“He had to run a quick errand.” I look at the gas can. “You know you’ll get in big trouble for that.”
“It’s my house.”
“It’s still arson, Liam.”
“I should be able to do whatever the fuck I want with it.”
I get up and peek through the window. “What a coincidence the house was for sale when you had the money to buy it.”
“It wasn’t for sale.”
“Then I’m confused.”
“I contacted the owners a few months ago, when the money started rolling in. I told them I wanted to buy it. They weren’t interested in selling, but I kept upping the offer.” He laughs sadly. “I paid them way more than its value, but it’ll be worth it to see it burn.”
I cringe and hope I can change his mind. “Where did you sleep last night?”
He pounds the floorboards next to him.
“You haven’t gone inside?”
He shakes his head. “I haven’t been inside since the day Luke died.”
I hold out my hand. “How about I go in with you.”
“I’m not taking you into my nightmare, El.”
“In my experience, things aren’t as scary when you do them with a friend.”
He picks up the empty bottle and looks at it as if he wishes it were full, then throws it in the yard. He stands and reaches for the gas can.
I intercept. “Let’s leave it here for now.”
“Maybe you should go.”
“I’m not leaving, Liam. Not unless you force me to.”
He looks sick. “I’d never force you to do anything.”
I take his hand. “I know.”
He fishes around in his pocket and pulls out a key, letting it dangle from his finger. I take it from him and unlock the door and push it open. He doesn’t move.
“It’s only a house, Liam. It can’t hurt you. Not anymore.”
He takes a step inside, squeezing my hand so hard it hurts. We stand in the living room, and he glances around. “It seems a lot smaller.” He takes me into the kitchen. “They painted it. It used to be yellow.” He lets go of my hand, moves to the sink, and puts his mouth under the faucet, drinking for a long time.
I follow him as he walks through the dining room and back into the living room. He looks at the stairs for a drawn-out moment, then puts a reluctant hand on the banister. His knuckles go white as he climbs the first steps. On the landing, he looks down the hallway, the skin around his eyes bunching. I instantly know which room is his, because he looks ill as he stares at it.
He touches the wall to the right, running his hand along it. “This was Luke’s room.”
He stands in the doorway to the room across from Luke’s. His breathing becomes heavy and labored. His jaw gets tight. Squaring his shoulders, he punches a hole in the door. Blood trickles from his already bruised and battered knuckles.
Slowly, quietly, he crosses to the center of the room and collapses on the floor. He shakes violently and sweats. I fear he’s on the verge of a panic attack, but when I go to him, he pushes me away. “Don’t touch me,” he says scathingly. “Not here.”
I step back, horrified at the memories that must be assaulting him.
“Dirk was right. I’m fucked up. I’ll always be fucked up. I-I allowed it to happen. I even liked it in some sick and twisted way. I never said no, never asked him to leave. I”—his head slumps into his hands—“I fucking got off.”
I fall to my knees next to him. “You were eleven, Liam. It’s not your fault.”
“I should have known it was wrong. What kind of sick kid thinks his father doing those things is okay?”
“You loved him once. He was an authority figure. It’s normal to do what our parents tell us to do, even if we don’t think it’s right.”
“I was a victim then, and I’m a goddamn victim now. I’m too much of a coward to stand up for myself.”
“You stood up for yourself last night.”
“I mean the video. I was kidding myself. I can’t release it. I can’t have everyone knowing.”
“I think it will be the opposite. People will commend you for being strong.”
“But they’ll look at me differently. The poor kid who was fucked by his father.”
I try not to react. Is he speaking literally or figuratively? He hasn’t provided details, so I don’t know the extent of the abuse he suffered. I was hoping it didn’t go further than touching, as