The Hearts We Sold(50)

“Give it back,” she said, and she hated that her voice trembled. “Just give it back. I need it.”

“For what?”

She opened her mouth and closed it again.

“See, I don’t think you want that money so you can go to college.” Mr. Moreno’s voice dropped, and she realized belatedly that there was a half-empty beer bottle in his hand. He brought it to his lips, drained it. “I think you just don’t want to come home.”

Hearing those words, those forbidden words, spoken aloud felt like some kind of betrayal. There were certain things people didn’t talk about in this family and her desire to escape was one of them.

But if he wanted to open that door, she would let him.

“Family money,” she said, mouth twisting with fury. The anger running through her felt like heat and pure force; in this moment, she was invincible, reckless, and the words flew from her mouth. “You took it for yourself.” She strode to the bathroom, to the secret places she knew she wasn’t supposed to know about. To the plastic brown bottles—half of them empty, half of them not. She snatched up two empty jugs and threw them onto the floor.

“Look what you bought with my future,” she snapped. “Was it worth it? To numb out the world for a while?”

A half-formed thought, ready to catch fire, flew from her lips. “Did you ever care about me at all?”

A beer bottle smashed against the floor. And then he was in front of her, a wall of muscle and sweat and everything was too close and too loud.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?”

Mrs. Moreno ventured into the kitchen with her hands extended as if entreating, but Dee ignored her.

She refused to retreat; she was afraid, but anger still kept her back straight. “You’re a fucking addict. And I’m sick of it—I’m sick of watching you get drunk and scream at each other. I’m sick of you screaming at me, telling me I’m defective just because I didn’t turn out the way you wanted!”

His hands closed on her arms and he shook her so hard her teeth rattled. “You will not talk to me like that! Children respect their parents.”

She tried to wrench herself from his grip, her teeth bared. “Why? You never respected me! I spent half my life trying to fix things and I couldn’t!”

“You’re an ungrateful little shit.” The words spewed from his mouth. “Fucking arrogant little bitch who thinks she’s too good to do manual labor.”

“At least I’m not a drunk loser,” she snapped.

Crack.

The world went white.

She blinked several times, tried to orient herself. She was on the floor, legs sprawled out before her. He’d thrown her down. The back of her head throbbed where she’d hit the wall.

“I never wanted this life!” he roared at her. “I never wanted you.”

Simple words.

It was always those small, simple words.

This was what it felt like to fall apart. It began somewhere in her hands—they were cold, unfeeling, and the numb sensation seemed to travel up her arms, into her chest. It felt like her organs were shutting down; she was cold, but she wasn’t shaking, wasn’t reacting like living people did when cold. She wondered if she had died—if Cal and Cora were right, if she was a soulless zombie wandering around. But wouldn’t she have felt something, she thought. If she was dead, there should have been a sign, a way of knowing.

Or maybe she’d been dead long before a demon ripped out her heart.

“Dee?”

It was a new voice that spoke. A familiar voice.

James.

His faded plaid shirt and absurd leather jacket were so familiar and comforting that she felt her eyes well up. Seeing him made the whole thing real. Pain spiked through her chest. She didn’t want him to see this, see the ugliness of her past behind her carefully constructed facade.

This—this wasn’t fair.

She didn’t have a heart. She didn’t have a heart. It shouldn’t be able to break.

“I heard shouting,” James said, uncertain.

Mr. Moreno stared at him, at his clothes, at his mussed hair. “Who the fuck are you?”

James’s gaze flicked between Mr. Moreno and Dee, still on the floor. He seemed to change. It wasn’t that he grew taller or more intimidating, but something in his face hardened. One of his hands balled up. “Dee?”

Dee opened her mouth, ready to tell him it was fine—it was fine—it was fine—

Nothing came out.

“Dee,” said James. He walked to Dee, but Mr. Moreno angled forward. James took a step, shifted so that he squarely faced the older man. He didn’t say a word, but the challenge was there.

“No,” she whispered. The word came out so quiet she wondered how anyone heard it, but James did. He glanced back at her, questioning. Waiting for her to take the lead.

She didn’t want them to fight. For one thing, she wasn’t sure James could win.

“I need to leave,” she whispered. She heard a noise from the doorway, where Mrs. Moreno lingered.

James knelt beside her and then his hands were on her, gentle and warm, helping her stand. She shuffled toward the door, her gaze fallen to the floor. She knew it was James who angled himself between her and her father, and she hated how grateful she felt. She shouldn’t have let him—she should’ve handled this. She’d been handling this, she was the only one who knew how to handle this—