I was eleven.

I had just come home from school.

The moment I stepped into the kitchen, I could tell that Dad was in one of his moods again. The bastard had just downed a bottle of Jameson. He was jonesing for a fight.

Mom, as always, became his prime target.

She was making us spaghetti for dinner. Dad wanted meatloaf.

He smashed his empty bottle of whiskey to the ground. Glass shards exploded and scattered everywhere. Mom began to apologize. She tried to calm him down.

"You stupid fucking bitch! Why can't you ever do anything right?"

My fists clenched.

✦

I was fourteen.

My parents were arguing again in the living room. I was hiding in my room. I heard a loud crashing noise followed by the sound of my mom's screams.

I quickly ran outside to see what the fuck had happened.

Mom was slumped over on the floor. There was a bloody gash on the side of her forehead. She was crying. Beside her, I saw a broken picture frame.

Dad had thrown their wedding photo at her.

I was skinny for my age. My old man had far more muscle mass than me. But, at nearly six feet, I was taller than him now. I didn't want to be afraid of the bastard. Not anymore. I wanted to be brave.

I walked right up to Dad and looked him dead in the eye.

"Don't pull this kind of shit again on Mom. Just... don't."

Mom wept, "No, Gray! Go back to your room! You stay out of this, you hear?"

Dad and I both ignored her.

"Or what?" Dad taunted, "You gonna call the cops on me?"

I straightened myself up to full height and glared down at him. "Yeah."

My dad smiled like a shark and stepped towards me. I stumbled back in fear.

"Go ahead, boy. I'll kill your mom before they get here. Then, I'll kill you, too."

✦

I stared at Gracie from across the table.

God, she was so pretty.

Eyes like honey. Her dark hair was cut shorter now, the ends brushed against her shoulder, and her sweet little body beckoned to me even while I knew I didn't deserve to look at her, let alone touch her.

Her stony silence was driving me crazy.

My heart kept getting caught in my throat. My hands felt clammy and restless. I began tapping my finger against the table to calm my nerves.

Thank God Lydia wasn't keeping the baby.

If she kept it, then there really wouldn't be any hope for Gracie and me.

I took Lydia's decision as a sign from God, Allah—or whoever the fuck was in charge upstairs. Life didn't want me to wait anymore. Regret had weighed on me for far too long. I needed to act on my feelings for Gracie before some other shitstorm came between us.

I knew reaching out would be a long shot, but—like the unapologetic asshole I was—I had been counting on Gracie's goodness, her decency, to, at the very least, meet with me and hear me out.

Also, I desperately wanted to apologize for what I did with Lydia. I needed to look Gracie in the eye. I needed to grovel in person.

Anything less would be simply unacceptable and downright disrespectful.

And, even then, Gracie deserved far better and far more than I could offer...

After everything I put my girl through, I couldn't blame her if she never wanted to see me or speak to me again.

The waitress brought us our food. We began to eat.

I could tell that she was really upset. The tiny pinch between her brow kept furrowing and unfurrowing. Gracie was so deep in thought that she kept forgetting to chew her food.

What was she thinking?

What was she feeling?

When Gracie finally spoke up, all my attention was focused on her.

"So... you wanna try and be friends or something?"

Hope ballooned in my chest.

"Yes."

She paused. "Fine. I'll... think about it. Under one condition."

I leaned towards her eagerly. "What's that?"

Gracie grimaced. "I want you to go talk to Lydia."

"About what?" I probed cautiously.

"Just promise me that you'll go talk to her, okay?"

My eyebrows rose in alarm. "Okay..."

Why did Gracie want me to talk to her sister so badly?

Suddenly, it hit me.

Had Lydia changed her mind?

Oh, fuck.