Butterflies & Vicious Lies (Fractured Rhymes Book 1)

WHEN I WAS SIXTEEN, I made a promise that I would protect Paxton from Adrian no matter what. I did it knowing all the collateral damage and blood would be on my hands, and I would be losing the only boy I ever loved in the process. It broke my heart into a thousand shards of glass doing it, and with every beat, those pieces sliced me a little deeper, but it’s something I’d do again. Whatever pain I felt didn’t matter, not really, because easing Paxton’s pain was always my priority. I could bear anything as long as he was safe.

Safe.

That doesn’t feel like the appropriate word to use right now. Not when I’m currently trying to keep up with Rafferty’s hurried steps as we follow a nurse to Pax’s room.

I may have saved Pax from Adrian, but I couldn’t save him from the residual trauma that haunts him. Being the whistleblower meant I couldn’t be there to help him heal, no matter how much I wanted to be. The weight of that guilt on my chest is suffocating. I can’t stop the voice in my head telling me that had I been there, this could have possibly been avoided.

The rational side of my brain keeps reminding me of two crucial things, and those are the only reasons I’m not succumbing to the voice in my head.

The first thing I know without a doubt is, even if I had fought like hell to stay for Pax, Rafferty never would have let me near him. Which would have been a fair reaction given he only knew the part of the story where I betrayed his trust and set the spark for his mother’s demise. If I were him, I wouldn’t have wanted me to be around either. The second is, had I been there for Pax like I wanted to be, whatever help I could have offered him wouldn’t have been the kind of help he really needs. The trauma he’s experienced requires the kind of help that is outside of my capabilities. He needs a professional.

I don’t know if he’s reached a point where he’s realized that for himself yet, but until he does, I’ll continue to support him in any way I can. And if he does ask for more help, I’ll hold his hand through that as well. We’re on his time frame until then. He has to decide when he’s reached his limit.

The nurse dressed in dark maroon scrubs stops at a wooden door with a long narrow window in it and turns to us. “He was given a mild sedative when he first got here to calm him down. It should be wearing off shortly.”

She waits for Rafferty to bow his head in dismissal before walking to the nurses’ station close by. Her rubber shoes squeak against the polished tiled floor as she leaves.

I glance at Raff, hoping to catch his eye, but like on the tense ride here, he refuses to look at me. The entire car ride here, he kept his head straight, and since we’ve been at the hospital, he’s acting like I’m not even here.

This is bringing up memories and emotions I’m sure he’d rather keep buried, but I can feel him pulling away from me. The vicious energy that rolls off him like a thick fog reminds me of how he was when we first reunited.

Wordlessly, he turns the handle and slips inside. Following a few steps behind him, I close the door softly behind me and move slowly into the cold room that smells of antiseptic.

The aroma reminds me of when I flew home for that week following my dad’s accident. Other than to eat and shower, I didn’t leave my dad’s side. He was in a coma, and we didn’t yet know the extent of his brain damage, but I needed him to know that I was there for him. I was eventually forced to go back to New York, and that’s when Aunt Jo stepped in for me.

Unlike my dad, who was connected to more tubes and wires than I could count, the only thing attached to Paxton’s sleeping form is a single saline drip. I won’t say it out loud because it will only piss off Rafferty, but all things considered, Pax got lucky. His overdose could have been exponentially worse than it was. Every day there are people who aren’t as fortunate.

His skin is a little gray and the circles under his eyes are intense, but other than that, he looks physically okay. Mentally is a whole other conversation to be had.

I don’t know how long that will last, though. Sooner or later, he’s going to start to feel the painful effects of withdrawal, and that’s when he’s going to need to decide what he wants to do. Either get help or continue down his current path.

Staying close to the far wall to give him space, I watch Rafferty approach the side of the hospital bed. His face is cold and stony, lacking all signs of emotion until his hand wraps around Pax’s tattooed forearm. He cracks, the crushing reality that he almost lost his brother tonight slamming into him. Chest heaving with deep breaths, his eyes close and he hangs his head.

He stands there holding on to his baby brother while no doubt feeling a series of undeniably painful things.

The sight has my eyes burning and tears forming.

“Raff…” His name hoarsely falls from my lips before I can stop it.

My voice pulls him from whatever he’s just lost himself to. His head snaps in my direction and his eyes burn with a familiar hatred. It instantly has my stomach rolling and nausea bubbling in my throat. With a single look, I can feel all the things I’ve recently gotten back being torn from me.

I’m going to lose him again.

“I can’t believe it took my brother almost dying for me to realize how fucking blind I’ve been.” He drops Pax’s arm and turns away from the bed. For the first time since he got the phone call, all his attention is on me, and I don’t like it. Not now. Not this kind of attention. “I did what they said. I tried to let go. I started to fucking forgive you.” He spits the words at me like they’re laced with poison. “I allowed myself to feel happy. For a second there, I really thought I was too, but now I know they were more lies. I fell for your lies. Again.”

Tears falling down my face, I shake my head. “You don’t mean that.” He’s reeling and letting the hurt and anger seep back in.

“Yes, I do,” he snaps, rounding the bed and heading toward me. I take a step back on reflex, but my back immediately presses to the wall. “I let myself get distracted by you and how good it felt to be with you again. You made me lose focus, but I’m seeing you for what you are again.”

“Rafferty.” As a last-ditch effort to keep some distance between us, I hold my arm out in front of me. “Stop. You have to stop and listen to me—”

He slaps my hand away, cutting me off and making me flinch from the sharp pain.

“I don’t have to listen to a fucking word that comes out of your mouth.” Just like he did that night with the pocketknife, his forearm crushes into my jugular as he holds me captive against the wall. His breathtakingly handsome face has a haunting mixture of fury and anguish on it as he leans in close to sneer at me. “You took my mother away from me, and now? You almost took my brother away too. It’s your fault that he’s here. It’s your fault that he’s using. He has to numb the pain that you caused our family!”

Each word he throws at me is like a knife piercing into my chest. What hurts more is I can’t correct him. I can’t tell him the truth. I have to silently absorb every painful word because that’s the promise I made to Pax, and I’m not going to break it now just because it’s hurting me.

“Enough. It’s not her fault…”

Every ounce of air is trapped in my lungs when Pax’s voice comes from behind us. Rafferty freezes in place when he hears his brother, and the pressure on my throat eases. Icy fear snakes through my veins when he turns his head and Pax speaks again.

“It’s not her fault. None of it is,” Pax repeats, this time a little stronger as the sedation further leaves his system.

Rafferty’s moved just enough that I’m able to look into Pax’s sad eyes over his shoulder.

My head shakes at him stiffly. “Pax. Don’t.” You don’t have to say anything you’re not ready to so you can help me. I’m fine. I can take it.

With slow, rigid movements, he pulls himself into a sitting position on the bed. “It’s time, P. You’ve lied for me long enough. You have to tell him the truth.”

My stomach drops and my skin grows cold.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Rafferty snaps, his head whipping back to me. “What the fuck is he talking about?”

I ignore him, keeping my focus on his brother. “Paxton,” I urge him harder this time.

But he doesn’t listen to me. “You have to tell him the truth.” A somber look appears on his exhausted face. “You’ve protected me long enough. I can’t let you keep doing it. It’s not fucking fair to you anymore. Look what it’s doing to you guys… These secrets are going to end up killing all of us if we don’t tell him.”

Rafferty’s nostrils flare and the pressure returns to my throat. “Start fucking talking. What does he mean you protected him?”

It’s right there on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to say it. It’s still Pax’s story to tell, and not mine. Tilting my chin, I stare blankly up at him with my lips pressed flatly together. My strong, unwavering facade doesn’t last long because every ounce of my resolve melts from my bones when Pax speaks again.

“She turned the video of Dad beating you over to the police because I asked her to.”

“What?” Rafferty asks, head shaking in disbelief. “No, you didn’t. Why would you lie about something like that?”

My eyes squeeze closed and hot tears run down my face. I slump against the wall and don’t bother straining against Rafferty’s hold any longer. The only thing I can do is accept what is about to happen.

“I’m not lying to you. I begged her to help me, and she gave Mr. Davenport the video. It was the only way to get Dad to stop.”

Dad had been confused why I’d held on to the evidence of Adrian’s actions for so long when I brought it to him. He understood a little better when I explained that Rafferty made me promise not to tell a soul. The story I’d spun for him was that Pax had shown up that night upset over what was happening to his older brother. I told Dad that we had both decided it was time to put a stop to it. The next morning, Dad was in the judge’s office getting an arrest warrant for Adrian Blackwell. Twelve hours after that, I was standing in the rain watching him getting escorted out of his house in handcuffs. It happened so fast, I barely had time to breathe.

Rafferty, dumbfounded, drops his hold on me and spins to face his brother. “How did you know…” He trails off, shaking his head. He really thought that whole time that no one in his house knew what was happening in his dad’s office. Pax knew for a long time, and I have to assume that on some level, Mollie did too. “I had it handled. I was fine. I didn’t need help.”

The column of Pax’s tattooed neck shifts as he swallows hard. “But I did, Raff. I needed help making him go away.” His eyes that look so much like Raff’s fill with immense sadness and guilt. “I know you were trying to protect me all those years, and I wish I could tell you that it worked and Dad never … touched me.” He all but chokes on those words. “But I can’t. I can’t tell you that because when he was done with you, he would show up in my room.”

Not giving his brother a chance to ask any further questions, Pax turns awkwardly in the bed and pulls the shoulder of his green hospital gown down. He’s covered many of the bite marks with tattoos in the years since I left, but the ridges of Adrian’s teeth marks are still visible through the ink. I honestly don’t know how Pax has managed to keep the scars a secret from Raff all this time. It had to have been difficult for him.

It’s not my pain or my trauma that I had to live through, but my soul hurts like it is at the sight of his scars. It hurts just as much as it did when he first showed me, if not more. The fact he went through it alone as long as he did never should have happened.

None of this should have fucking happened.

The fight physically deflates from Rafferty’s tall frame as he staggers back a step. All of the color has faded from his face, and he looks like he’s going to be sick.

“When did this happen? Wh—why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped you, Pax.” The brokenness in Raff’s voice is something I’ve never heard. There’s no rough edge or anger in it. This time, there’s only agony.

He’s in agony.

“I was too ashamed,” he admits, staring at the wall he’s still facing. “I didn’t know how to.”

Raff’s hand covers his mouth, and his eyes shut like he can’t bring himself to look at the scars left by his father any longer. After a long pause, his hand falls limply back to his side. “You don’t have anything to be ashamed of. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t either of our faults that he left these marks on our skin.”

Pax stiffly turns to face his brother again. I watch as he fights to keep eye contact with him, but ultimately, he has to look at his tattooed hands when he speaks. “I wasn’t ashamed of the bite marks, Raff. I was ashamed of what he was doing to me while he left them.”