Page 43 of Even in the Dark

I don’t answer, but then he repeats it, leaning right in so we make eye contact.“Alright?”

I nod, ducking to rest my forehead against my clenched fists between my knees. I hear the car door close and Phil locking it, then muffled conversations outside. Everyone talking at once. Raised voices.

Then Phil’s calm voice. Steady. Confident.

A few minutes pass. The voices all get quieter.

Another five minutes.

Then the driver’s side door opens and Phil slides into his seat. I don’t look up, but I hear him let out a slow breath.

Finally, he speaks. “You okay?”

And I am so fucking confused. None of his reactions to anything make sense. I never know what the right move is. What I’m supposed to say. Where my possible answers to him will lead. I just threw some stranger’s iPhone across a parking lot. Now he’s asking if I’m okay?What the hell?

“Dylan?” Phil’s voice is even softer this time, and I feel his hand rest on my shoulder.

My head snaps up. “What?” I yell, shoving his hand off. “What the fuck do you want me to say? I don’t know what you want me to say!”

He jerks back, eyes round and stunned.

I drag my hands through my hair and drop my head back against the headrest.

“I want you to tell me how you’re feeling,” Phil says, still calm, even after everything I just threw at him. So fucking sincere.

“Why? Why does it matter how I feel? What difference will it make to anything?”

“Because.” He swallows. “If I know how you feel, then I can get a better idea of how I can help you… And how to make all of this easier for you.”

Why does everything he says seem like it might be a trap?

I cannot let myself fall into another trap.

“Dylan, look… I realize you don’t know me. And that you probably don’t trust me—that you have every reason not to trust me. And I can’t change the things that made you that way. Or say anything that will make you realize how sorry I am for what happened… But I am here now, and I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care about some girl’s cellphone, or a hole in the bathroom wall… It isn’t about that. Destroy the entire house if it’ll help you feel better—if that’s what you need to do. I still won’t turn my back on you. And I sure as hell will never,ever,lay a hand on you.” He waits a beat. Probably for me to look at him. When I don’t, he drops his voice. “Nothing you do will ever make me not want you.”

I keep my head tipped back but shift my gaze to meet his eyes. “That a challenge?”

I sort of mean those words, too. I need to know what it takes to make him lose it. Wasn’t lying about that baseline. Finding out what his limits are—and how hard he retaliates when he’s pushed past them—that’s information I need to know. Also, he’s known me for a couple weeks, and I’ve barely dialed anything up beyond a low two. He hasn’t seen me at my worst. Hasn’t even seenmybaseline. He’ll be eating his words as soon as he does.

“No Dylan, it’s a promise,” he says. “That I will be here for you, no matter what. You don’t have to fight alone anymore.”

My stare slices back to the car ceiling. “Thought you didn’t believe in fighting.”

“I said I don’t believe in violence.”

He’s doing it again—messing with my head. I don’t even know what he means by that.

“Like with those girls just now,” he explains. “You didn’t need to lash out at them. I would have dealt with them. Or at the very least, helped you handle the situation.”

I let out a huff. No way I’m letting someone like him handle anything for me. Him or anyone else.

“I need you to understand that, son,” he says. “You are not alone. You’ve got a lot of people in your corner now. Not just me. But Diane and your sisters. Even Chloe”—he chuckles—“who might not seem like it right now, because she’s thrown off by not being the oldest anymore. And you have grandparents on your side now, too… who I had to fight off from coming up to visit as soon as you got home. And the aunts and uncles you’ll meet soon. And all our friends… they’re all rooting for you.”

He’s not as smart as he thinks, because those people aren’t rooting for me—they’re rooting forhim. They’re rooting for him to hold it together while he deals with a kid who turned out to be a punk who steals and lies and fights off cops with his fists but can’t even pass grade five math. Who can’t follow along with any of their dinner discussions. Who didn’t even realize he was being made a fool of forfourteen fucking years.

No one roots for a guy like that.

Phil must see the doubt in my eyes, because he doubles down. “If you don’t want to open up to me, I wish you would talk to Diane, at least. She’s a good listener, and she wants to be there for you… It might not seem like it all the time, on the surface—but she wants so much to connect with you, Dyl.” He leans backin his seat. “She’s the one who researched psychologists… stayed up past midnight for nights on end looking up information and checking referrals and calling around. She found your tutor. She talked to the school. Diane chose the colors for your room and agonized over it because she wanted it to be just right, but she also wanted to make sure there was enough room left for you to add your own stuff. Put up your own posters or whatever.” He sighs. “She just isn’t sure all the time how to act around you. And she worries about the girls… How to help them adjust to suddenly having a new brother and that sort of thing.”

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