Page 95 of Boots & Scars

We stepped out into the cold night, the crisp air biting at my exposed skin. The silence between us stretched, uncomfortable and heavy.

"Dad know?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Damien's eyes flicked to me, then away, his jaw tightening.

I sighed, feeling a knot tighten in my chest. The weight of his silence spoke louder than any words could. I turned my gaze away, staring into the darkness as we walked towards the parking lot.

There it was, Damien's car—a sleek, black Ferrari that looked like it belonged in a high-speed chase rather than a quiet small town street. The body gleamed under the streetlights, its curves and angles giving it an almost predatory look. It was low tothe ground with wide tires that hinted at its power. The tinted windows hid the interior from view, adding to its mysterious allure.

Damien unlocked the car with a click of his key fob. The doors swung open smoothly, inviting us inside. I slid into the passenger seat, sinking into the plush leather that felt like a stark contrast to the hard bench I'd been sitting on moments before.

The interior was as luxurious as the exterior suggested—soft leather seats, polished chrome accents, and a dashboard that looked more like an airplane cockpit with all its dials and switches. Damien slipped behind the wheel with practiced ease, his movements fluid and controlled.

As he started the engine, a low purr filled the car—a sound that spoke of raw power held in check. He pulled out of the parking lot with a smoothness that belied the car's potential for speed.

We drove in silence for a while, the town lights flashing by in a blur. I couldn't help but steal glances at Damien, trying to read his expression. But his face remained impassive, his eyes focused on the road ahead.

The hum of the engine filled the silence between us, an unspoken tension lingering in the air. Damien’s eyes flicked to me, curiosity shadowing his gaze.

"Is it true?" he asked, breaking the silence.

I ticked my jaw, a habit when irritation clawed at my patience. "Ashley’s a fucking liar?—"

"I don’t mean her," Damien cut in, his voice smooth but firm. "About the freshman."

I glanced at him, trying to read his expression through the dim light. "What about her?"

"That you beat the shit out of a group of frat boys," he said, his tone even.

I nodded once, no point in denying it. "I don’t think I did enough damage," I replied. "Not after what they did to her."

Damien grunted, a non-committal sound that neither condemned nor approved.

"Holly was there," I said, glancing sideways at him. The eight-year gap between us made it hard to stay in touch, but I knew Holly meant something to him.

"Yeah, well, Everly is Holly’s best friend," he said.

"You keep up with her?" I asked, genuinely curious.

His silence told me more than words could.

"Well, she took a nasty gash to the forehead," I said after a moment.

"She what?" Damien's voice dropped low, an edge of concern threading through his usual calm demeanor.

"A gash," I repeated. "Had to get stitches."

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. For a moment, I saw past the cool exterior to the brother who once fiercely protected those he cared about.

The road stretched out before us, and for the first time in years, our silence felt less like a chasm and more like a bridge.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, watching the city lights blur past us.

"Where do you want to go?" Damien's eyes flicked to me before returning to the road.

"The hospital," I said, feeling the weight of my words settle between us.

He nodded, his face unreadable in the dim light of the dashboard.

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