“Which is it this time? You pick a fight with some random asshole, or is your dad drunk again?” Dash asks once we hear the car door slam shut.
“The latter.”
“Does he look like you?” He gestures to his bloody appearance.
A devious smirk lifts the corner of his lips. “Worse.”
“Good,” Dash says solemnly. He hates this just as much as I do. It’s the most helpless feeling in the world, standing by and watching something so awful happen to someone you care deeply for, and not being able to do a damn thing about it. As much as I hate the thought of him leaving, I feel so much relief in knowing that there’s now an end in sight. “Call me tomorrow. I gotta take a piss.”
The moment my brother is out the door, Asher’s guilt-ridden eyes dart over to mine. “This was a mistake.”
“Bullshit,” I argue, moving toward him.
“Don’t,” he says, backing away, and I die inside, just a little.
And before I can pick my stupid, naïve heart up off the floor and form a response, he’s gone.