Hopeless(44)

“Do you remember your mother?”

I pause for a moment and mull over his question. I don’t remember my mother. At all. That’s the only thing about my past that makes me sad. “Karen is my mother,” I say pointblank. “My turn. Last question, then we eat dessert.”

“Do you think we even have enough dessert?” he teases.

I glare at him, then ask my last question. “Why did you beat him up?”

I can tell by the shift in his expression that he doesn’t need me to elaborate on the question. He shakes his head and pushes his bowl away from him. “You don’t want to know the answer to that, Sky. I’ll take the punishment.”

“But I do want to know.”

He tilts his head sideways and brings his hand to his jaw, then pops his neck. He keeps his hand on his chin and rests his elbow on the table. “Like I told you before, I beat him up because he was an *.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “That’s vague. You don’t do vague.”

His expression doesn’t change and he keeps his eyes locked on mine. “It was my first week back at school since Les died,” he says. “She went to school there, too, so everyone knew what happened. I overheard the guy saying something about Les when I was passing him in the hallway. I disagreed with it, and I let him know. I took it too far and it came to a point when I was on top of him that I just didn’t care. I was hitting him, over and over, and I didn’t even care. The really f*cked up part is that the kid will more than likely be deaf out of his left ear for the rest of his life, and I still don’t care.”

He’s staring at me, but not really looking at me. It’s the hard, cold look that I’ve seen in his eyes before. I didn’t like it then and I don’t like it now…but at least now I can understand it more.

“What did he say about her?”

He slumps back in his chair and drops his eyes to an empty spot on the table between us. “I heard him laughing, telling his friend that Les took the selfish, easy way out. He said if she wasn’t such a coward, she would have toughed it out.”

“Toughed what out?”

He shrugs. “Life,” he says indifferently.

“You don’t think she took the easy way out,” I say, dropping the end of the sentence as more of a statement than a question.

Holder leans forward and reaches across the table, taking my hand into both of his. He runs his thumbs across my palm and takes in a deep breath, then carefully releases it. “Les was the bravest f*cking person I’ve ever known. It takes a lot of guts to do what she did. To just end it, not knowing what’s next? Not knowing if there’s anything next? It’s easier to go on living a life without any life left in it, than it is to just say ‘f*ck it’ and leave. She was one of the few that just said, ‘f*ck it.’ And I’ll commend her every day I’m still alive, too scared to do the same thing.”

He stills my hand between his, and it isn’t until he does this that I realize I’m shaking. I look up at him and he’s staring back at me. There are absolutely no words that can follow that up, so I don’t even try. He stands up and leans over the table, then slides his hand behind my neck. He kisses me on top of the head, then releases his hold and walks to the kitchen. “You want brownies or cookies?” he asks over his shoulder, as if he didn’t just absolutely stun me into silence.

He looks back at me and I’m still staring at him in shock. I don’t even know what to say. Did he just admit that he’s suicidal? Was he being metaphorical? Melodramatic? I have no idea what to do with the bomb he just placed in my lap.

He brings a plate of both cookies and brownies back to the table, then kneels down in front of me.

“Hey,” he says soothingly, taking my face in his hands. His expression is serene. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m not suicidal if that’s what’s freaking you out. I’m not f*cked up in the head. I’m not deranged. I’m not suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. I’m just a brother who loved his sister more than life itself, so I get a little intense when I think about her. And if I cope better by telling myself that what she did was noble, even though it wasn’t, then that’s all I’m doing. I’m just coping.” He’s got a tight grip on my face and he’s looking at me desperately, wanting me to understand where he’s coming from. “I f*cking loved that girl, Sky. I need to believe that what she did was the only answer she had left, because if I don’t, then I’ll never forgive myself for not helping her find a different one.” He presses his forehead to mine. “Okay?”