Rowan searched his face. It gave no clue to his thoughts, but she could feel his concern for her. “You’ll let me know what she says?”
Evan took her hand and squeezed it. “Of course.”
“Thank you.” It’d been a long time since she felt that someone actively had her back in her search for Malcolm. Sam and Ken had always been supportive, but this felt different.
Why?
Evan felt like a partner. More than a friend. More than someone with a file on his desk.
He continued to hold her hand and her gaze.
An unfamiliar type of hope filled her heart.
20
Rowan, twenty-five years ago
Guilt overwhelmed Rowan and she cried.
She’d tried to be strong. But the man hurt them and made Rowan and Malcolm hurt each other every single day.
She hated him.
They were outside and blindfolded. And the man was making them punch one another. Over and over. Rowan swung her arms wildly, not caring anymore how much she hit Malcolm. As long as she was hitting Malcolm, then the man wasn’t hitting her. She hated herself for hurting her brother, but her sense of self-protection was stronger.
“Harder! You’re barely touching her!” the man hollered.
It was true. Most of Malcolm’s hits hadn’t hurt at all.
Below her blindfold, Rowan caught a glimpse of the man’s boots. He wore hiking boots with red laces. She flailed her arms around again, spinning them in huge circles, landing a few punches. Not being able to see made it almost impossible to fight her brother. She tripped in the dirt but stayed upright. She wanted to win the fight. The man always picked a winner. The prize was not getting kicked in the stomach by him.
The loser got the kick.
After the man kicked her yesterday, she’d thrown up the watery soup he’d fed them.
Right now she hated Malcolm. Her big brother was supposed to protect her from people like this man. Instead, he was hitting her. She knew Malcolm had no choice, but her hate and fear bubbled in her chest.
The only thing to do was to fight back as hard as possible.
The man was in control. She and Malcolm were like puppets to him. They did everything he ordered and tried their best to make him happy. Happy wasn’t the right word; they tried to keep him from getting mad. When he got mad, things got worse. More pain. Less food. More yelling.
“This is ridiculous! You both fight like girls.”
Rowan put all her strength into hitting her brother. Her nose was running, and she could taste it in her mouth, but she didn’t care. She wanted to win.
“Stop.”
She halted midswing and stood frozen, panting. Malcolm made heavy breathing noises a few feet away.
Who won?
She knew better than to ask. One time she’d asked, and he’d said she had won but since she’d dared to ask him a question, she was now the loser.
He didn’t like questions.
Her shin had hurt for days after he kicked her with his hard boots.
Rowan brushed away the hair sticking to her cheek, hating how short it was. When she’d lost a fight two days before, the man had handed Malcolm a pair of blunt kids’ scissors and told him to cut her hair. He’d locked them back in the shed and told them they had five minutes.
Rowan had cried. She loved her long hair. Her mother would braid it or curl it on special occasions, making her feel like a princess. Cutting it had taken longer than five minutes. The scissors were dull, and Malcolm could only cut small bunches of hair at a time. Tears had run down his face as he did it. “It’ll grow back,” he repeated over and over. “We have to do what he says.”
Now she had boy hair.
But at least she hadn’t been kicked for being the loser that day.
Now, still panting, she waited for the man’s announcement of the blindfolded fight’s winner.
“You both did horrible. You’re stupid kids!”
He’s going to kick both of us.
I tried so hard.
Tears soaked the edge of her blindfold, and Malcolm sniffled.
He’s scared too.
“New game,” announced the man. “Boy, come over here.”
Relief swamped her that he’d called Malcolm instead of her, but guilt immediately followed. She didn’t want the man to hurt her brother. But when he was hurting her brother, it meant he wasn’t hurting her.
“Throw these at her,” the man ordered.
Rowan tensed. A second later, something hit the dirt off to her right. And again.
Rocks?
“Aim better!”
“I can’t see her,” Malcolm said in a tiny voice.
Rowan sucked in her breath, terrified for the sound of the slap she knew Malcolm was about to receive.