21. Lena

21

LENA

One month later…

I grab a glass from the cabinet, the house eerily quiet at this late hour. Mrs. Wilson is already in bed, leaving me alone downstairs. My hands shake as I fill the glass with water.

The floorboard creaks behind me. My spine stiffens as the sour stench of whiskey fills the air.

"Well, well. Look who's up late." Mr. Wilson's slurred voice makes my stomach turn.

I grip the counter, knuckles white. The glass slips from my trembling fingers, shattering at my feet. Water spreads across the tile floor.

"I-I'll clean it up." My voice comes out as a whisper.

"Don't move." His heavy footsteps draw closer. "Wouldn't want you cutting those pretty feet."

My throat closes up as he corners me against the counter, pressing his bulk against my back. His hot breath hits my neck, and I squeeze my eyes shut. The memory of last week floods back—his rough hands, the pain, my muffled cries.

"Been thinking about our little... chat." His fingers trail up my arm. "Since that boy's gone, someone has to keep you satisfied."

I can't breathe. Can't move. My body betrays me, frozen in terror as his hands roam where they shouldn't. The kitchen walls close in, trapping me in this nightmare.

"Please," I whisper, but the word catches in my throat.

His grip tightens painfully on my hip. "Shut up. You're mine now."

My mind screams for Talon, but he's gone. I'm alone with this monster and can do nothing to stop what's about to happen.

His sweaty palm slides up my thigh as he presses me harder against the counter. The smell of cheap whiskey and stale cigarettes makes bile rise in my throat. Mr. Wilson's beer belly crushes against my back, his labored breathing hot and wet on my neck.

"Such a pretty little thing." His words slur together, his thick fingers digging into my hip. "Always prancing around in those tight clothes."

I try to twist away, but he's too strong, too heavy. My bare feet crunch on broken glass. The pain barely registers through my panic.

"Get off—" My plea cuts short as he clamps his other hand over my mouth.

"Dad? What the fuck?"

Jamie's voice slices through the kitchen. Mr. Wilson stumbles back, releasing me. I gasp for air, wrapping my arms around myself.

"The hell are you doing?" Jamie stands in the doorway, his college backpack still slung over one shoulder.

"Just helping her clean up some broken glass." Mr. Wilson wipes his mouth, swaying on his feet.

"Bullshit." Jamie's face twists with disgust. "I saw what you were doing."

I slide along the counter, putting distance between myself and Mr. Wilson. My whole body trembles as Jamie steps between us.

"Go to bed, Dad. You're drunk." Jamie's voice is cold and firm. "And if I ever catch you touching her again, I'm calling the cops."

Mr. Wilson mumbles something unintelligible, shooting me a dark look before stumbling out of the kitchen. Jamie waits until his heavy footsteps fade up the stairs.

"You okay?" He turns to me, his expression softer.

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. Jamie grabs the broom from the corner and starts sweeping up the glass while I stand there, arms still wrapped around myself, trying to stop shaking.

I slide down to sit at the kitchen table, my legs too shaky to hold me up. Jamie pulls out a chair across from me, his eyes full of concern.

"Has he... has this happened before, Lena?"

The gentleness in his voice breaks something inside me. Tears spill down my cheeks as I nod, wrapping my arms tighter around myself.

"Three weeks ago. When your mom was at her book club." My voice cracks. "I tried to fight him off, but?—"

"Fuck." Jamie runs his hands through his hair. "I'm so sorry. I should've been here."

"You were at college."

"Yeah, well, I'm back now." He leans forward, his expression serious. "Since I've graduated and didn't find a job in Providence, I'm taking a few months to figure out what I want to do next. But I'm not going anywhere for a while."

I wipe my eyes with trembling fingers. "You don't have to?—"

"I do." Jamie's jaw clenches. "I won't let him touch you again. I should've spoken up more when we were younger. I was just a kid too, but... seeing how toxic my parents are now that I'm older..." He shakes his head. "It's not right. None of this is right."

"Thank you," I whisper, fresh tears falling.

"Don't thank me. I should've done something sooner." Jamie stands, grabbing a clean glass from the cabinet. He fills it with water and sets it in front of me. "Drink this. And if he ever tries anything again, you come straight to me. I mean it."

I push back from the table, my legs steadier now. "I should try to get some sleep."

Jamie nods, but I catch the worry in his eyes. He tears a corner from an old grocery list on the fridge and scribbles something down.

"Here's my cell." He slides the paper across the table. "I mean it—any time, day or night. If I'm not here, call me. I'll come right over."

My fingers close around the paper, this small lifeline. The Jamie I knew growing up would've walked away and pretended not to see. But the man sitting across from me now has changed. His eyes hold a determination I've never seen before.

"College opened my eyes to so many things," he says, as if reading my thoughts. "Made me realize how messed up everything was here. Still is." He runs a hand through his hair. "I can't change the past, but I can try to make things right now."

I tuck the paper into my pocket, touched by this unexpected alliance. "Thank you, Jamie. Really."

He waves off my gratitude, but I see the resolve in his expression. Whatever made him change his mind about our family's dysfunction, I'm grateful for it. Having someone else in this house who sees the truth and is willing to stand up against it since Talon was kicked out lifts a weight I didn't realize I was carrying.