Little Lies(20)

He’s fiercely protective.

“Can I stay in here with you tonight?” I ask.

He nods and squeezes me so tight, it makes my ribs hurt, but I don’t say anything because he already feels bad enough.

There are two beds in River’s room. We’ve only had our own rooms for the past six months. We decided it was for the best because all my art supplies are a lot to handle. Plus Mom said when we get older, we’d have to have different rooms anyway, because boys need privacy and so do girls. But we left the other bed because sometimes I don’t like being in my own room by myself.

Daddy cuddles with me for a few minutes and inspects my bandaged hands and my arms. The fronts of my forearms are starting to turn colors—yellows, greens, and darker blues and purples. He takes my chin between his thumb and his finger, gaze shifting to Mommy. “That’s a pretty deep split.”

“I know. Do you think it will heal on its own?” Mommy wrings her hands, eyes wide and nervous.

He’s quiet for a few seconds before he finally answers. “Probably.” The way he breathes hard through his nose tells me it upsets him, so I say I’m sorry.

“Oh, Lavender, honey, I’m the one who’s sorry. You must have been so scared.”

“I’m okay now, though,” I say, because even though he’s right and I was scared, I don’t want River to feel worse than he already does.

Daddy tucks me into the bed next to River’s, and Mom grabs my stuffed superhero beaver. It used to be hers. He wears a cape and he’s cuddly, and she’s a grown-up, so she let me have it because I think beavers are funny animals. They’re cute but mean, and when we visit Daddy’s family and friends in Canada, we always get flat donuts coated in sugar called Beavertails.

I hug the beaver to my chest and curl up on my side, facing River. His mouth is set in a thin line, halfway to a frown. He waits for the sound of Mom and Dad’s door closing down the hall before he throws his covers off and swings his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Can I see?”

I want to tell him no, because I don’t want him to get upset all over again, but I think doing that might make it worse, so I nod. Moving makes my body hurt, and I wonder if it will be better or worse in the morning as I sit up and the covers fall away.

River turns on the lamp on the nightstand between our beds and hops up beside me. I hold my hands out so he can inspect them. He drags a finger gently across the edge of the bandage. “What’d you get cut on?”

“My fingernails,” I whisper.

His gaze lifts slowly. “You did this to yourself?”

“I guess. I didn’t know it happened until after I got out of the closet.”

“Does it hurt a lot?” His voice is soft and shaky.

“It’s not so bad.”

He tips his head to the side. “Don’t lie, Lavender.”

“My nails were too long. Mommy wanted to cut them yesterday, but I was busy painting and we forgot.” I don’t acknowledge his accusation. I don’t need to. He knows when I’m telling the truth.

She trimmed them all the way back right after my bath and filed them short, almost until there wasn’t any white left.

“Maverick feels really bad. Not as bad as me, but he was crying, and Mom and Dad grounded him.”

“They grounded him?”

Maverick doesn’t get in trouble much. He’s too busy with hockey and trying to keep up with schoolwork.

River nods. “He’s not allowed to play hockey for the rest of the weekend. You should’ve heard Daddy; he was so mad. He took Mav to his office, and I could still hear him yelling.”

Daddy and River have the same temper. Sort of. Daddy’s fuse is long, and he never yells at me. Ever. Sometimes he raises his voice with Mav and River, but not usually Robbie because he mostly does what he’s supposed to. He likes to study a lot and has a greenhouse in the backyard that he spends a lot of time in. But Mav and River get saucy, and Daddy doesn’t like it when they don’t listen to Mommy or do what she asks them to—like cleaning up their rooms and stuff. And there was the time he got mad at Mav for the way he was playing hockey. Mav got a penalty for fighting, and Daddy said he was a better player than that. We use our brains to solve our problems and not our fists.

I feel bad, though, because Maverick was right. I always hide in one of three spots, and usually under River’s bed. But I’d already hidden in all three, and Mav is good at finding me, so I did something different this time.

I want to ask about Kodiak, but I don’t want to make River more upset. Sometimes they don’t get along, and I know it’s because of me. Kodiak and I understand each other. We both have worry monsters that live inside us. He likes to be perfect at everything. Sometimes when he makes mistakes, he can’t handle it. That’s when the monster inside gets so big, it takes over.

Even though we’re twins, River doesn’t understand what that’s like. He wants to, but he can’t, and that makes him angry.

“Is everyone else okay?” I ask.

River shrugs. “Mostly. Lovey and Lacey were really upset and wanted to see you before they left. BJ too. Kody had a big meltdown ’cause Daddy was so angry.”

A spike of panic makes my throat tight.

“He was okay before they went home, though. I know he was just trying to help,” River rushes on, his eyes darting away for a second. “Everyone was okay, just worried about you and feeling bad ’cause you got stuck.”