"He never laid a hand on Jake. Never yelled at him. Why? I don't know. But I didn't care, as long as he never touched him. That was all that mattered. I didn't want Jake to end up like me—like this." I gesture to myself, to the broken pieces I've become.

She still doesn't look away. Her eyes stay locked on me, and there's something in them—something I can't put words to. It's not pity or fear. It's like she sees all of me, even the parts I've tried to hide, and she's still looking at me like I'm something whole, not the broken mess I know I am.

"The only thing football was good for was that I naturally got stronger. When I started fighting back, it infuriated him, but some sadistic part of him loved it. And when he couldn't hurt me physically anymore, he found other ways." I pause, my throat tightening around the words I never thought I'd say aloud. "He broke mom instead."

The confession hangs in the air between us, heavy with years of guilt and pain. I hate talking about this, hate reopening wounds that never really healed. Because they come with memories I've tried to keep buried—the screams, the tears, the sickening sound of flesh on flesh or glass shattering. The way mom would sacrifice herself to save me from the brutal beatings, closing their bedroom door and telling me to go to sleep. It'd make me physically sick, knowing what she put on the line just so he wouldn't kill me with his fists.

Nora's hand tightens around mine. "Nate, I'm so sorry."

"I wanted to leave, Nora. So many times, I wanted to just pack up and run, but I couldn't leave them. If I did, he'd..." I stop myself from voicing the worst-case scenario. "I was the only thing keeping him in check."

She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't have to. The silence between us is full of understanding.

"That's why you got caught with the drugs at school? You did it on purpose, so you'd have to stay behind." She pauses, her eyes searching mine. "That's why you weren't at the funeral?"

I don't answer, but my silence is enough.

Her eyes have become more intense because she's fighting back her own tears.

"Does your mom know that's the reason you got kicked out? Does Jake?"

I laugh, but there's no humor in it.

"Mom always had this idea that football and a college scholarship could fix everything. Like it would somehow make him stop, like he'd finally love me if I succeeded." My jaw tightens. "And Jake puts our dad on a pedestal where he can do no fucking wrong. But Scott only cares about one thing. Power. That and upholding the Sullivan name. He'd prefer me gone but not without the Ivy League degree and football trophies to brag about."

Her hand slips to my cheek again, turning my face toward her.