Page 44 of All This Time

“Yeah, so now he saves his drinking for after work, and when he’s had a lot, he comes looking for me to pick a fight with. Most of the time, I don’t say anything back. Sometimes he’ll just walk away when he doesn’t get a rise out of me. But tonight, I said something back to him, so I got hit.”

A tear slides down her cheek. “Fletcher…”

I brush her tear away with my thumb, hating that she’s shedding any for me, but also feeling lighter—like letting her in eased a weight I’ve been carrying alone for too long. “I’m tough, Laney. I can handle him. But I sure as fuck know that I’m never getting married or having kids. I don’t ever want to end up like him.”

“You arenotlike him, Fletcher.”

“Maybe not now, but look at how him not being able to come to terms with losing a fucking game has affected my family.” I shake my head. “I could never do that to someone. What if I do end up like him one day?”

Her hand curls around the side of my face. “You won’t. That’s not who you are.”

“I hope you’re right.” Sighing, I continue, “I love coming here so I can escape for a while. I didn’t know that I’d end up being taken care of by you, but I’m grateful.”

Her green eyes lock onto mine. “You come here anytime it happens, okay? Or before you think it will get to that point. I don’t care. I don’t care if my parents find out, but I can’t stand the thought of you getting hit. You…” She sucks in a shaky breath. “You don’t deserve that, Fletcher. You’re agoodperson.”

“I don’t know about that—”

“I do,” she says, cutting me off. “You’re smart, funny, kind to everyone, and loyal.”

“Not so sure about loyal...”

“Why do you say that?”

Because if your brother found out, he might murder me.

Because your parents trust me—and they wouldn’t if they knew how I feel.

“Because I break rules,” I say instead, opting for a vague answer.

“Well, some rules are stupid.”

I laugh and can’t deny that being near her is making it just a slightly bit easier to breathe.

“Yeah, they are.”

She grows quiet for a moment. “So, the first time you came here…the hit on your head?”

“I ducked before he could hit me completely, so it was just a graze.”

“And the time after that?”

I point to my forearm, where he had wrapped his hand so tightly around my wrist, I thought he might break it. “Him too.”

“And last week?”

“The bruise on my back? He shoved me into the door and I hit the knob.”

She gently rests her hand on the ice pack that I put back on my ribs. “But this?”

“This was his fist.”

Her eyes become glossy again, her voice a whisper. “You don’t deserve this.”

“Maybe I do,” I whisper back.

“In what world does anyone deserve to be hit?”

When she says it like that, something in me shifts, like she pulled back a curtain and revealed a window I didn’t know was there.