Page 97 of Even Exchange

He looks away, leaning against the headboard. “I shot my father.” His expression is blank as he stares ahead.Noah is capable of shooting someone?His own father?

“You shot your father?” I repeat. “With… a gun?”

“Yes.”

My brain is running on overdrive. “On purpose?”

Should I be afraid of him?

The thought crushes my heart with guilt. Iknowthis man. If he shot his own father, he must have had a good reason… right?

“Yes.” He swallows hard. “On purpose.”

Did Noah want to kill him?

Did he?

“Is he… dead?” I ask.

“No.” He laughs humorlessly. “Unfortunately not.”

What the fuck is happening right now?

We sit in silence as he formulates his thoughts, and I doubt if I even know the man beside me. CanItrusthim?

“My father was abusive,” Noah finally says, wringing his hands together, and relief swarms me that it was justified. “I got my first scar from him when I was six.” He lifts his arm, showing me a small burn mark on his inner bicep.Horrendous.The relief is quickly replaced by guilt, and a gut-wrenching ache settles inside.

“Your dad did that to you?” I whisper, reaching out and dragging a finger along it. “When you weresix?” My voice cracks, in tandem with my heart, as I remove my hand.How could a father do that?Images of the twins’ smiling faces come to mind, and I want to hurl at the thought of someone hurting them.

“Yes.” He shifts on the bed. “I had forgotten to clean my room, and he thought I should be branded with a permanent reminder.” I place a hand over my mouth. Heart aching. “By the time I was ten, I’d had enough visits to the E.R. it was getting suspicious, so he’d hurt Mom when I misbehaved instead.”

“That’s terrible,” I whisper, blinking back tears.

Of everything I know about Noah, it’s devastating to me he’s been harboring all this under the surface. Alone. Portraying this sunshine persona when inside, his heart must feel black as night.

“He had always hurt her,” he says. “But it got worse after that.”Worse?“When I was fourteen, my parents were arguing in the kitchen. I don’t even remember what it was about. Something inconsequential. He was screaming at her.” His hands tremble, and I attempt to hold them steady although my own are shaking. “I couldn’t take it anymore, so I got between them. We struggled, and he dragged me to my room and threw me against my dresser.” I gasp, waves of anger crashing through me. “When I came to, I ran back out to him holding her by the throat, a gun to her head.” I suck in a breath at the thought of Luna in danger, and Noah swallows hard. “He was going to kill her.” Another tear rolls down his cheek, and I reach up, wiping it away. Moisture wells in my own eyes, and he turns to face me. “Is this too much?”

Shaking my head, I assure him, “I can handle it.”

I have to. For him.

“Are you sure?” He uses his thumb to wipe away my own escaped tear. “Because I know it’s a lot.”

I nod, squeezing his hand.Please, let me in.“Keep going.”

Noah releases a heavy sigh. “Mom knocked the gun out of his hand. I grabbed it in the shuffle, and by the time he’d shaken her off, I had it pointed his way.” I reach out, resting my hand against his face, and he leans into it. “Then I pulled the trigger.”

And he had a good reason. A terrible reason, but a valid one nonetheless.

I understand why he didn’t tell me this before. Why he keeps it locked up tight. Because if someone found this out before knowinghim, before really fully knowing who Noah Caruso is to his soul, they might not believe him. Or even worse, be afraid of him.

“I’m so sorry you went through that,” I say, and he nods, placing his hand on mine.

“I only clipped his arm, so there was a lot of blood, but he didn’t die. The cops arrested me, and I was questioned at the station.”

“You werearrested?”

“Protocol.” He shrugs. “Thankfully, they agreed it was self-defense and released me. After my father recovered, he went to jail. Mom divorced him, and that’s how she met Tony. He was our lawyer. Helped us get restraining orders and all that too.” He rolls his lips together. “I started focusing on football. Mom and I took martial arts classes, and last year we got our concealed weapons permits so no one can ever hurt us like that again.” He drags a hand down his face. “Watching her get hurt and not being able to do anything about it was the hardest part.”