Mature content: strong language, violence, sexual themes, and drug use. Reader discretion advised. Everything is fictional!!
Aaron
The house smells like old beer and something sour I don't want to identify.
Empty bottles litter the counter, some tipped over, sticky rings dried into the wood like scars. One's smashed near the sink, glass swept into a lazy pile that no one bothered to throw out. The TV's still on, low static humming under a frozen frame of some late-night show.
I move through it on autopilot.
Pick up bottle. Dump it. Rinse. Repeat.
This is what my mornings look like now. Cleaning up after him like it's my job. Like it's always been my job. My arm aches when I lift it, a dull throb that flares every time I twist wrong. Purple and yellow bruise wrapped around my bicep like a reminder I can't escape.
Dad's passed out in his room. Door half open. I don't look inside.
I don't need to.
I already know what I'll see. Big body collapsed into the mattress. Mouth open. One arm dangling uselessly over the edge. A man who used to be strong enough to lift bikes on his own and now can barely lift himself.
Once, he was loud in a different way. Laughing. Teaching me how to ride. How to fix an engine. How to hold my ground.
Now he's just loud when he's angry.
I shove another bottle into the trash harder than necessary. It clinks, sharp and final. My jaw tightens.
I tell myself I'll leave as soon as this place looks normal again. Like that's possible.
Voices cut through the quiet.
At first I think I imagined it. Then I hear it again. Outside. Raised. Female. Angry.
Lexi.
I freeze.
Then I hear Tyler.
My stomach drops before my brain catches up.
I move toward the front door just as it swings open.
They're there on the steps. Tyler's grip firm on Lexi's wrist, not rough but not gentle either. She looks pissed. Hair a mess. Makeup smudged like she didn't bother checking the mirror. There's a faint red mark where someone grabbed her earlier. Not Tyler. I know that much instantly.
Tyler looks like hell too. Shadows under his eyes. Jaw tight. Shirt wrinkled like he pulled it on without thinking. Still smells faintly like beer and gasoline.
"What the fuck is this?" I snap before I can stop myself.
They both look up.
Lexi yanks her arm free. "Aaron—"
"What are you doing here?" I say, eyes locked on Tyler.
He straightens slightly, irritation flashing across his face. "Bringing your sister home."
"I didn't ask you to, I could—"
"No," he says flatly. "You didn't. But someone had her cornered outside my job."
Lexi rolls her eyes. "It wasn't like that."
I look at her properly then. The way she's swaying just a little. The way her mouth is set too tight. The way she won't meet my eyes.
"Lex," I say quietly. "Are you okay?"
She scoffs. "Don't start."
Tyler lets out a breath, clearly done with this already. "She's fine. Just pissed. Which seems to be her default."
I step forward, anger rising hot and fast. "You don't get to talk about her like that."
"And you don't get to pretend you actually watch out for her," Tyler fires back. "Someone has to."
That lands.
Hard.
I clench my fists. Pain shoots up my arm but I don't react. "You dragged her here like she's your responsibility."
"She was making stupid choices," he snaps. "Again."
Lexi spins on him. "I didn't ask you to save me!"
"You didn't have to," Tyler says. "You were being grabbed, Lexi."
Silence.
She looks away.
That's all the confirmation I need.
My chest tightens. "Who?"
"Doesn't matter," Tyler says. "He's gone."
I look back at him, really look. The tension in his shoulders. The way his eyes flick to the window, like he's checking for movement. Like he didn't just dump her here and leave. Like he made sure.
I hate that.
"Get off my porch," I say coldly.
Tyler's jaw flexes. "Gladly."
Lexi turns toward the door. "I'm not staying either, just grabbing some of my shit."
"No," I say instantly. "You're not going anywhere, get inside."
She glares at me. "You don't get to control me."
"I get to keep you out of whatever the hell this is. Inside, now." I snap, gesturing at the house behind me.
Tyler steps back, hands up slightly. "I'm out. She's your problem now."
"Wasn't she always?" I shoot back.
His eyes darken. "Watch it."
"For what?" I laugh bitterly. "You already won. The race. The crowd. The fucking podium. Now what? Trying to get my sister too?"
Something sharp flickers across his face, gone just as fast. "This isn't about that."
"Everything is about that," I say.
Lexi groans. "Jesus Christ, you two are exhausting."
Tyler looks at her one last time. "Exhausting is what you've been doing to yourself."
She doesn't answer.
He turns and walks away, steps heavy against the dirt. Doesn't look back.
I stand there, chest heaving, watching him disappear down the path between trailers.
Lexi brushes past me into the house. "You're such an asshole."
"Funny," I mutter. "I was thinking the same thing."
The door shuts behind us with a hollow thud.
And the house feels smaller than ever.
Lexi drops her shoes by the door and storms into the kitchen like nothing just happened. Like she wasn't five seconds away from something ugly out there. She grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, twists it open, drinks half in one go.
I stand there, staring at her back.
"Sit," I say.
She laughs. Not amused. Defensive. "I'm fine."
"I didn't ask," I snap. "Sit the fuck down."
She turns, eyes flashing. "Don't talk to me like you're Dad."
The words hit harder than they should.
I run a hand through my hair, pacing once before stopping in front of her. "You think I want to sound like him? You think I like this?"
"You love it," she shoots back. "Playing the hero. Acting like you get to decide what I do."
"I don't want to decide," I say. "I want you safe."
She scoffs. "From what? Guys? Life? You?"
"From men who grab you," I say quietly.
That makes her flinch.
She looks away, jaw tight. "It wasn't that serious."
"Lexi."
"I handled it," she insists. "Tyler didn't need to get involved, but I guess he helped too."
My chest tightens at his name. "Oh, so now you're defending him."
She rolls her eyes. "At least he showed up. He was there."
I freeze. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," she says slowly, carefully, "that when shit happens, he doesn't look the other way."
I laugh once, sharp and humorless. "You mean the same Tyler who fucks you and then pretends you don't exist the next day?"
Her head snaps up. "That's not fair."
"It's accurate," I fire back. "He doesn't care about you."
"Yes, he does," she says immediately. Too fast.
I step closer. "Lexi, he cares about winning. About himself. About getting under the skin of people."
She shakes her head. "You're obsessed with him."
"Because he's a problem," I say.
"No," she says. "Because you want him to be."
Silence stretches between us, thick and ugly.
She exhales, shoulders dropping. "You don't get it, Aaron."
"Then explain it to me."
She hesitates. Then shrugs, like giving up. "I don't want to be here. Okay? I don't want to be in this house, cleaning bottles and pretending everything's fine while he drinks himself into the floor."
My eyes flick toward the hallway. Toward Dad's door.
"He's sick," I say, automatically.
"He's violent," she snaps. "And you stand there and take it like it's your responsibility."
"It is my responsibility," I say. "He's my dad and you're my sister."
"And I didn't ask you to sacrifice your whole life for me, or him or this fucked up family."
The words land deep. Twist.
"You think I'm doing this for fun?" I say, voice low. "You think I like worrying every time you don't come home?"
She softens for half a second. Then hardens again. "I don't come home because this place feels like a trap."
"So you run to Tyler?" I ask bitterly.
"I run anywhere that doesn't feel like this," she says.
That shuts me up.
She steps back. "And before you say it, yeah, I know he pisses you off. But he doesn't yell at me. He doesn't grab me. He doesn't make me feel small."
My throat tightens. "You think he's better than the others? Better than me?"
She hesitates.
That hesitation hurts more than a yes.
"I'm tired," she mutters. "I don't want to fight."
She turns and walks down the hall. Her bedroom door slams. A second later, music explodes through the thin walls. Bass heavy. Loud enough to drown out thoughts.
Loud enough to pretend nothing exists.
Including Dad.
I stand there, alone in the kitchen, listening to the noise. To the hum of the fridge. To the faint sound of Dad's uneven breathing down the hall.
I sink into one of the chairs, rubbing my face with my hands.
I know I said I hated her but..
I love her. God, I love her so much it hurts.
And I hate that I can't protect her from this place. From him. From herself.
My mind drifts, unwanted, to Tyler. To the way he stood there, solid, pissed, still making sure she got home. To the way he defended her without even thinking.
I clench my jaw.
I don't trust him.
But I trust this situation even less.
And that scares the shit out of me.