Page 55 of Avery's Hero

“Did he say where he’s going?” I ask my voice in raw shreds.

“No. He just took off.” Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she looks away from me, instead of at me.

It hurts me to see her like this. It makes the last remains of my old, decrepit heart curl inward, turning to black, corroded metal.

Stepping in front of her, I cup her head with my palm and lean her forward until her cheek is resting against my abs. “Shhh. I’m sorry. I don’t know what he said, but I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this. From either of us. I’m sorry for being such a giant dickhead earlier.” Stroking her hair, I hold her, shielding her from the eyes of everyone on the boardwalk as she cries quietly.

When her breath catches in a sob, I swing her small body up in my arms and carry her to the truck.

She protests weakly. “Please.Just let me deal with my own crap, Brock. This isn’t something you can fix.”

I buckle her in and close the door. Grinding my molars, I lurch around to the driver’s side. I’m all knots from the top of my shoulders to the pit of my stomach.

She stays silent as I drive up and down the streets, around all of the blocks of the downtown area.

There’s no sign of Linc at his favorite hangouts, the taco stand on the corner, or the skate park, or the ice cream shop.

Avery sighs and rests her head back on the seat, watching the houses pass by outside the window. Never once looking at me.

When I park in front of his friend Aaron's house, I say, “Hold tight.” I want her to say something, anything, but she doesn’t. She just looks away from me, her cheeks sunken, her body barely even moving with her breath. Avery looks broken. Far more than the day she was having a panic attack.

Seeing her like that rattles the fuck out of me.

When I come back, it’s hard for me to keep the frustration out of my voice. “They haven’t seen him.”

We drive more. The sun sets and the streetlights begin to flicker on. I tell the bluetooth phone connection on the truck to call Linc. It rings once, then goes to voicemail.

The back of my neck is tight as a barbed wire fence. “Why were you crying?” I ask too harshly. “Shit, that came out all wrong.”

“Because talking to your son stirred up some old, painful memories for me.”

Understanding hits me like a brick against the side of the head. The dots all suddenly connect. Avery was so vehement about not sending Linc to school because she was sent away.

“Where did your parents send you?” I ask, making my voice gentle as I can.

Rubbing her palms on her jeans, she lets out a rough breath. “Allamance.”

There’s a rock in my throat. I don’t know how my words can even fit around it. “How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

We drive for a long time. I’m not even sure where I’ve gone. My brain is too busy rehashing every word Avery has ever said to me. Thinking about the way she reacted to my kiss. All the signs that point to being abused by a man.

Minute by minute, my chest grows tighter. “How bad was it?”

In a reedy voice, she says, “Terrible.”

There are tears on her lashes. Her whole person is pale, from the top of her head to the tip of her fingers that are curling around the seatbelt.

I reach for her hand and put it in my palm. “Hey. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

She nods, blinking away the tears that have welled up on her dark lashes.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Looking away, she takes a shaky breath. “It’s been hard to let go of those memories.”

“I’m intimately familiar with trauma and the lasting effects from going to war. I’ll listen if you want to talk.”