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“I didn’t want either of you killing him.”

I scowl. “Well, it’s not as though you had the situation in hand, is it? You practically invited him in with open arms.”

“No, I allowed Aspen to make her own choices, which she did, and, if you watch the footage back, you’ll see that she handled things. He probably would have just left the following morning if Dov hadn’t done what he had.”

“Or he’d have been so pissed at her for hurting him, he’d have climbed back on the bed, and raped and murdered her as she lay there, and you did nothing to protect her.”

My words hang between us. Nothing he can say or do will make me change my mind about this. He should have done more to protect her.

I rake my fingers through my hair and shake my head. “You were a fucking coward for not kicking him off our property the moment he showed up.”

“And then what would Aspen have done? What if she’d gone with him? What would you have done then? Or would you have physically restrained her? Tied her up, perhaps? Or locked her in the basement?”

I grit my teeth. “Whatever it took.”

Blake rolls his eyes, and I curl my fingers into fists. Would I be capable of punching my own father? Abso-fucking-lutely. But Aspen is still unconscious, and she’s my priority. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do to make her well again. We need her, and I’ll put her safety over getting one up on my dad any day of the week.

Would I really have tied her up or locked her away to prevent her from leaving? I’m honestly not sure. It’s easier now the pass is cut off. She doesn’t have any choice, and neither do I.

It feels like we’re going around in circles with this argument. It doesn’t even fucking matter. It’s not like we can go back and change what’s happened. The most important thing is that Aspen is here now. I just wish we hadn’t driven her to run and get herself hurt in the meantime. How’s she going to react to us when she does wake up, now that she knows the truth, or at least a part of it? It’s my guess she’s not going to want us anywhere near her.

From the couch, Aspen lets out another moan.

I drop to my knees beside her, sweeping a strand of red hair out of her face. A patch of her scalp is bloodied where she must have hit it in the crash. Does she need stitches? It’s hard to tell when she’s got so much hair. It doesn’t look as though it’s still bleeding, though, which is good. I know from when I was a kid and had come off my skateboard when I wasn’t wearing a helmet that scalp wounds bleed like a bitch.

“Aspen? Can you hear me?” I glance over my shoulder at my father. “She’s got more color in her cheeks now, doesn’t she? Do you think she’s waking up?”

He bites his lower lip, twin divots between his brows. “I hope so, but we can’t rush this. She needs to warm up in her own time.”

I reach to take her hand, but my father’s palm strikes mine away. “No, don’t do that. If you warm the blood in her extremities too fast, you’ll send cold blood to her heart, and it might give her a heart attack.”

I yank my hands away, my heart pounding. Fuck. Is her life really that precarious that holding her hand might kill her?

I’m not designed to cope with this kind of thing. Feelings do not sit easily with me. I preferred it when I was able to mutter smutty words in her ear and not care if anything I said hurt her feelings. In fact, I’d wanted to get under her skin. I’d wanted to become that niggle in her side that refused to leave her alone. I wanted her to lie awake at night, going back over the things I’d said to her and trying to come up with sharper and cleverer retorts that she could have fed me. That way, she would always have me on her mind, even if her thoughts of me weren’t necessarily good.

Better to be remembered than forgotten.

Fuck. How am I going to survive the winter here with her? It was better not to care. I don’t want to torture myself with the fears of what she’ll go through and what she might experience.

I don’t want to feel like I need to protect her.

I’m tempted to follow my brother out of the room. I wonder where he is now. I suspect he’s gone back to his room and is watching this from the safety of his screens. It’s part of the reason I prefer to be out in the woods, because I know he can’t have his cameras there.

Fucking Dov.

I love my older brother, though. I always have. I looked up to him growing up. My dad was barely around, but Dov had always been there for me. After his brain injury, he changed. His confidence vanished. He became confused. I could never predict what kind of mood he was going to be in—though, to be fair, he’d always been a little unpredictable. But the guy who’d always been the one to command a room when he walked in had vanished. The teenager who’d ruled over the football field stopped existing. He no longer liked to be around people or go out in public. His headaches seemed to drive him to the point of insanity. He reminded me of a wild animal at times, shaking his head and roaring his pain. The sunlight was a massive trigger for him and still is now. It’s the reason he prefers to linger in the dark and shadows.

Had I been a different person before Dov’s accident, too? I think so. I’d smiled more; the world hadn’t felt so heavy. I’d always known someone had my back.

Our mom was fucking useless. She’d been a terrible mother before Dov’s brain injury, but she fell apart afterward. She relied on booze and pills to get her through the day and retreated into her bedroom. I barely saw her. I was the one who made sure Dov got to his medical appointments, but, after a while, our dad stepped in. He should have been there sooner. I resent them both for that.

My mother’s weakness tarred my view of women. Weren’t they supposed to be the strong ones? The ones who gave us life? As far as I could tell, they were only here for us to dip our cocks into. They were too fucking fragile to be much good for anything else.

But if that was the case, why has Aspen taken over my head? Why is it that every minute of every day is determined by whether I’ll be able to be near her? I think about how talented she is, and how she doesn’t even seem to fucking know it. I obsess about how she’s tried to hide her disability from us, how she seems so ashamed when she shouldn’t be. I mull over how she gave up everything to care for her dad, right up until the day he died. She’d been so surprised that day I’d gifted her the reading pen, like no one had ever thought to do anything nice for her before. Admittedly, it may have just been that I happened to be the person doing the nice thing rather than the gift itself that had surprised her. And she’s been so brave this whole time, forcing herself to take me head on rather than run. No, she never ran from me. The only thing she ran from was what Dov did…

Not even that, really..

It was the lie our father told.