Hits me hard enough to knock air from my lungs.
I catch him with one arm because my other hand is swollen and throbbing. He wraps around my neck and holds tight.
Too tight.
Or maybe not tight enough.
“You went to jail,” he says against my shoulder.
“Yeah.”
“Because of Jeremy?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you hit him?”
Amelia is in the doorway now.
Pale.
Still.
Her eyes on me like she already knows the answer and hates that part of her wants it too.
I set August back enough to see his face. “Yeah.”
His little jaw sets. “Good.”
That word should not come from him.
Not about blood.
Not about violence.
Not because of me.
Something twists in my chest so hard I almost lose my grip.
Amelia closes her eyes for one second.
There it is.
The damage.
Not from the hit.
From the lesson.
I swallow. “It wasn’t good.”
August frowns.
“It felt good,” I admit. “That ain’t the same.”
He studies me with serious little eyes.
I don’t know if he understands.