Free Unbroken by Jasmine Carolina Page A

from the Quinn household kicking and screaming. They protested the entire time, and Dalis cried the entire car ride over. I knew I was hurting them, and I hated having to do it, but the fact of the matter was, if we weren’t at the house, our dad would find a reason to sell the house and all that was left of Mom inside it.
    I didn’t stay because I was some kind of martyr or a masochist. I stayed because there was no way I could give up so easily on my memory of my mother.
    That’s what I keep telling myself as I stand on the front porch of our childhood home, rummaging through my pocket for the keys. No matter how many times I say it mentally, it’s impossible to believe it when my siblings are looking at me like I killed the family pet.
    “Do we really have to stay here, Bubba?” Dalis asks, her voice shaking. “I hate it here.”
    I know she does, and I know she always will most likely. There’s nothing that can make being here okay for any of us, but I’m going to try.
    Getting my hand around the keys, I pull them out and unlock the door. Cason’s the one holding our bags, so the minute we’re inside, he darts toward the staircase and runs upstairs. I close my eyes as I stand in the foyer, waiting for the inevitable. It’s not long before it comes: the slam of his bedroom door, and the familiar vocal stylings of AFI blasting from his radio. I shake my head and open my eyes, turning to look at my little sister.
    I place the house key on the hook right by our hallway closet as I smile at her.
    She looks so small compared to this house. It swallows her up, diminishes her size, and I never noticed until exactly this moment.
    “Go on upstairs, Liss,” I tell her.
    With a sideways glance, she stares me down. I know she’s trying to read me, trying to figure out what I’m up to. If only she knew…
    I grab the back of her neck and guide her toward my chest so I can give her a hug. She buries her face against my shirt and sighs, trying to calm the emotions within her.
    “Go ahead. I’ll be up in a few. I’m gonna see what’s in here to eat.”
    A curt nod is passed between us, and I watch as she retreats up to her bedroom. Her shoes pound against the stairs, and she stomps purposely all the rest of the way to her room. I close my eyes, knowing exactly what’s coming next, and there’s no way I can stop it now. She slams her door closed, same as Cason, and then her teeny bopper pop music starts playing to compete against his rock.
    There’s no way I can hear him coming up behind me. There’s too much going on around me, too much requiring my attention, like the giant mess in the middle of the living room, likely the result of another drunken night on his part. He grabs my shoulder from behind and I whirl around to look him in his red-rimmed eyes.
    With a deep breath, I try to mentally prepare myself for what’s about to come next.
    Sure enough, I’m greeted with a fist to the face. I reach up to cradle my jaw as he stares down at me with hate-filled eyes.
    “What the fuck are you doing here?” my dad asks, rocking back and forth, beer bottle in hand.
    I should know by now that he’s asking a rhetorical question. But there’s something in me that possesses me to answer him this time. “I live here,” I answer boldly.
    He laughs without humor, stumbling over empty beer bottles, takeout containers, and shoes until he makes his way past me and collapses on the couch. He slouches against the back of the couch, taking a swig of his beer.
    We do this every time we come home.
    The kids slam their doors and make noise to purposely wake him up, leaving me downstairs to deal with the repercussions of it all. Of course, before we set foot in the door, he’s likely sleeping, and the noise wakes him up. The one thing you can’t do to Andrew Durham is fuck with his sleep—we knew that long before Mom died.
    “You were always such a fucking smart ass.” He laughs again, looking up at me. “I always told your