Razed (Barnes Brothers #2)(75)

“The first few times . . .”

“The first few.”

She curled a hand in his shirt, wanting to shake him, hit him, scream. Something. “The first few . . . Zane, how long did all of this go on?” But she wondered why she’d even asked. She’d seen the pictures, the way he aged from barely touching puberty to hovering at the edge of manhood.

“Too long. Or maybe just long enough. I was one of the lucky ones, Keelie. I figured out how to make it stop on my own, and I did it without hurting myself.”

“How did you hide it?” She gaped at him, hardly able to believe they were having this conversation. Having this kind of conversation with this man she’d always thought was . . . smart. No. Beyond smart, but he’d done something like . . . “I don’t get it. Why hide it? How?”

“I already told you,” he said gently. “I was afraid to admit it. Ashamed. Embarrassed. I couldn’t let myself. There’s no easy answer to that, Keelie. As to how? I did it the same way I did the first—picking a fight with one or a couple of my brothers.” He shrugged. “But then . . .”

He stopped, tension creeping into his body as he moved away. She wanted to go to him, needed to. But she held herself still, arms wrapped around herself. “It happened on set once. One mom had brought her entire family—her daughter had a small part for two or three episodes. I think she was hoping one or two of her other kids would catch somebody’s eye.”

A sardonic smile curved his lips. “They did, but not the way she hoped. The oldest two were closer to my age. They were two or three years older than me. They were huge. I mean like linebacker big. They were giving Abby grief and Zach told them to leave her alone. One of them acted like he was going to push him.”

That was it, Keelie realized.

That was the one thing they couldn’t do. After all, everybody has a stopping point.

Zane’s stopping point was his family.

She hadn’t found hers so easily, and by the time she had, there had been damage done.

Rubbing her hand over her heart, she listened as he continued to speak. “He towered over Zach. Almost six feet, and he was just huge. I got in his face, told him to back the hell off. Abby was almost in tears, Zach was ready to beat on both of them. A couple of the crew members saw it, told the kids to cool off or they’d be forced to leave. The kids laughed like they were just teasing and the crew gets back to work, Abby and Zach and I go off to get more pictures—that’s the main reason I was there. Then they come at me from behind. I was outside by then and everybody is busy. One of them hit me. I remember that and then nothing for a minute or two. When I sat up, both of them were on the ground, one of them is out cold and the other one was puking his guts up. There was one of the guys who helped out in wardrobe. He looked at me and held out a hand.”

“Mr. Miyagi style?” Keelie forced a smile. “Did he turn you into the Karate Kid?”

He glanced back at her, shook his head. “No. I had to beg him not to tell my mom. He was nineteen so that probably helped. Plus . . . he’d been where I was. Knew what it was like. Told me that if I was going to make myself into a punching bag, then I either needed to learn how to take a hit better or maybe find something else to do. His name was Tony.”

“So Tony taught you how to fight?”

“Nah.” Zane shrugged. “He showed me a few things, then told me to get my skinny ass into the gym, start lifting weights—and he told me about a guy who taught martial arts. I nagged Mom for months before she let me join.”

“How old were you when that happened?” She thought of all the pictures, how many times he’d been battered.

“Fifteen.”

“And when did you stop being a punching bag? When did you stop being everybody’s victim?”

“Everybody’s victim?” He turned and looked at her. “That’s not what I was. I was the troublemaker who couldn’t leave it alone.”

“I . . .” She scowled. “I don’t get it.”


*

He could see that.

This was more than Zane had wanted to talk about, more than he’d wanted to explain. But there was no way to turn back now. Self-conscious, he went back to the laptop once more, pulled up the two files. He set up the galleries so the images could be pulled up side-by-side.

“That was Haley Klein,” he said, pointing to the girl who’d been pinned at the locker. It was weird. He could remember her name. He remembered almost all of the ones he’d captured like this. He didn’t remember the ones who’d pounded on him after. “She was in my ninth-grade English class. Super smart. Broke the grade curve. Her mom was . . . well. Her mom had a reputation. Haley got teased about it a lot. That * was saying things my mother would still smack me over—as she should. I took the pictures. That was the first time I took pictures like that. Then I put my camera up. They never even saw me, not until I blocked them from going after her. He had me up against the locker before I could even think of what to do next. I had more guts than brains at that point. He busted my lip, would have done worse but teachers showed up and he disappeared in the crowd. They asked what had happened—I lied, said somebody crashed into me and I smashed into the lockers on accident. He started threatening me, showing up wherever I was with his friends . . . and I started leaving copies of those pictures of him bothering Haley everywhere. A couple of teachers found them.”