Tomorrow's Lies (Promises #1) Read Free

you.”
    “No, Flynn. I did it. It was all me.”
    Sighing, he says, “It doesn’t matter. It was justice for what we lost.”
    Something squeezes my heart, making me choke out, “Oh, Flynn—”
    “Don’t think about it, Jaynie. Just go.”
    He turns me to the water. There is no going back, not this time.
    I close my eyes.
    Then I jump.
    …And I am falling…
    …falling…
    …falling…
    …falling…

Flynn
    ( Five years earlier)
     
    “F lynn O’Neill!” a deep voice bellows.
    My dad, waking me from a dead sleep—a routine that sadly has become more common than not.
    “You get your no-good ass out to this living room right now,” he continues. “And bring that little shit of a brother with you.”
    The walls are thin in this, our latest apartment, and I can hear, clear as a bell, the whish of a belt being drawn through pant loops.
    Shit, Dad’s been drinking . . . again.
    My little brother doesn’t miss the ominous sound and he cowers closer to me on the mattress we share. “No, no, no,” he cries. “Flynn, what are we going to do?”
    I wish I knew. This shit with our father started shortly after our mom was killed in a car accident last year. What should I tell Galen tonight? Learn to live with the fear, kid, there’s no end in sight? Um, yeah, no, I don’t think so.
    “We’ll be okay,” I say to my kid brother.
    Out in the living room, Dad strikes the belt against a piece of furniture—the fake leather sofa. “I don’t think we’ll be okay,” Galen says.
    Another strike, such a sickly sound, kind of slick and dark, like what it is—a promise of the pain to come when Dad’s belt meets all-too-real skin.
    Galen jumps up from our bed and inadvertently throws his ratty blanket in my face. I swat it away as he bolts to a closet in the corner of the room, screaming the whole way, “Flynn, hide me! Tell Dad I ran away or something. Anything, please. Just make him go away.”
    I sit up, watching as Galen wedges his tiny seven-year-old body beneath the hanging clothes. In this house, the monsters are not in the closet. They exist outside of it.
    “Where are you little fuckers?” Dad yells, fists pounding on the closed and locked bedroom door. “If I have to break this door down to get to you two, it ain’t gonna be pretty.”
    Galen hisses in a terrified breath, and I assure him, “Don’t worry. I got this covered, little dude.”
    I take the beatings for my brother when I can. Dad sometimes grabs hold of Galen, despite my best efforts to prevent that from happening. Our father is surprisingly fast when he’s drunk. But before he can get more than a few licks in on my brother, I’m always quick to blurt out a smartass retort that turns the heat back on me.
    I’ll do anything to save Galen from pain.
    Setting my brother’s faded blue blanket aside, I stand and tug my T-shirt up over my head. It’s the usual drill. One time, I was careless and left a shirt on. After Dad was through with me that thing was nothing but a bloodied and ruined rag. I don’t have too many clothes, so bare on top is the only way to go. Underwear can stay. Dad doesn’t generally hit below the belt.
    Galen continues to cower in the closet, staring out at me, watching fearfully. Two dark saucers meet my gaze. His eyes are the same color as mine, gray, but tonight they are dilated in terror, making them appear as black as the night.
    “You’re still hurt, Flynn,” Galen says, worried. He points to three purplish welts, two on my right shoulder and one on my chest. “Don’t go out there, okay?”
    “I’m fine,” I assure him, sounding far more confident than I feel. “I can handle a few more bumps and bruises.”
    I have to. It’s me or the kid.
    Galen sniffles, eyeing me warily. He knows I’m bullshitting him. He’s young, but he’s well-aware a twelve-year-old kid shouldn’t have oozing welts, especially not ones doled out by his own father.
    My little brother suddenly squeezes his eyes shut and