Split(105)

He pulls back, his eyes flickering, and I don’t know how I know, but I feel Lucas trying to get through. I cup his jaw with both hands. “I love you, Gage. I do.”

His face twists like he’s in pain. “I hurt you.” His voice takes on a childlike tone.

“You should’ve talked to me. I would’ve explained.”

His features turn cold, distant. “No man puts his lips on you.”

“Gage, please. Listen to me. Dustin made a mistake, all right. He apologized. He knows where I belong and it’s not with him.” I search his eyes, imploring him to see the truth in mine. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

A small smile curves his lips. “And Luke.”

“Of course, and Lucas.” I run my thumb along his lower lip and he drops his eyes closed.

“I didn’t kill them,” he whispers.

Relief washes over me like the warmest caress. I knew in my heart Lucas and Gage weren’t capable of murdering children, but hearing it directly from the only person who survived that night squashed the trickle of doubt. He didn’t kill them.

“The night they died . . .” He stares at his hands. “Mom, she . . . had a way with punishment. It was always a mental game with her. I don’t even know what we did that day to piss her off so badly.” He laughs, but it’s far from funny. “Not that she ever needed a reason to f*ck with us.” His expression turns dark, like a switch has been flipped. “She called us all in the room and handed Mikey a knife.”

I roll my lips into my mouth, holding back my words, my sobs, and my breath.

“She put a gun to Mikey’s head. I remember it was silver.” He blinks, then scowls as if it’s all playing out before him. “She told him if he didn’t stab our sister, she’d put a bullet in his brain.”

I want to beg him to stop, to save me from the nightmare of his past, but I know he needs to tell it just as badly as I need to hear it.

“Mikey cried; he begged not to be killed.” His head lolls to the side, his cold, haunted eyes on mine. “You ever heard a ten-year-old boy beg for his life, Shy?”

I shake my head, incapable of words, all while my soul is screaming for his pain.

“He couldn’t do it. Every time he brought that knife to her little neck, she’d scream that she didn’t want to die, beg for her life.” He thumps his temple with his fist. “I can still hear it!”

Tears build in my eyes and threaten to spill. “I’m so sorry . . .” I whisper.

“Mom told him to open his mouth. He listened.” His eyes drift away to focus on nothing. “He always listened to her. He was a good kid.” Snapping out of whatever memory he was in, his gaze shifts to mine. “She slid his shaking fingers onto the trigger, took the knife, and held it to our sister’s throat. Gave him a second option. Kill himself or she’d kill Alexis.”

“Oh, Gage—” I cover my mouth as a sob rips from my chest.

“He blew his own brains out to protect her.” His hands fist into his hair so hard I’d swear he was pulling it from his scalp. “So much blood. And crying. God, the fear in their cries was the worst.”

A few seconds of silence pass before he regains the control to continue. “I thought that might be it, that my brother’s suicide would be enough for her to scare us into submission.” His eyes meet mine. “I was wrong. She gave that gun, splattered in our brother’s blood, to David. Alexis was hyperventilating. He didn’t even hesitate, probably looking forward to dying because it had to be better than living. Then it was my turn. She knew I’d shoot myself before I let her touch my sister, so with me she got creative. She made me choose.” He holds out shaking hands, palms up. “Slow death by knife or a quick shot to the head.” His eyes shine with tears. “My baby sister . . . I had to choose.”

“Oh God . . .”

“By then she’d gone quiet. Maybe it was shock, but I knew she was gone somewhere deep inside her head. One by one, she watched with sick satisfaction as all three of my siblings took a bullet to the head. But it was me . . . it was my job to keep them safe. I didn’t pull the trigger, but I was responsible for their deaths.”

“Gage, no. You had no choice; you were a child and she was an animal.”

A slow, twisted smile crawls across his face. “Then it was my turn.”

“What happened?” I swallow, not sure I want or can handle the answer.

“She put that gun in my mouth, but she held the trigger. Everyone was dead; she had no one to threaten me with. ‘You’re the worst of them. You won’t be missed. You’re no one,’ she said. Her eyes were almost black. I remember that. It was like . . . like she was high on the anticipation of spilling my blood. I knew I was gonna die. Hell, after what I’d seen, I was ready. Welcomed it. She pulled the trigger. It knocked me back and as I was lying in a pool of my brother’s and sister’s brains and blood and then . . .” His gaze comes to mine, bringing him back from the nightmare. “I realized I was still breathing. Luke learned later at the hospital that it was the angle that saved us. Shot under my tongue, and here.” He points to the scar under his jaw. “She dropped the gun on my chest, and I remember her laughing.” He coughs out a chuckle but his face twists in pain. “Surrounded by the gruesome mess of her children’s dead bodies, and she was laughing. I lost it then; I couldn’t help it. I joined in. I was choking on my own blood, but I was happy. I picked up the gun, excited about what I knew I was going to do next.”