“I got off easy—not even a night in jail.” Cam smiled, but there was no warmth to it. “But I couldn’t leave home for several months while it got worked out. I ended up with a year’s worth of community service at the local boys’ club and then another year’s worth of anger management. That’s what I do every Friday. My last session is in the fall. My family had to pay restitution and you don’t even want to know how much that cost. I had to stop playing soccer because of the community service gig, but… like I said, I got off easy.”

He had gotten off easy.

Just like Blaine had gotten off easy.

No. I stopped myself right there. These were two different situations—Blaine was a rapist and Cam had beaten the guy who’d beat his sister. What Cam had done was wrong. Violence should never be the answer to violence, but the guy had hurt his sister.

“I understand,” I said, and I realized that even though their situation was similar in a way, it was vastly different. And I was shocked myself. The old me—all she would’ve been able to think about was how both had gotten off because of who they were, who their parents were, and money. But I wasn’t her anymore. And sometimes good people did bad things.

His head swung to me. “What?”

“I understand why you did it.”

Cam stood. “Avery—”

“I don’t know what it says about me, but you were defending your sister and beating the crap out someone isn’t the answer, but she’s your sister and…” And if I had a brother and he’d reacted that way after what happened to me? Well, he would have been my hero, as terrible as that was. “There are some people who deserve an ass kicking.”

He stared at me.

I unfolded my legs. “And there are probably some people who don’t even deserve to breathe. It’s a sick and sad thing to say, but it’s true. The guy could’ve killed your sister. Hell, he could have beaten some other girl to death.”

Cam continued to stare at me like I’d sprouted a second nose. “I deserve to be in jail, Avery. I almost killed him.”

“But you didn’t.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Let me ask you a question. Would you do it again?”

Several seconds passed and then he said, “I still would’ve drove to his house and I would’ve hit him. Maybe not as badly, but honestly, I don’t think it would’ve changed anything. The bastard beat my sister.”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t blame you.”

“You’re…”

I shrugged. “Twisted?”

“No.” A real smile broke the tension in his face. “You’re remarkable.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”