Dishes were thrown into the dishwasher. The faucet tap thudded whenever Amalia turned it on so hard I thought it was going to come clean off.

She moved around the kitchen in silence, only occasionally muttering in Spanish when something didn't go right.

Such as having enough room in the fridge to put the leftovers. Or running out of tinfoil to wrap up the bowl she made me to take home. I did what I could to help but it didn't seem to soothe her much.

She murmured another string of what sounded to be Spanish obscenities. I heard the word mierda which I had discovered meant 'shit'. I leaned against the counter top while she jabbed the buttons on the dishwasher.

"I thought there was a rule tonight? English only?"

The grin I wore didn't seem to go over well when she stood up straight and scowled.

"Let's go for a walk?" I suggested. "You could use some fresh air."

"Could I now?"

I ignored the bite in her tone and took her hand, lacing our fingers together.

My hand was bandaged but it wasn't sore like it was earlier so it didn't bother me when she held it tight. 

One thing I knew about women was that they had the need to talk. But you had to listen. Like listen hard enough that you could word for word repeat the conversation in a presentation with stats, notes and a summary.

Full disclosure, I have a hard time listening to the pointless rambling of most females I've encountered.

But I want her to confide and let me know what's upset her so much. So we stepped outside, our hands still intertwined and we cut across the front lawn and onto the footpath.

We just walked for a few minutes. All of the homes in her neighborhood had pristine cut lawns and white picket fences.

It was almost generic. The brick homes with shutters and straight hedges. Amalia's home was unique though. Bright and colourful with odd sculptures and outrageous colours. It suited their nature and expressed their individuality.

We'd been walking about five minutes when she sighed. The wind whipped her long dark hair behind her.

It was just a light breeze but it was enough to make her shiver. So I dropped her hand and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her in tight.

The thing with the weather in Dallas was that it could be sweltering hot one night and chilled the next.

"That wasn't what I'd planned for tonight," she mumbled.

There was a sheltered bus stop a few feet ahead, so I didn't bother answering her until I sat down on the seat, out of the wind and pulled her down into my lap.

"Don't stress," I told her, clasping my hands in front of her stomach. "The food was good. You're beautiful. It's not a big deal."

She twisted so that her legs draped over mine and she sat side on. She looked so heartbroken. I wasn't used to seeing that drop in her lip or glisten in her gaze.

She stared down at her lap. "Dad can't help himself sometimes. As soon as mom comes up, it's just a rabbit hole he can't get out of."

Sometimes I felt physical anger over the fact I inherited Dad's dumb sense of humor.

Because having a brain that concocted an automatic response like, 'yeah my Dad falls into my Mom's rabbit hole all the time too' was not helpful.

It was tempting to take the risk and hope she'd laugh. But then I thought better of it and decided to just wait until she elaborated.

Listening, that was what I had to do. Now was not the time for terrible jokes. Mom would be proud.

"She was abusive," she continued after a quiet moment. "She used to hit my Dad. And it wasn't just weak slaps and screaming. She beat him bad. It was horrible. He would never hit her back but he forgave her over and over again. He was so in love with her."

It was hard to know how I should respond.

"I guess it got to the point where he finally knew that it was a terrible example for us," she said, her gaze still cast at her lap. "Bernie was super little and they had this massive fight. Dad said he was going to leave with both of us. But Mom swore she would change. She didn't. Less than a week later, she lost her temper about something. And she hit him with a bat.

"It broke two of his ribs and his hand. She did that in front of us. So he hid us with a friend while he healed and then we left. We moved to San Francisco where Dad knew the owner of a gallery who had bought a bunch of his paintings. He gave Dad a job and that was good for a while. But then Dad was offered the chance to own his own gallery here if he could put in a few years as the manager first."

I had seen Amalia become short tempered with someone hitting me. The first time with Reece on the field at school. The second time was the other night at Ingrid's.

It made more sense now. Seeing females abuse men because most men wouldn't hit back, was a trigger for her.

It reminded her of a traumatic past and I felt shit that I didn't know sooner. Who know's what I could have done to help, but at least I'd have known.

"I'm sorry," I said. "Your Dad is a stand up dude. Wouldn't have been easy to be in that position."

She shook her head as she stared out at the road. Patches of dim low lights illuminated the road and footpaths.

A house across the road had its lights on and once every few minutes a woman would pull back her curtains and peep out at us. She probably thought we were getting high or planning to vandalize the bus stop.

"Some of my earliest memories are of Mom hitting Dad," Amalia said. "My life in Barcelona was amazing. The culture was amazing. Familia was amazing. I loved it. But I remember being three and watching my Mom throw cups at Dad and missing. She ended up breaking this vase I painted with Dad. It was my favorite thing ever and her temper ruined it.

"She always said sorry and tried to make up for it. But her idea of making up for it was taking me to bullfighting events or dragging me to this small bar in our neighborhood. I had to sit on a chair and watch the television while she got drunk.

"She thought that it was fun for a child to be given endless amounts of soda and crepes. It might've been for other children. But I wanted to paint or listen to music with papá. I did end up watching a lot of softball on the television though. That was the one good thing to come out of it."

"Your Mom doesn't know what she's missing out on," I said, tightening my grip on her waist. "Your family is dope. She should have appreciated what she had when she had it."

"She should have. She was given chance after chance to do better. But she wouldn't get professional help. She told us she could change on her own. It was like she didn't care enough to get proper help. She didn't care enough about us to change."

As strong as she wanted to seem, it was obvious it hurt. Not that I would hold that against her.

Her own mother didn't give a fuck enough to do her best. It wasn't fair and I had the urge to give Elias a handshake and congratulate him on raising a perfect daughter despite the shit circumstances.

As we walked back to Amalia's house, she apologized for how off course the night had gone. It didn't bother me. I was able to get to know more about the girl that I was hung up on and it was just another chance for me to prove that I could be what she needed.

This whole thing was new for me, I was sort of proud of how well I was doing. It was rare I went this long without putting my dick in a girl. Or her hand. Or her mouth.

Not that I would admit that out loud. She wouldn't like that.

Elias hadn't come out of his bedroom when we got back to Amalia's. That didn't bother me. She made sure I took the leftovers.

We stood on the front porch and kissed under the spotlight which was gathering moths and mosquito's.

I wrapped my arms around her waist, the bowl still in my hand, which made her squeal when it hit her back. "Cold," she giggled as I continued to pepper her with kisses.

She thanked me for coming and of course, slipped in one last apology that I silenced with my tongue and then I left after making her promise to tell her Dad  I was grateful for the meal and evening.

When I got home, I peered into Max's room on the off chance he was awake to talk. No such luck. Dude was stressed even when he was sleeping.

It was like a hand pushed inside of my chest and squeezed the fuck out of my heart so hard I thought I couldn't breathe for a moment.

I hated that feeling. I hated that I could feel how anxious he was. So I closed the door and turned around, colliding with a huge chested red head who gasped in British.

"Woah, tits," I leaped back when I accidentally got a handful from lifting my hands to brace for the impact of crashing straight into someone.

Milly scowled at me for a solid fifteen seconds before she inhaled a deep breath and threw her long hair behind her shoulder. "Hello, Lucas."

"Put those things away," I said. "You'll take an eye out."

She scoffed. "Says the one who has my boobs as a caller ID."

I held up a finger, signalling for her to give me a minute while I used my bandaged hand to retrieve my phone.

It didn't take long before I was holding the phone in front of her face with her caller ID now set to her Black Widow get up.

"Etiquette says that exclusivity means no tit pics of other girls," I nodded and slipped the phone back. "You are not Amalia so I no longer want to put my Big Ben into your Buckingham Palace."

Her face fell. "Where on earth do you come up with this shit?"

"My—"

"I don't want to know," she cut me off and stepped around me towards the stair case. I followed along behind her.

"I thought you'd be glad I've moved on?"

She held the banister as she walked downstairs. "You weren't joking all of those times you tried getting into my knickers?"

"You thought that it was a joke?"

"Yeah I mean, I always just figured you did it to piss me off."

She stopped beside the front door and started putting her trainers on. That was when I noticed she was wearing active wear.

A sports bra under her unzipped  sweater and black leggings with neon pink stripes down the side.

I leaned against the door and slipped my hands into my pockets. "Aw," I bopped her nose and narrowly missed her hand swatting at me. "Are you bummed now it's too late?"

She gave me a sarcastic smile and straightened up. "Devastated. My heart is bleeding and I will never get over this loss," her face fell flat after she'd delivered her speech. "Now sod off. I need to go home."

She tried to open the door but I wouldn't move and she got as far as twisting the handle and opening it an inch before I pushed backwards and slammed it shut. "Your car isn't out there. How are you getting home?"

"I ran here," she said. "It's a form of exercise that doesn't require staring at myself in a mirror while I lift weights and grunt like a toss. Now move. Please."

"Why isn't Abby giving you a ride?"

"She's asleep. It's been a long day."

"Mhmm. Sure. You can't walk. It's dark."

She gave me a bored stare.

"I'll drive," I said, opening the door and gesturing her out first. "Was Flynn still here when you arrived?"

"Nope. He'd just left," the blip and flashing lights lit up the drive for a moment when I unlocked the rover and Milly climbed into the passenger seat. "She finally told me everything. She told me what happened with Tanner and the situation with Flynn. I have a lot of information to process."

The car came to life as I stared over at the red head with surprise. "You didn't know either?"

"No one did," she said. "She didn't want to risk it coming out so she just didn't tell a single person. She said it wasn't because she didn't trust me. It was because she was worried it might slip out when we were all together or something along those lines. I understand I suppose."

Milly might have been a bit of a hot head and she sure knew how to give me a lot of shit. But she was a good friend when it came to my sister. I appreciated that. I always had.

"How is she?" I asked as we pulled out of the street and the gates closed behind me. The fatigue was starting to catch up with me but Milly didn't live far.

"She's alright," Milly said. "She's much happier now that she's out and open about Flynn. I don't think I've seen her smile like that in such a long time."

That made me happy.

"And you beating the absolute shit out of that wank. I've never liked you more than I did at that moment."

"It was my pleasure," I grinned.

"I suppose you haven't had time to read the story I slipped under your door the other day?"

Milly regularly left me short stories to read and review. She secretly loved creative writing and claimed I was the only one who would give her honest feedback. She was right.

"I read it today in English Lit," I said. "It was good. I didn't like that side character though. She was a bitch."

"That was the point."

"Oh, good. Successful execution then."

"You were the bitch by the way."

"Hey," I said. "Fuck you."

"How's Max?"

"Honestly, I haven't had much of a chance to talk to him. I don't think that he's great. He'll be glad he gets to leave school though."

"I'm sure he'll like New York."

I looked at her side profile, the street lamps illuminating her vibrant hair. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said. "I'm moving on. The crush is behind me."

"Just like that huh?"

I pulled on to her road. She lived in one of the more recently developed neighbourhoods with modern homes that all looked similar.

Sharp edges, dark grey and white paint with double glazed windows and stone gardens.

Her step father was loaded and when he met Milly's Mom during a stay in London about twelve years ago, she hadn't been slow to accept his proposal and the promise of a better life.

"I can't be in love with Max. His girlfriend has a terminal illness. It feels wrong. Besides, it's not like I ever believed I had a chance. I'm over it."

"What makes you think you didn't have a chance? That better not be some self degrading bullshit."

"No, it's not that I don't think he's out of my league or whatever," she said. "He's just super committed to his relationship. I was never going to sabotage that. Or even try to."

"Right," I cleared my throat and settled down. She could have anyone she wanted, I hope she knew that.

The headlights on the rover illuminated the front of her large house. There was a staircase that stretched from the footpath to the front door step.

Trimmed hedges separated the pebble concrete steps and the plush lawn that covered the front of the property.

"Thanks for the ride," Milly gripped the door handle and gave me a genuine smile. She didn't do that a lot. It was often scowling or sarcasm. "I'll see you at school tomorrow. Make sure Abby drags her arse out of bed, alright?"

"Yeah," I said as she opened the door and slid out. "Night."