Unbroken (2 page)

He tucks the basketball under one arm as his other hand comes up to scrape the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Hands on my hips, I purse my lips. “It’d better not! Newsflash,
every
house on this block has a
back
yard. If you tried playing back there every once in a while, you wouldn’t have to worry about your great buddy Jason
almost
hitting the new girl on the block.”

He gives me another smile and he extends his right hand to shake mine. I gawk at it and scoff.

“Come on. Truce. We’ll set the hoop up in the backyard if you tell me your name,” he offers.

“I don’t even know you.”

“Maddox Bradley. Senior at Valley Public High this upcoming school year. Point guard. Youngest of two boys. Hoping to go to Duke for college.”

I roll my eyes. Typical jock. But, he’s being nice to me. And, I got a name out of him. More than I got out of Lewellyn’s Guy.

“Sabrina Matteo. Sophomore at Valley Public High this upcoming year. Middle blocker in volleyball and center forward in soccer. Oldest of four girls. Hoping to go to UCLA.”

We shake hands, and I feel the tiniest twinge of something when our hands meet. It feels like a series of small needle pricks completely taking over my hand.

He smiles at me and things look a little bit brighter.

But I can’t help it. I continue to compare Maddox to Lewellyn’s Guy.

With Lewellyn’s Guy, I didn’t feel something only in my hand. When he smiled at me, and even more so when he touched me, it was like every nerve ending in my body was on fire. The minute his eyes met mine, the entire world was alight.

Whatever Maddox thinks is going to happen between us is trivial compared to the fact that I feel a thousand times stronger for a guy whose name I don’t even know.

And I’m totally fucked because of it.

ONE

“DOING THIS FOR YOU GETS really old
really
quick,
mijo,
” Mama Quinn says, pressing an ice pack to my right eyebrow as her youngest daughter rinses out a washcloth with warm water to press to my lip. “When will you finally give in and let me bring you all here for good?”

I give her a small smile, but she should know by now that I’m not going to give her an answer.

As many times as my best friend Nickayla’s mom has let me and my siblings stay in her house over the years, we might as well move in here. But I won’t budge, not on this issue. Her home has always been a sort of haven for the three of us, but it’s impossible to leave the house we’ve grown up in.

My sister Dalis is upstairs somewhere, taking a warm bath—which is Mama Quinn’s go-to when we come over here. Cason’s playing video games with Nickayla’s twin brother Nikkolas. Me, I haven’t had many luxuries since my mother passed away from cancer six years ago. Most of my time in the Quinn household is spent just like this. Getting lovingly scolded and nurtured by my second favorite woman in the world.

“How long were you in the house before he did this to you?” Mama asks, her dark brown eyes softening.

“Fifteen minutes,” I admit.

She purses her lips and clenches her teeth, turning away from me.

She grips the edge of the kitchen sink, leaning over it. I bring my hands up to my face, because this is the last thing I want to see right now. I watch in agony as her shoulders begin to quake and her head lolls forward. I hate seeing her cry. It’s the hardest thing in the world to watch, especially when I know I’m the cause of her tears.

I amble to my feet and walk over to her. I drape my arms over her shoulders, and she turns around to face me. One more look at my face, and she only cries harder.

I honestly thought that after six years of this, she’d be used to it by now. But every time I knock on her door, and every time I explain to her what happened, her reactions get worse. If that’s even possible. But I know that she’ll never get used to it. She and my mom were best friends in high school. Nic and I have been best friends since childhood. When my mom passed, she was given a series of letters. Two for me, when the time comes, two for Dalis, two for Cason, and one for her to keep to herself.

The day after my mom’s funeral, Mama told me that she loved me so much more than my brother and sister. It sounds like a weird thing to tell a twelve year old, but I cherished that more than anything anyone had ever told me. She told me she loved me the most because I was the most sensitive of the three of us. I feel things stronger, longer and more intense than my siblings. But the main reason she loved me the most was because I look the most like my mother.

She was beautiful. She had long, silky dark hair that rained over her shoulders in soft ringlets, earl gray eyes that I always felt could see into my soul. Her skin was pale and smooth as porcelain, and her cheeks were always flushed.

“Don’t cry, Ma,” I tell her, patting her back as she continues to cry.

She shakes her head as she releases herself from my embrace and sits down at the table across me.

“I can’t believe that Andrew turned out this way. It makes me sick to my stomach, and I’m sure your mother’s turning over in her grave right now.” With a sigh, she wipes the tears from her eyes. “You promised me after what happened last year that this wouldn’t happen again.”

Yeah, there’re a lot of things that shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have turned her down when she first offered us a place to stay. I shouldn’t have messed around with Belinda Moreno. I shouldn’t have gone to Big Springs and made a complete ass of myself. I shouldn’t have given my father any power.

I shouldn’t have let that girl in Lewellyn’s go without getting her name.

I don’t know how it always happens. I won’t even be thinking about her, and she’ll flash through my mind. Long ebony hair, short shorts on sculpted legs, bare midriff beneath a sports t-shirt, faded Chuck Taylors with the words “Butterfly You” written on the white toes—whatever that means. She was just so casually beautiful, and it seemed so effortless on her, I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t even know how perfect she was.

I don’t know why she remained in my head for so long. Maybe it was that timeless beauty and sophistication she had about her, or that look in her eyes like she knew me better than I knew myself. She reminded me of my mom.

“Brody,” Mama says, patting my hand across the table. “What are you thinking about?”

I shake my head.

There’s no way I can explain it to her when I barely understand it myself. So rather than tell her about how I’ve been pining over a girl who may or may not be around anymore for two years, I give her the easiest answer I can muster.

“I was thinking about Mom. And the letters.”

She gives me a smile. “It’s not time yet. But someday,
mijo
.” She presses a kiss to my forehead as she stands up.

She always does this when I’ve upset her, or when a conversation has gotten too serious too soon.

Every time I come over here, it’s always the same. I’m bloodied and bruised, my sister is exhausted like she’s the one who just got her ass kicked, and my brother withdraws even further into his shell. And Mama, well, she always walks away before she completely breaks down. Sometimes, it’s like she can’t even stand to look at me. And I don’t blame her. I can barely look myself in the mirror half the time.

“Hey, Ma?” I ask her, as she retreats.

She turns to face me and smiles. “Hmm?”

“Don’t tell Nic I’m here. It’s her anniversary…I don’t want her to worry.”

Her entire demeanor deflates, and I know she’s not happy with this arrangement. We both know that there’s no avoiding Nickayla once she finds out this shit with my dad is happening on a regular basis now. She’s happy, living with her boyfriend, completely oblivious to the world around her. For now, I’m happy to let her stay that way.

Almost two years ago, Nickayla was raped by our then-friend, Kyle, at a party. As a result, she withdrew from everyone that she loved, everyone that loved her. She wasn’t herself anymore—she was a complete shell of a person, and seeing her that way broke my heart. Well, what little was left of it. When her boyfriend Colin came around, he pulled her out of her funk. He brought her back to life, but in a different way. She’s more alive than I’ve ever seen her in my entire life. I don’t want to be the one to ruin that beautiful oblivion for her.

“Okay. But you have to tell her eventually, Brody Michael. You remember how upset you were that she didn’t tell you about what happened with Kyle?” she says with an eyebrow raise.

I flush, wishing that I could forget it. I was so pissed while Nickayla tried to tell me what happened to her, and I wanted to know who had done it. She didn’t tell me in the timely manner I would have liked her to, and my impatience got the best of me. The casualties were excessive—and I knew I’d never live it down.

“Yeah. I broke all your dishes.” I lower my head, ashamed of myself even though it’s been almost a year and I replaced her dishes already.

“That’s
nothing
compared to what my daughter will do if she finds out we kept this secret from her all this time.”

With those words, she heads upstairs to her room, and I’m left alone to my thoughts.

Fucking perfect.

…

WHEN I WAKE UP IN Nickayla’s old bedroom three hours later, I realize that this is the last place I want to be. I love the people here, but I hate the way they make me feel. I know they don’t do it intentionally, but whenever I’m around the Quinns, I feel like I’m a charity case.

Their family is completely opposite of how mine is. They have family dinner every Sunday, hug every time they see each other, and when there’s a problem, they lay it all out on the table. Shit, me, I’m lucky if my dad can be in my presence for longer than five minutes without bashing my face in.

I tug on a pair of shoes and a hoodie, wanting to get out of their house for a few hours at least. I know I can only stay here a few days before Dad starts to look for us, so I’m going to take advantage of this vacation as much as possible. Downstairs, Nikkolas is still playing video games with Cason, and I pat him on his shoulder to get his attention. He gives me a sympathetic glance.

I’ve known this kid since we were both in diapers, and I can never get over the fact that he looks at me like some sort of kicked puppy every time I end up on his front porch steps with my siblings.

“I need the keys, Nikkolas. Ma said I could use the car whenever I wanted,” I tell him. I only add that last part on because I know no matter how badly he wants to keep the keys to his car so he can go see his girlfriend, he wouldn’t dare go against his mother. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

He grimaces, but he still reaches in his pocket and tosses them to me.

My sister’s curled up into a ball on the couch, and as much as I hate to, I nudge her awake. She stretches out and then turns over to look at me. Her eyes pierce mine and crinkle in worry when she sees for the first time the entire extent of the damage I’ve suffered.

Besides the lacerations, scars, and the dislocation of my nose after it got broken last year, I’ve got a busted lip, a gash on my forehead, and a black eye. And that’s just the damage to my face. Thankfully, she can’t see the dull ache in my chest, the throbbing in my back, and the cut on my leg that has me limping—well, she can’t see that part yet. But what she can see is bad enough that she looks like she’s about to cry.

“Bubba?” she asks, her voice still thick and groggy from sleep. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “I was gonna go get some ice cream, and I wanted to see if you wanna go.”

Dalis smiles, and she sits up. Stretching, she runs her fingers through her short hair and yawns. I can’t help but watch her when she moves—it’s the protective brother in me.

The beatings started for me about six months after Mom passed away. I had just brought the kids home from school and was making them dinner when Dalis started crying. I never found out what she was crying for, because when I made it to the living room, I was just in time to watch my father hit her across the face so hard, she was knocked unconscious. He braced himself over her, looking like a vulture about to go in for the kill, and I stepped in. I took the beating for her in silence, and then when I got her to wake up, I promised her that he’d never lay a hand on her again.