Page 26 of Brick’s Anchor

I lean against the doorframe, hands in my pockets, trying to look nonthreatening despite my size. "You want the truth?"

"Yes."

"I don't know. I saw you in that room looking terrified, furious and refusing to break, and something in me—" I gesture vaguely at my chest. "Responded. Wanted to help. Wanted to make sure you survived. Wanted—" I stop myself again.

"Wanted what?"

"To be the kind of man who helps instead of hurts. To prove to myself that the violence isn't all I am. That I can be gentle when it matters." I meet her eyes. "You make me want to be gentle. And that doesn't happen often."

"I don't know what to do with that," she says.

"You don't have to do anything with it. I'm not asking for anything."

"Everyone asks for something eventually."

"I'm not everyone."

"I'm starting to realize that."

Thunder crashes directly overhead. The lights flicker but stay on. Rosie jumps slightly, then laughs at herself. "I said I liked storms."

"You can like something and still be startled by it."

She moves away from the window, closer to the center of the room. Closer to me. Not touching. Just present. "Tell me more about your brothers."

"Why?"

"Because you know everything about what happened to me and I know almost nothing about you. It feels unbalanced."

Fair enough. I move to the bed, sitting on the edge. Give her the rest of the room. "Jake is the oldest. Three years older than me. He's in for assault with a deadly weapon. Beat a guy outside a bar with a tire iron. Guy didn't die but came close. Jake claimed self-defense. Jury didn't buy it."

"Was it self-defense?"

"Probably not. Jake's got a temper that makes mine look peaceful. Always has. He'd start fights just to feel something."

"And the other brother?"

"Ryan. One year older than me. He's in for armed robbery. Held up a gas station with a gun he claimed was unloaded. Turned out it wasn't. He panicked when the clerk reached for something and fired. Clerk survived but lost use of his arm."

"That's—"

"Fucked up? Yeah. That's the Hayes family legacy. Violence and bad decisions."

"But you're different."

"Am I? I break bones for a living, Rosie. I like doing it. The only difference between me and them is I found an outlet that's legal. Mostly."

"The difference is you have control. They didn't. Don't. Whatever." She sits in the desk chair, pulling her legs up. Making herself small again. "Do you miss them?"

"Sometimes. Mostly I miss who they could have been if they'd figured out how to channel the darkness instead of letting it consume them. I miss the brothers I had when we were kids, before everything went to shit."

"What happened? To make everything go to shit?"

"My mom. Not her fault, really. But our dad was an alcoholic. Mean drunk. He'd come home and pick fights. We learned to fight back. Learned that violence was how you survived in our house. Mom tried to protect us, but she couldn't protect herself, let alone three boys who were getting bigger and angrier every year."

"She's still alive?"

"Yeah. Still in that same small town. I haven't talked to her in five years."