Free In the Blood by Sara Hantz Page B

stay in there, not after what he told me.”
    Summer touches me on the arm, and I recoil. I can’t help it. The thought of anyone touching me at the moment disgusts me. Even Summer.
    “What did he tell you?” she asks, stepping away from me.
    I hitch in a breath, bracing myself to tell her. “He forced himself not to abuse me.”
    Summer’s eyes widen with shock. “What?”
    “Which makes me think that’s why he went after the other children. It’s my fault. Even if he did deny it when I asked him.”
    And he only did that because he’d figured that if I felt guilty I’d hate him even more. Like that’s possible.
    “You can’t blame yourself for anything he did. He’s sick. Deranged, or whatever. It’s nothing to do with you.”
    How can she be so sure? It’s an obvious conclusion, if you ask me.
    “He also told me that his dad abused him when he was a boy. Gross, isn’t it?” A lump forms in the back of my throat, and tears threaten to fall from my eyes.
    Pull it together Jed. Summer steps forward to where I’m standing, puts her arms around me, and hugs me tightly. And for some reason now I don’t mind. Her arms are so warm, I want to stay wrapped in them forever. But I can’t because I’m gonna lose it if I don’t pull away soon. “I’m okay,” I say, gently pulling away from her arms and moving to the side, brushing my eyes with the back of my hand.
    “Jed, Jed.” The sound of Amy’s voice coming from outside the garage pushes thoughts of Dad out of my mind. She can’t know there’s anything wrong.
    “In here,” I yell, holding a finger up to my mouth so Summer realizes not to say anything. Which, of course, isn’t necessary because she knows how we are shielding Amy from everything.
    Amy runs in with Dawson close behind. “Can we get some cookies?” she asks, jumping from side to side. “Then we’re going to ride our bikes in the yard, aren’t we?” She looks at Dawson, who grins and nods.
    “I was coming to see you and bumped into Amy,” Dawson says, his face flushing.
    Summer and I exchange a glance, a tiny smile crossing her face. For a few seconds it feels just like a normal day.
    But, of course, it isn’t.

Chapter Twenty-three
    I was awake all night, playing over and over in my mind the meeting with Dad. It was like a living nightmare. I kept thinking about what he said. About what I said. About what I didn’t say. I feel like shit for being such a coward that I couldn’t stay long enough to find out about the other victims.
    It was the one thing I could do to help those parents, who have no idea what happened to their children. And even though what Dad did was nothing to do with me, the guilt’s strong. Despite what Summer said, I can’t stop thinking that if he’d abused me then some of those other boys might still be alive. I know that’s crazy talk. And that I shouldn’t go down that track, but how can I not?
    At six this morning, I came downstairs to the garage where I’ve been cleaning all my tools. It’s the sort of mind-numbing task that I need at the moment, because that’s all my brain can cope with, what with all the conflicting thoughts in there.
    And there’s one overriding thought at the back of my mind that won’t let me go.
    Is Dad saying that because his dad was an abuser and he also ended up being one that I’m going to end up the same?
    Is that what he’s saying? Is that really what he’s saying?
    No.
    Fuck no.
    It can’t be. It just can’t be.
    Unable to clean any longer, I drop the tool I’m holding on the bench and run upstairs to my bedroom where I open my laptop and start poring over all the research again, but this time focusing on what causes someone to be like that.
    I just want to know one thing.
    Is being a pedophile something you’re born with? Is it in the blood?
    First my grandfather, then my father, and, some time in the future, me?
    It seems to depend on lots of things. And nothing’s definite. If someone was abused as