Trust in Me(105)

            My head hung forward. All of this felt like yesterday—the anger and helplessness. “God, I was so pissed, Avery. I wanted to kill the fuck. He was beating up my sister and my dad wanted to call the police, but what were they really going to do? Both of them were minors. He’d get his hands slapped and get counseling, whatever. And that’s bullshit. I wasn’t okay with that. I left Thanksgiving night and I found him. Didn’t take much, fucking small town and all. I knocked on his door and he came right out. I told him he couldn’t come around my sister anymore and you know what that little punk did?”

            “What?” she whispered.

            “He got all up in my face, puffing his fucking chest at me. Told me he would do whatever the fuck he wanted.” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I lost it. Angry isn’t even the word to use. I was enraged. I hit him and I didn’t stop.” Pulse pounding, I faced her. “I didn’t stop hitting him. Not when his parents came out or when his mom starting screaming. It took two police officers to get me off him.”

            Avery didn’t say anything as she stared at me.

            I rubbed my palms over my cheeks. “I ended up in jail and he ended up in a coma.”

            Her mouth opened in shock, and there it was. Ducking my chin, I looked away as I sat in the moon chair. “I’d been in fights before—normal shit. But nothing like that. My knuckles were busted wide open and I didn’t even feel it. My dad . . .” I shook my head. “He worked his magic. I should’ve gone away for a long time for that, but I didn’t. Guess it helped that the kid woke up a few days later.

            “I got off easy—not even a night in jail.” I smiled wryly. “But I couldn’t leave home for several months while it got worked out. I ended up with a year’s worth of community service at the local boys’ club and then another year’s worth of anger management. That’s what I do every Friday. My last session is in the fall. My family had to pay restitution and you don’t even want to know how much that cost. I had to stop playing soccer because of the community-service gig, but . . . like I said, I got off easy.”

            Avery looked away, brows pressing together. Her face was pale and the longer she was silent, the sicker I felt. What had I—

            “I understand,” she said quietly. I stared at her, not sure I was hearing her correctly.

            “What?” I said hoarsely.

            “I understand why you did it.”

            Did she hear anything I had done? I stood. “Avery—”

            “I don’t know what it says about me, but you were defending your sister and beating the crap out of someone isn’t the answer, but she’s your sister and . . .” She paused, seeming to search for the right words. “There are some people who deserve an ass kicking.”

            I stared at her.

            She unfolded her legs. “And there are probably some people who don’t even deserve to breathe. It’s a sick and sad thing to say, but it’s true. The guy could’ve killed your sister. Hell, he could have beaten some other girl to death.”

            “I deserve to be in jail, Avery. I almost killed him.”

            “But you didn’t.”

            I opened my mouth, but there were no words. How could she be so understanding?

            “Let me ask you a question. Would you do it again?”

            The million-dollar question. “I still would’ve driven to his house and I would’ve hit him. Maybe not as badly, but honestly, I don’t think it would’ve changed anything. The bastard beat my sister.”

            She inhaled deeply. “I don’t blame you.”