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I cry for him as Myles helps him up.
Ender stumbles, taking a step toward his mom who moves to Theo, her eyes frantic. He stares at her and shakes his head. “Leave him. Don’t ever let him back into your life again. He’ll destroy you.” Lana continues to cry, and Ender growls out a breath. “I was five fucking years old the first time he hit me. You watched him do it. And stayed with him. I was eight when he knocked me unconscious for the first time.” Ender’s words aren’t raised or even vindictive. He doesn’t understand. I don’t understand. He’s saying these things to her because she stayed with Theo for twenty years while he took every ounce of Ender’s childhood. For what? So he had a punching bag? So he could feel superior to Ender?
Sucking in a labored breath, Ender shakes his head. “I stayed because he needed a punching bag. I stayed because it was better than him hurting Arya, or Myles, or you. But you…youcould have ended it and didn’t. You let him do that to me. You let him break me to the point I don’t know how to love anything. Let alone myself.”
I don’t know how much Ender has been hurt at the hands of Theo. I might never know the extent of the wounds he carries around, but I have an idea now.
Lana shakes her head, sobbing uncontrollably. I put myself in her place, mother to mother, and I can’t say the love of a man is worth losing a child’s.
Myles yanks on Ender’s arm. “Stop.”
Ender backs up a step, never lifting his eyes from his mother who remains sobbing beside Theo. He’s unmoving still, his head lulled to the side. He’s unconscious but still breathing.
Broken glass crunches under Ender’s feet as he steps back, his breathing erratic. He turns and faces me. “I need stitches.”
Myles holds him up. “I’ll take you.”
I panic, think he’s leaving. I don’t want him to go. It’s too much like the time he left me.
Ender shakes his head, not making eye contact with either of us. “I can do it myself.”
He can? I suppose he’s learned, but I don’t focus on that part. I’m nervous this is the end. He’s going to leave. “I…” Tears fall down my cheeks. “Have to stay with Eddie.”
Ender nods. “I’ll be back.” He starts to walk away, but he pauses and pulls me into his arms. He doesn’t let go. “Come with me. I have the stuff in my truck.”
I follow him and Myles to the driveway. He’s right, he has the stuff to stitch himself up in a first aid kit. A freaking stapler. “What are you doing?” I gasp when he unwraps the tablecloth.
“It’s a medical stapler,” he assures me and dumps what I think is iodine on his wrist.
The smell of blood and the iodine make me gasp, but I’m more worried he’s going to get an infection from this. We don’t even know if there’s glass in it.
Myles approaches and they work together as Ender takes the stapler and holds it against the inside of his left wrist that’s bleeding in time with his heartbeat.
He sucks in quick breaths, grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut and punctures six metal staples into his skin without flinching. Holy. Shit. He’s quick about it, as if he’s had to do this before.
Myles takes gauze and wraps it around his wrist. He reaches for the tablecloth soaked in blood. “I’ll go check on them,” he mumbles, tipping his head toward the house. Ender doesn’t reply. He’s staring at the ground beneath my feet as he sits on the tailgate.
The sky is lighter, the sun surfacing. Eddie will be awake soon and though I need to go, I step toward Ender. He spreads his legs and I move between them, standing in front of him.
“Ender…,” I say, at the same time I release a breath.
Me saying his name is his unraveling. He slides one hand behind my head and pushes my hair from my face with the one he put staples in. His eyes are red-rimmed. “Hads,” he whispers, his shoulders shaking, but there’s no tears. He bites his cut lip, nervously. “I…”
“You’re broken,” I tell him, holding his stare. His hands fall away. “But it’s not your fault.”
He gives me that despondent expression again. He’s afraid I’m going to tell him to leave. I saw his ugly. I saw his demons.
“I don’t know where we go from here,” I say, my heart in my throat.
“We’ll figure it out, baby,” he breathes into the curve of my neck.
I believe him, even when I don’t think I should. I believe him because I need to. We’re connected, linked, bonded by her, and she deserves a chance too.
He holds me tighter, his body trembling as he fists my dress in his hands. My lungs compress but I let him take my breath from my lungs. I give what nobody gave him.
Love.
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