### Chapter 6 As I descend the stairs, a whirlwind of emotions churns within me. Memories of Rachel's delicate skin marred by bruises claw at my mind, igniting a simmering rage. How could that bastard Theo have kicked her in the back? The thought sends chills racing down my spine, dragging me back to dark days of my own past. I remember hiding in the closet with my sisters, listening to the muffled cries of my mother as my father, fueled by alcohol, unleashed his fury. His voice would rise, laced with venomous insults, and no matter how hard she tried to calm him, it was always in vain. Did Rachel endure something similar? Did she plead with Theo to stop while he continued his brutal assault? My fingers clench into fists, fury surging through my veins as I wrestle with the possibility of facing this horror again. Bursting into Asher’s man cave, I pull on a pair of jeans, grabbing the long-sleeve shirt I wore yesterday—it still carries a faint hint of freshness. Perfect. Suddenly, I recall the stuff I abandoned back in my room. Damn it, I can't walk back up there right now. Rachel needs me—just a moment. Besides, seeing her adorned in my hockey jersey is a bittersweet temptation that I’m not quite ready to confront. My mind flashes to her, that stunning girl, looking irresistible with my jersey hugging her curves just right. My sweet plan for a casual morning workout evaporates as I find my way to the kitchen, walking barefoot against the cold floor. My past taunts me, creeping into my thoughts like unwanted shadows. The memory of my mother’s suffering is a nightmare etched into my mind, a reality I cannot escape. My father, a soldier returning from the chaos of war, came back a ghost of his former self. We tried everything—understanding, patience, and love. But none of it mattered; he rejected help and instead sought solace in whiskey, transforming our home into a battleground. I tried to shield my mother from his rage, but truthfully, it was her resilience that shocked me. I pleaded with her to leave him, but her persistent love always reigned over her common sense. The next morning, his tearful apologies would win her back, and she’d choose to stay… or allow him to stay. Leaning against the counter in the kitchen, relief and admiration swell inside me at the thought of Rachel's escape. This must be the first time Theo laid a hand on her. My expression falters as I reach for a glass, filling it with water, guilt bubbling up inside as I judge my mother's choices. I always felt pity for her unwavering commitment. How could she still love him after everything? I don’t comprehend why. I snap my eyes shut, attempting to shove those memories back into the locked box I created for them—my own dark memories shackled away to haunt me no more. “Hey, bro. You okay?” Casey’s voice jolts me out of my reverie. I hadn’t noticed him enter the kitchen. Now, he regards me with a questioning frown, and I quickly straighten my face, shrugging casually. “Yeah, all good.” “You look like you’re trying to crush that glass with your bare hand,” he quips, laughter underlining his words. “Rough night on the Ashman’s couch?” Taking a seat, Casey leans forward, his tattooed arms resting on the counter like art pieces on display. He’s shirtless, each inked line telling a story—not that I’m keen on tattoos myself, but they seem to suit him perfectly. He’s a canvas of rebellion, and amidst my chaos, his presence offers a light distraction. Yet his gaze remains locked onto me, intrigued as if I’m hiding some grand secret. I force a smile, masking anything more complicated. “It was fine.” I scratch the back of my neck, trying to shake off the lingering weight on my chest. “You know the guy slogs off on that couch all the time, right?” His casual tone catches me off guard, and I still, narrowing my eyes as skepticism washes over me until realization hits. “No, I did not fucking know that,” I retort, slamming the glass down onto the counter. Water spills over the rim, splattering the surface, while Casey’s eyes gleam with humor. He’s reveling in my disbelief. “Dude, the look on your face,” he howls, laughter reverberating through the kitchen. “You’re killing me.” “Not funny!” But Casey only laughs harder as he moves to the fridge. “Oh, it is, though.” “Still hate you,” I grumble, purposefully keeping my tone light despite the turmoil brewing inside. “And I will love you forever,” he tosses over his shoulder, throwing an arm around me, planting a messy kiss on my cheek before pouring himself a glass of orange juice. I can’t help but smirk as I wipe away his affectionate gesture. My smile fades the moment Rachel enters the room, her presence nearly stealing my breath away. She has changed into black leggings and a long sweater that cascades down to her mid-thigh, paired with a soft-pink scarf that softens her striking features. With her long bangs framing her face and green eyes darting between Casey and me, she looks effortlessly stunning. Damn, my insides do a flip. Even my body betrays me; a quiet longing rises within. “Hey, good-lookin’,” Casey greets her, flashing a charming smile. “Can I offer you some breakfast?” I frown, stepping past him, urgency propelling me forward. “Actually, I’m taking her out for breakfast.” Grabbing Ethan’s keys from the hook—I know he won’t mind—I guide Rachel towards the door, ignoring Casey’s hopeful “Can I come too?” and gently nudging her toward the coat rack. She wraps herself in her jacket, pulling on her boots, while I usher her out the door. I might be barefoot, but the chill doesn’t come close to registering. I’m in a race against time, certain Casey could come barreling after us in nothing but boxers. Once outside, I get the truck warmed up, and Rachel rubs her hands together, smiling slightly. “I was actually going to ask if I could have a word in private, so breakfast sounds good.” She clicks her seatbelt into place. “Where are we going?” “Taffy’s does a mean omelet. What’s your breakfast style?” “I could go for an omelet,” she replies, her closed-lipped smile making my heart ache a little more. Her eyes flicker with anticipation as she gazes out of the window. The drive to the diner is quiet, our thoughts heavy with unspoken words. I park near the entrance, leaping out to help Rachel, but she’s graceful as she descends, her long legs making the drop appear effortless. Without thinking, I take her hand, leading her toward the entrance, where her warmth ignites a small spark in my chest. She hesitates only briefly before gripping my hand tighter as we approach the counter to ask for a table. Taffy’s is a nostalgic spot in Nolan—a diner that feels alive with history, serving everyone from weary retirees to bustling young mothers. I imagined the elderly owner—at least a century old—still weaving through tables, greeting regulars with warmth that makes this place feel like home. As we settle at our booth and the cheerful waitress takes our orders, I steal glances at Rachel. She’s breathing as if she’s about to share a secret, but silence fills the space. “What did you want to talk to me about?” I prompt, fiddling with the sugar packets while she organizes the salt and pepper shakers with a nervous precision. “Don’t tell Mick.” Her voice is hushed, eyes focused on her task. “I don’t want her to know what happened.” Words stumble on my tongue, confusion flooding my mind. “But... she’s your best friend. You should tell her.” “I can’t.” She shakes her head frantically, the desperation in her tone sending a pang through me. “I don’t want anyone to know. Please…” Her eyes lift to meet mine, shimmering with urgent intensity. “If you hadn’t seen me this morning, you wouldn’t know either. Promise me, don’t say anything.” “Rachel,” I murmur, “you’re ashamed of what? You didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one at fault here.” Tears shimmer in her eyes as she begins tracing lines on the table, a pitiful sight that knots my stomach. “Rachel, look at me,” I urge, my voice softening. “Whatever you think you did, you don’t deserve to be treated this way. Nobody does. It doesn’t matter if you burned his dinner or said the wrong thing. He has no right to punch or kick you, ever.” My voice rises, the weight of my conviction pressing against the walls of the diner. There’s no justification for violence, no reason that could ever make her responsible for his actions. Tears spill down her cheeks as she bites her lips, the defiance in her posture wilting. “I understand," she whispers, her gaze now locked onto mine, full of fragility. “That’s why I ran. I wasn’t sticking around for a hollow apology.” Fear grips me tightly. What more had Theo done? My heart races, panic swirling in my gut. Had his violence escalated beyond mere beatings? Yet through her sniffles, she reveals something deeper. “But I… I fell for him. Fast and hard. I believed everything he said. It’s so humiliating. I feel pathetic.” She gasps, taking a shaky breath. “He seemed so sweet, so attentive. I moved in after just a few short weeks. I gave him everything I had.” “Hey,” I interject, desperate to quell the tide of her emotions. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. He’s the one who deceived you.” Tears continue to flow, and she wipes her face, crumpling the napkin in her fist. “But I was foolish, believing in his facade.” “No,” I insist, reaching for her hand, but she hesitates, not taking me up on the offer. “You’re not foolish. You just have a gentle heart. There are people who will take advantage, but don’t let him steal that from you.” Finally, she offers me a small smile, her fingers tentatively resting on my palm. “I’ve only known you one day, yet…” I chuckle softly, feeling a connection spark between us. “I can tell I’m going to like you a lot. I mean, I already do, but you know…” I wink, attempting to lighten the mood. “You’re gonna burrow…” “Burrow?” she tilts her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Yeah, find a place in my heart,” I confess, my words spilling out before I can catch myself. I should tread carefully—this girl just escaped an abyss, and here I am, tossing around heart metaphors like it’s the easiest thing in the world. What’s wrong with me? I shake my head internally, reeling myself back from crossing lines I’m not sure are safe. I need to tread carefully from here on out.