It worked. The man disappeared for three years.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t tell you the full story,” Reid says now, his voice quieter than before, rough around the edges. “Not the way it should’ve been told.”
I nod again, shifting slightly closer without thinking, giving him space but not distance, before saying softly, “I’m listening.”
He takes a breath, slow and deliberate, like he’s steadying himself. “Back then, I saw everything in a straight line. Abusive father. Abused mother. Simple. If I got rid of him, everything would be fine.” A flicker of something bitter crosses his face, tightening his mouth. “But it was never that simple. When you’re a kid, you want good guys and bad guys. Sometimes there aren’t any.”
My shoulders tighten, a dull nausea rising low in my stomach as I start to see where this is going, the pieces shifting into something darker than I expected.
“My father was an abusive drunk. That part’s true. But my mother…” He exhales slowly, his gaze dropping for a second. “She wasn’t entirely innocent either. Once he was gone, there was nothing to hide behind. She could be just as bad—sometimes worse.”
I swallow hard, my fingers curling slightly in my lap as a part of me recoils from what I know is coming, but the rest of me leans in, stubborn and steady, because I want—need—to understand him, and—somehow—help him carry it.
“At the time, I made excuses. Told myself it wasn’t that bad. That she was hurting from years of abuse by her husband—my father. I looked a lot like him—everyone said so—so I told myself it was only natural she would take it out on me, but that she didn’t really mean it.” His jaw tightens, the muscle ticking. “I told myself maybe I deserved it anyway, for not standing up for her all those years when he was hitting her. Not defending her against his abuse.” He pauses, breath catching slightly before he forces it out. “Took me a long time to realize what it really was.”
“That doesn’t make it okay,” I say, sharper than I mean to, the words slipping out before I can soften them, my chest aching for the boy he was—the one who had to twist himself into something small just to survive it.
He gives a faint, tired smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know. But back then… I needed it to make sense.”
“You needed someone on your side,” I say quietly, softer now, gentler. “Someone who was actually good.”
His eyes lift to mine, something fragile breaking through the weight of everything else. “Yeah.”
“I get it,” I murmur, my thumb brushing lightly against my palm as if I can ground myself in the motion. “I used to do the same thing. Pretend one of my parents wasn’t as bad as they were, just so I didn’t have to face the truth.”
“Exactly.” He squeezes my hand, his grip firm, anchoring. “Except I had one person. My Uncle Matt.”
“The one whose gang you joined.”
“It wasn’t a gang,” he says automatically, rolling his eyes despite everything, the reflex almost automatic. “Just guys who rode together.”
“Sure,” I say, failing to hide my smile, even as the heaviness stays lodged in my chest.
He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound brief but real. “He was estranged from the family for years. Reached out after my dad left. I told him everything. He hated that he hadn’t been there.” He pauses, his expression shifting again. “He’d cut my mom off long before that. Said she was the problem.”
I frown, my brows pulling together as something cold settles deeper in my stomach.
“He told me what they used to be like,” Reid continues. “Before I was born. Constant fighting. Toxic as hell. Most of the time, he thought my dad was the one getting the worst of it.”
My stomach drops, the room feeling just slightly off-balance for a second.
“Somehow, they stayed together, despite them arguing and fighting all the time. Apparently, she’d end up throwing things at him, and he’d just take off to the bar. Then he’d come home drunk and sleep on the couch in his clothes. The next day, they’d slink around the house, ignoring each other. That was the pattern. Until I came along…” He shakes his head slowly. “According to Uncle Matt, that’s when it turned physical the other way.”
“God.” The word slips out of me, quiet but heavy.
“Yeah.” He lets out a slow breath, his shoulders rising and falling. “I only ever saw that half of it. The part where she was the victim.”
I nod, my throat tight, my fingers tightening around his without thinking. I have a bad feeling I know how this ends, and I hate that I’m probably right.
“She brought him back one day,” Reid says quietly, his voice dropping lower. “I walked in, saw him there, and…” He trails off, his gaze going distant.
I don’t need the rest. That story doesn’t have many endings—and none of them are good.
“What I’m trying to say is…” He looks at me again, and this time there’s nothing held back, something raw and exposed in his eyes that makes my chest tighten. “It doesn’t come out of nowhere. That kind of shit. It’s in me too. It’s in my blood.”
The words hit harder than anything else he’s said, settling somewhere deep and uncomfortable.
I shake my head immediately, leaning closer without thinking, refusing it. “I wasn’t innocent either. I pushed you. Picked fights. Tried to get a reaction.”