into something that might hurt. So I just sat there, my hands pressed flat on the table, my chest so tight it hurt to breathe, my gaze drifting absently toward the window where the afternoon light was starting to fade into that particular golden-gray that made everything look softer than it was.
I must have been staring at nothing for longer than I realized, because I didn't notice when he left the tutoring center across the street, didn't see him cross over or stop somewhere else first. The door chimed, and suddenly he was just there.