Page 233 of Did They Break You

“Got nothing to say? You beat my boy bloody over a piece of used ass,” he snarls, and Cortland’s grip on my hand tightens and Van clears his throat. “Since y’all all had turns with her, I’m not so sure what the goddamn appeal is anymore.”

“Did you not hear a fucking word I said?” Van snarls.

Mr. McGowan takes a heaving breath, but he doesn’t answer my cousin.

I grind my teeth together, pressure building behind my eyes, but I’m not sad. I’m pissed. I want to say something. I want to do something. But I don’t know what. A man like this you can’t reason with.

It’s no wonder Chase is such a shit.

“My wife is gettin’ eat up by cancer and now I have to tell her my boy is in the hospital because ofyou.”He steps closer, and my eyes widen, hearing about Chase’s mom.

Cortland says nothing.

Mr. McGowan steps closer.

“You always were a spoiled little shit,” he continues. “Your mom is a cunt and your dad is a pussy, and I heard your brother tried to kill himself, too. But just like you, I guess he doesn’t have any fucking balls.”

I tighten my fingers around Cortland’s hand, his lips still pressed to the back of it.

I glance at Van, and find he’s staring at Cortland, an incredulous expression on his face. His biceps are flexed beneath his shirt, and Cortland just keeps staring at Mr. McGowan.

He steps closer.

He’s at the foot of my bed now, and he reaches a hand to my feet, beneath the sheets, a snarl on his lips.

But before he can touch me, Cortland drops my hand.

He slams Chase’s dad against the wall, away from me, his fingers wound tight in the man’s shirt. Mr. McGowan’s head bounces off the wall, then Cortland shoves his forearm against his throat, cutting off whatever bullshit he was about to spew next.

“You don’t fucking touch her,” he says, his voice low, but we can all hear him.“You don’t fucking touch her.”

I see his broad shoulders, his muscles flexed beneath his sweater. I sit up a little straighter, and I can see Mr. McGowan’s face turning red beneath Cortland’s forearm.

He’s opening his mouth, gaping, but nothing comes out.

He has his hands on Cortland’s side, but if he’s trying to push him off, I can’t tell.

“Your wife,” Cortland says in that same low tone, “she’s on oxygen, huh?”

I glance at Van, and our eyes meet for a second. He arches a brow before we turn back to them.

Mr. McGowan shakes his head, lines wrinkling in his forehead as he frowns at Cortland, his mouth still opening and closing but no sound comes out.

Cortland laughs, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

He forces his forearm tighter against Mr. McGowan’s throat.

His mouth closes, and his face turns a dangerous shade of purple.

“You might wanna get home, then,” Cortland whispers, leaning down close to him.

I feel nervous with his words, and I don’t even know why.

“It’s a weird thing, Greg,” Cortland continues, slamming his palm over Greg’s face, twisting his head to the side, his arm still lodged against his throat. “But these fires keep breaking out around here.”

I see Greg’s fingers digging into Cortland’s sweater, and he’s trying to twist his head back around, panicking now, but Cortland doesn’t seem to break a sweat, holding him there.

“Be a goddamn shame if your wife went upin fucking flames.”

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