Christina (Daughters #1) (21 page)

“All the time. We still prefer not to.”

“I never understood what makes you so strong. But now, I think it’s what you went through.”

“You’re not supposed to. I’m
your
mother, not the other way around.”

“Do you think Max will ever figure it all out?”

“I hope. I can’t promise you. I know he still fights Lindsey and Noah, and has a lot of work yet to get through.”

“What do I do?”

“Go to college and try to start your own life there. Make new friends, which you’re brilliant at.”

“And forget Max?”

“No. Never. You love him, honey. You can’t just forget him. You can learn to accept he might not ever be able to give you what you need. He might not even tolerate being with you. Hell, maybe he can’t even tell himself how he really feels. You can also accept he has the right feelings, but isn’t lucky enough to know what to do with them.”

“There’s more.”

Moms sighs deeply. “I figured. By his smashed-up face.”

“He’s so angry, Mom. Like something is wrong with him. How can he fight like that? What is so bad about his life that he feels the need to act like that? He seeks out those fights. He likes to inflict pain on others. He even seems to like having it directed back at him. It’s so sick.”

She smiles a sad, but understanding smile. “Pain comes out differently for everyone.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, my rage was pretty bad. It still is, sometimes. I just learned better ways of expressing it. I doubt Max has any coping skills. Shit, he can’t even talk about it. He can’t even articulate how he feels. He’s… so lost. We know how lost he is. Lindsey and I talk about it all the time. Believe it or not, we have a strategy to our madness and frustration of trying to deal with him. And it’s nothing like what we use on you, or your sisters.”

“He likes pain.”

“No. He likes to feel. He likes the clarity that physical pain gives him. It’s simple. It hurts or it doesn’t. He’s not confused. Every emotion he has hurts him, good or bad, and the confusion between the two is almost worse than the pain itself.”

I sense something heavier being suggested by her words. She speaks with too much authority. “You did this? You used pain to avoid feeling your emotions?”

“Yes. Razor blades across my skin. On my legs. You remember the scars.”

I saw the scars. When I was younger, I asked her what they were, and she said a “bad accident” caused them. It wasn’t any accident. That knowledge weighs heavily on me, but it’s not all that surprising. “You have been through so much.”

“Yes, I have. That means, I hope you never have to go through it.”

“What? You think with Max I might?”

“Yes.”

“He fights more often than he’s says he does.”

“Do you want to tell me?”

“No. But I think something needs to be done.”

“What about Derek? He has some sway over Max.”

Derek?
I didn’t think about him. I nod. “Yes, I think I’ll call Derek. Thank you, Mom, I was so afraid and didn’t know what to do. And I’m so confused that I hurt. It all makes me just want to leave, but I also want to stay. But thank you for talking to me. I know it isn’t easy.”

Mom hugs me tightly. “I love you, Christina. I can always talk to you, whether it’s hard or not. No one talked to me like that when I was young, not even Lindsey. So I try to make sure you and I at least have that.”

I hug her. “I have everything. Thanks to you. I don’t think I ever really got that until now.”

She smiles. “Just go and be happy. That’s all the thanks I need.”

~Max~

She called my brother. I groan when the light hits my eyes. The blind is ripped open to let in the morning sun. Shit. I feel like I look, I’m sure. I hurt. My face hurts more than ever. My ribs are bruised and I could lie here for a few days longer and not care. And now, as I try to open my crusted-over eye, I see Derek standing in my bedroom. Mercilessly, he opens the windows wide, inviting the glaring daylight.

Staring at me, his gaze seems cool and unsympathetic. He doesn’t care if the sun is making my eyeballs ache and only adding to my misery. “What have you done?”

Derek’s tone is strained and low, as if he’s trying to contain his dismay. His jaw is clenched tightly. He stands with his arms crossed over his middle, directly in the bright light of the windows. I’m not sure about his question. I shake my head, attempting to get it working. I’m groggy, almost confusedly so.

Sitting up, I grab my temples. The stabbing light and pain intermingle as one. “She called you?”

“Of course, she called me. What else could she have done? Leave you to this? So at some point in the near future, it isn’t a locker room where she finds you unconscious, but in a ditch, dead?” His tone is clipped and he bristles visibly at my question.

I roll my eyes and lean forward to rest my elbows on my knees. I try to sit up straighter. “This isn’t that kind of place. They don’t have the balls Quentrell did. They can’t do more than just spray cold water on me.”

He doesn’t answer. I almost feel the pinpricks of his unrelenting glare on my skin. “That is bullshit. You don’t know anything.”

“I know I didn’t ask your opinion. I didn’t call you. Go home, Derek. Get back to your life, it’s what you’ve always done anyway.”

Silence grows thick and heavy between us. I withhold my sigh. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I might have thought it, in some inner core of my brain, but I never intended to articulate it. I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

Derek comes forward and sits down next to me. “You did too mean it. I did that to you. I left you. As a kid, I never protected you. I swear to God, you like doing this as a way to punish me for not protecting you. I believe you think that since I didn’t take care of you then, why should you bother to protect yourself now?”

Wow. If that’s really the reason behind what I do, it sounds really fucked up when Derek explains it out loud. I shrug. “It’s not. I like to fight. End of story. Look, no one likes hearing it, but it’s what I want to do.”

“You want to look and feel like that? Christina says you threw the fight. You
let
this happen to you.”

“I didn’t let it. It was more like paying my dues. I have to lose once in a while, so I’m allowed to win on others.”

“It’s sick,” Derek says, shaking his head.

“I’m sick then?”

“No. I think you fight to keep yourself from hurting the one person you really want to hurt.”

“Our mom? Of course, I want to. Don’t you?”

“No, Max. It isn’t our mom. It’s me. I didn’t save you. I didn’t help you. I was right there, I knew what you were being exposed to, and I still left. You can’t forgive me. You expected it of our parents. They never did anything differently. But I protected you, at least, temporarily… until I didn’t. Until I left you.”

Derek stands up and starts pacing.

The memories of those things start swirling in my stomach. I wish Derek would shut up. It’s too early in the day. I’m tired. I’m hungry. I’m groggy on pain pills the doctors gave me. I don’t want to talk about this. Ever. But especially, not today. I stand up. My head swims and my vision goes blurry. I don’t have a concussion luckily, but I still don’t feel right. Derek stands near my door. I try to shoulder past him. He doesn’t budge, but shoves my shoulder. “I know what I didn’t do for you. I left you there. I later left you here. I know what a shitty brother I’ve been.”

I shrug and keep my gaze pinned on the floor. “It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t your fault. We had shit for an upbringing, only emphasized all the more by being here around normal people. Don’t flatter yourself that I’m doing this because of you.”

“Then why else would you be doing it?”

“Because I like to fight. I like the rush and power and simplicity I get from it.”

“You like feeling like that?” Derek waves at my sorry ass.

“No. But I accept it as part of what I do like,” I start to again shoulder past Derek. This time, I make it to the door and grab the handle. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I don’t want to remember the feeling of coming home and finding Derek gone. Or the sneaking suspicion there was no more Derek to hide me, protect me, or give me the illusion that at least, someone cared about me. After he left, there was no one for me. No one protected me, hid me, or even attempted to communicate with me. I suffered from neglect. That’s a nice way of describing how alone I was after he left me. But I get it; he was just a kid too. It wasn’t his job to protect me. He had to get out for his own sake. I get that.

“I left because I wanted to protect you from what I was doing. I thought it was better,” Derek’s voice stops me dead. I don’t move, but squeeze the doorknob too hard in my hand.

“You knew what she was like. How could you ever think that was better?” I reply to the bedroom door. My head is bent down. My voice isn’t even a full whisper.

“I wish I had a noble reason or an answer. I don’t. I fucked up, Max. I screwed you up because I was so messed up, I didn’t know any better. I just… I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry? What good did that ever do me, or anyone else?” My voice rises.

“It doesn’t. But that’s all I can give you.”

“Was that all you gave Olivia? After you almost got her killed? You apologized? It’s for shit, Derek. Being sorry means nothing. Absolutely nothing. At least, I didn’t do that. I never led Christina into my life with lies because that’s what I secretly wanted. I did what was best for her, despite what I wanted.”

Derek lied to Olivia, his girlfriend, about being a drug dealer when they first met. His lies and the underworld he worked for almost got Olivia killed. They tried to take out their anger and revenge on Derek by kidnapping and overdosing Olivia. I want to bite my tongue. We weren’t even discussing Christina, why would I bring her up? Why would I bring any of that up? It’s ancient history. Why would I try to alienate the one person who is standing in my corner? Not like there are many who would.

A hand touches my shoulder. I still lean against the door, facing it, holding the doorknob, as if frozen. I’m unable to move. I feel the hand, and flinch as I drop my shoulder. Derek quickly withdraws his hand. “What I did to you and Olivia were the worst things I’ve ever done in my life, far worse than the drugs I sold. I didn’t know better. It’s not an excuse, but I was doing my best. I’ve tried to make it up to both of you. And none of this is ancient history. All of this is what you’re really fighting each and every time you face off in that ring, or go off and find another fight. You’re fighting me. Them. What we all did to you, Max. You’re fighting now, and not falling prey to the silence and loneliness that held you prisoner for all those years. I know why you do this. I also know I’m not sixteen anymore and leaving you to fend for yourself. No more. I’m here now. It’s not enough, I know that, but it’s all I can do.”

I don’t believe him. I turn from the door and shove him. The anger is percolating again in my stomach. Something aggressive and hot zings through my blood and spreads into all my limbs, even my injured ones.

I want to hurt Derek.

That knowledge shocks me and stops me dead. My brother is standing before me, apologizing, and his eyes are full of agony. I don’t have to tell him what he did to me, he knows. I can see his regret. But still, it’s not enough for me. It doesn’t equate to what he did to me. It doesn’t stop me from wanting to hurt him. I want him to bleed for what he did to me. I take him by surprise when I tackle him, and we land against the side of my bed before falling to the floor in a tangled mess of limbs. I lift my fist and knock it hard into his jaw. He grunts and pushes my shoulders, trying to get me off him. I gasp at the pain that sears through my torso. Fuck! It hurts. I don’t care. The high is overpowering and deep, making me stronger. The rage makes me a freaking super hero as I go after my brother. My brother who doesn’t lift a finger in his defense or to protect himself. Derek doesn’t fight. He doesn’t even know how. I can hurt him if I want to. I know that, but I don’t care.

We thump and grunt as we roll and struggle around my room. A chair falls; then my lamp is knocked off the table. Still, I go after Derek.

The door bursts open. I hear it. I don’t stop. Nothing can stop me. Nothing, that is, but Noah’s arms pulling me back. I struggle and fight him. Lindsey is in there next, her voice strained with tears as she screams my name over and over, “Max! Max! Stop! Please just stop…” Her voice sounds like a long, drawn-out sob of misery.

Why won’t I just stop? Why won’t anything inside of me stop hurting so fucking much?

But still, I struggle. Hot tears course over my cheeks. Still, I want to hurt my brother.

I finally fall limply in Noah’s hold. He’s got my arms behind me like he’s about to handcuff me. He holds them and pushes up, until I calm down. I finally let my head hang and drop my shoulders, admitting defeat.

I glance around my room and see the bruise starting on my brother’s face. He’s holding his right hand against his chest. I don’t remember hurting it. But his eyes are filled with care and concern for me. Not anger. He finally sags to the floor. I pull away and Noah lets go of me. I fall to my knees, my tears still damp on my face. Agony meets my torso. I moved too much and too fast.