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I can’t figure him out. One minute, he’s abusive and cruel. The next, he’s cradling his sister and practically going out of his mind worrying about her. After seeing what happened downstairs, hearing that hateful, nasty voice. I understand why he is so protective of her.
By the time I’m dry, with my damp hair finger combed back and the towel wrapped around my chest, Briggs comes in. He doesn’t say anything at first, and I wait with my heart in my throat to see what happens next.
“Here.” He turns away from his dresser with a gray T-shirt in hand. “You can wear this. I can’t drive you back tonight. You’ll have to stay here.”
I love the way he says it. Like that’s it, that’s the way it has to be. I don’t get any say.
At the same time, leaving with me means crossing through the hall downstairs and running into his dad again. I would rather stay here than risk that. And I’m sure he doesn’t want to leave Tia alone while she’s sick.
“How is your sister?” I ask, dropping the towel and pulling the shirt over my head at the same time. He doesn’t answer, only pulling off his clothes and leaving them where they fall.
Okay. Well, I could try to call Maya, but it’s almost midnight already. It’s too late. I know she would come out here if I asked, but I can’t take advantage. And it would still mean having to go downstairs when that drunk, angry man is roaming around, looking for a fight.
It looks like I’m staying here. He pulls back the blankets and drops into bed, leaving plenty of room on the other side. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any more awkward between us. I crawl into bed and pull the blankets up to my shoulder, lying on my side, facing him. I still don’t trust him enough to turn my back.
It’s dark in here, with only the streetlights coming in from between the partly open blinds. That’s a good thing. Somehow, it’s easier to deal with him when I can’t see his face. I feel a little braver.
“How is Tia, really?” I ask, curling into a ball. He’s on his back, one arm bent behind his head while he stares at the ceiling.
“Hopefully, the medicine I gave her will break the fever,” he mutters. “I’ll check on her in a couple of hours to see if it’s gone down.”
“She’s lucky to have you looking out for her.”
When he snorts, my heart sinks. I should’ve known better than to say something nice, but I’m stupid enough to want to be kind after what I witnessed downstairs. If there’s one thing I understand, it’s what it means to have a terrible parent. I wonder if he ever feels ashamed of his father the way I do when it comes to Mom. “You don’t have to kiss my ass just because you’re in my bed.”
“That’s not what I was trying to do. I’m just saying, she’s lucky to have somebody caring about her. There’s nothing worse than feeling like nobody cares.”
For a long time, I’m sure he’s not going to answer. He’ll ignore me, the way he’s good at doing when he feels like it.
Then he surprises me, something else he’s good at. “Somebody has to protect her.” There’s something in his voice that makes me ache inside. He’s fierce. Determined. For once, I can actually believe he feels something real. There’s more to him than anger and bitterness. He wants to keep her safe from the ugly things in life. One of those things is still shouting drunkenly to himself downstairs.
“Why doyou hate it when I call you little bird?” Briggs surprises me with his question.
“What makes you think I hate it?” I ask innocently.
“I can see it in your eyes, or at least I used to,” he admits. “It doesn't seem to bother you much anymore.”
“It reminded me of someone else who used to call me that once,” I say, hoping this answer will satisfy him. Of course it doesn't.
“Who was it?”
I think about lying to him, but stop myself. I have no reason to lie to him. I’ve never talked about this with anyone other than my mom, who, of course, didn't believe me. And no one else ever bothered to ask, so I tell him the truth. “A guy my mom dated when I was younger,” I explain, wishing that he would stop asking about this.
“Why did you hate him?”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” I say sternly, feeling dread sneaking up as I’m forced to recall Steven and the times he touched me. Bile threatens to rise in my throat, and I shove the memories back down.
“What did he do to you?” Briggs goes tense beside me.
“Can you please drop it?” I beg, and to my surprise, he does.
“Fine, you don’t have to tell me tonight, but this conversation isn’t over.”
I sigh in relief. Only now realizing how fast my heart is beating. I lie there until my pulse returns to normal and my breathing calms down.
“Do you want me to stop calling you little bird?” Briggs whispers after a while, taking me by surprise.
I don’t have to think about my answer long. “Like you said, it used to bother me, but you kind of replaced his memory with you. I don’t think about him anymore.”
