the rails, lifting my feet from the belt, I straddle the edges, this time giving him my attention and dropping the speed on my treadmill so I don’t end up flying into the wall. “I’m so—”
He lifts one hand to stop me and drops his speed even more with the other until he’s walking. “Don’t apologize. It is what it is. Some people are just fucked up and they shouldn’t be parents.”
“Tell me about it.”
I’m not sure why he’s sharing this with me, of all people. I like Lance well enough, but I think he tolerates me more than anything else.
“I didn’t understand how you and Charlene worked, but, uh, Poppy kind of set me straight on a few details.”
“How so?”
He rolls his shoulders. “I had it in my head that you liked to . . .” He exhales a long breath. “Hurt her.”
This time I punch the stop button. “What?”
He does the same, but instead of looking at me, his eyes are on the flashing numbers of his screen. “Like . . . hit her.”
“You think I would hit Charlene?”
He runs a rough hand through his hair. “No, like spank her and shit.”
That hot, tight feeling in the back of my neck eases up a bit. “Oh. That’s not how things are with Charlene. Despite how it may seem, she’s very . . . innocent, which I’m only starting to understand better these days.”
I’ve probably just spoken more consecutive words to Lance than I have in the past three years he’s been on the team. And my newfound understanding isn’t helping me out much, considering yesterday’s brief Facetime conversation with Charlene is the only one we’ve had in the past week.
“So, uh, based on the way you seem like you’re either trying to murder that treadmill or yourself, I’m guessing things aren’t all that good with Charlene right now.”
I grit my teeth, annoyed that I’m so transparent, and that he’s calling me out on it.
He nods, as if he understands my silence. “I don’t know how things went down for you as a kid—like, when you went to live with your grandparents or what—but I was fifteen when the beatings finally stopped. From what I know, Charlene was a teenager when she went from one fucked up situation to another. I’m not saying it’s the same thing.”
He runs both hands down his face. “Fuck. Poppy should be the one having this conversation with you. She’s a fuckton better at this. Look, what I’m trying to say is that I spent a lot of years trying to forget all the bad shit by keeping it locked up here.” He taps his temple. “I’m pretty sure some of it is blocked out, at least that’s what my therapist says, like my brain is trying to protect itself from the worst of it.”
He exhales a long breath. “Look. I know I’m rambling, but maybe it’s the same for Charlene? Or maybe it isn’t.” He rests a hand on my shoulder, his eyebrows pinched, a heavy swallow making his throat bob. “All I’m saying is that sometimes we shut ourselves off from the things we need when we’re afraid to lose them the most. We’re all kind of broken, and we all need a little saving sometimes, aye? Poppy seems to think you two are meant to save each other.” He rolls his eyes. “I sound like a fuckin’ asshole, but Poppy’s usually right about this kind of thing.” He nods, more to himself than me. “All right. Good talk, Westinghouse. I’m gonna get outta yer face now before you give me a beatdown.”
He drops his hand and walks away, leaving me to ponder what he’s said, and how much I want him to be right. Part of the reason I haven’t been pushing myself on Charlene is my uncertainty about whether I’m all that good for her. But maybe Poppy’s right and all of our broken parts do fit together.
It’s with that thought in mind that I drive to Charlene’s after my workout, with a quick stop on the way. When I arrive, Luther is posted outside the front door. He has a twin brother named Damien, and they’ve been trading off shifts this week at her house.
It’s the middle of the afternoon, and Charlene should technically be at work, but I know from Alex that she’s taken the week off. I’m also aware she hasn’t left her house since her birthday party.
Luther nods his acknowledgement as I knock.
“Charlene?”
Her muffled voice comes