Page 114 of Burn Bright

“Why were you homeless?”

My throat swells. “She kicked me out.” I explain how my mom was on her fourth or fifth boyfriend at the time, and she hadn’t always hated me. Maybe resented me for being smart like my dad. Maybe resented me for caring about school and grades. But no hate. Not at least until I hit puberty.

“It was a flick of a switch,” I tell him. “As soon as I had boobs and men started to notice me—she despised me. I didn’t want their attention. It was fucking gross to have her old nasty boyfriends stare at me. I just had to pretend not to notice. She’d end up cutting things off with them, then turning it around on me, telling meIwas the problem. I was wearing slutty outfits to turn them on. I was flirting with them, which was all news to me.”

My esophagus is dry and raw, and my voice sounds scratchier as I keep going. “I could deny it every day. I wantednothingto do with those dudes, but in her head, I was the source of all conflict. Then she met Wilson, and he was less of a dickhead and more of a moron. But a sweet moron. Someone who brought her roses on Valentine’s and saved their anniversary on his calendar. I tried my best to stay in my room. To avoid. To be invisible. But with Hope, it was impossible. Wilson was just being nice when he bought me a new pair of drumsticks for my sixteenth birthday. She threw them in the garbage, spit-screamed in my face and told me to pack my bags and get out.”

I stare off at the quilt. It’s been almost three years, and I can still hear Hope’s voice ravaging my brain.

“I have hadenoughof you,” she seethed. “You ruineverything. You don’t know how not to. Get out of here.Go,Harriet. Call your dad and let him deal with you.”

I did call my dad. I hear his voice too.

“Harriet? I can’t talk. I just got paged for an emergency thoracotomy.”

“She kicked me out,” I told him.

There was a pause before he said, “Call your Aunt Helena. I’m sure she’ll let you stay with her. I have to go.” He hung up.

I never asked my Aunt Helena if I could live with her. She’d never leave her little rental in San Francisco, and I wanted to finish school in Pittsburgh. So I just made it work with my Honda and my resolve.

Ben lifts my chin, and my eyes reach his again. His compassion burrows into my body and warms me just like he promised he’d do. “Hypothermia really is impossible with you,” I mutter.

He’s not smiling. “I really hate your parents. What your mom did to you—it makes me viscerally angry. You shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

“Don’t hate my dad,” I whisper. “He didn’t know I lived out of my car. He assumed I went to stay with my Aunt Helena.”

Our legs have tangled, we’re so close now. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. The movement so simple yet pulses my heart in unsteady beats. His voice goes hushed too. “Why didn’t you just ask if you could stay with him?”

“Because I was scared of the answer. There’s a chance he could have saidno. He made a whole new life for himself after he divorced my mom. One that didn’t include me. His new wife, his son and daughter—they’re everything to him. I always just got the occasional call on my birthday, but that ended when I turned eleven. And for all I know, he could’ve hated me because I have fifty percent of my mom’s DNA.” I raise my chin, looking directly at Ben. “But I have a plan. I’m going to become a trauma surgeon just like him—andthenhe’ll realize that I’m more Grant Fisher than Hope Danes. Maybe he’ll even let me shadow him and invite me on vacations with my half-siblings.”

I don’t say the unspoken words.

Maybe I’ll be a part of a family.

I swallow the biggest lump, and Ben’s thumb moves in soft circles against my knuckles. Until he’s holding my hand. Lacing our fingers.

“That’s why you want to be a doctor,” he realizes.

“It was the first initial reason. Then I fell in love with medicine, so I have more reasons now.” I unlace our hands, just to pull off my beaded bracelets. “What about you and hockey?”

“Me and hockey?” He’s watching me slip the bracelets onto his wrist.

“Yeah. If it’s taken this long to even try out, then…do you even like playing?”

Ben scratches the back of his head, then slumps a little against the pillow mound. I follow suit. Our heads turn to each other as he says, “I think I hate it.”

My brows catapult, not expecting that. “Hate is a strong word, Friend.”

He reaches over, grabs his blue water bottle, takes a hearty swig, then offers it to me. I take small sips, listening.

“The aggressive part of hockey, I never disliked. There’ve been times where I think I need it. Until the last three years…I guess I just started hating the brutality,” he breathes out. “I’d try to skate around the body slams, but I was a target during every game I played. And if I didn’t want to keep getting concussions, then I needed to defend myself.” He rubs at the little beauty mark on his cheek. “I’ve knocked out teeth on four different guys, Harriet. I’ve laid even more out on the ice. I hate causingphysicalharm to people, and I know it seems ridiculous after what I did to Tate…but there’s enough suffering in the world, I just don’t want to contribute to it.” His eyes redden as he stares at the bracelets. “It fucking tears me up every time I do.”

“Then why even try out?”

“I love the feeling of being on the ice. Of flying toward the net. Like nothing can catch me. I imagine maybe it’s what birds feel like in the air.” He scrapes his tongue over his molars in thought. “And I love helping my team win. I love feeling like Iexcelat something like Cobalts are known to do. But the past few years, the hate has drowned the love. Now I think I’m just trying out for Coach Haddock. He’s a good guy, and I don’t want to let him down too hard.”

Ben has a really big heart. I can see why his brothers might fear someone hurting him. I feel more protective of his heart too. Especially since it feels like he keeps giving it to me.