Fight For Her

Prologue

The knock at the door pulls me away from the television. It's late; too late for us to have any guests. I turn down the volume, being the only one downstairs, and debate whether to open the door or wait for whomever it is to knock often enough to wake my parents. The latter option presents itself first when heavy footsteps run down the stairs, and then my dad appears downstairs, his figure a silhouette against the late-hour darkness.

"Who's knocking?"

"Maybe Max forgot his key," I say.

But the moment my dad opens the door, time stops for all of us. A man dressed in blue walks into our house, his face sorrowful. They are speaking so quietly I can't make out a single word but I'd have to be pretty dense not to realize something seriously bad has happened.

The way my father's expression falls and his face turns white makes goose bumps rise on my skin, and the strain in his voice as he calls for my mom makes my hands shake.

Why is Max not home? Why is there a cop here with his hat respectfully held in his hands and not in place on his head? Why does my dad appear like he's about to cry?

My mom comes down the stairs with the same worried look on her face that I have on mine. My dad talks to her, holding her calmly while he speaks.

For a second after he finishes, it looks as though his arms around her is the only thing holding her up. But then he starts talking to her again, his expression sterner as he speaks. Then their eyes suddenly land on me, and the second I meet their gaze, I know what happened.

Max is gone. My brother is gone.

Suddenly, my rapidly beating heart stops, and I don't think I've ever truly felt it beat the same way since. My breathing grows heavy and fast and my vision blurs with tears. My parents run into the room to hold me, but my body has gone numb and I can barely feel their touch.

We're so sorry, Scarlet.

It will be okay, I'm so sorry.

Small nothings to reassure me that it's going to be all right. Empty words to create the facade of strength and stability even though they were just told that their only son is dead. All too soon the officer comes in, using a hushed voice again as he pulls my father into another room.

I don't know how long he talks to my father while my mom and I cry in one another's arms, but soon the two of them come back. Though my mind is clouded with heartbreak and my eyes are glossy with tears, I notice how their expressions have changed.

"It was a motorcycle accident," the officer begins, and my dad nods along, chin quivering as he bites back his tears.

"The driver of an eighteen-wheeler was drunk. He rounded the corner over on Boundary Lane, you know how bad the blind spot there is . . . I'm so sorry. Max died on impact; I was told he was never in pain."

He speaks as though what he's saying is supposed to make me feel better. As though hearing that my brother was plowed down by an eighteen-wheeler will make this easier somehow. As though there could be worse news, and this should come as a blessing.

All I know is that my brother is gone.