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I'm practically counting down the minutes until I can see Mabel again. It's not just because I miss her, even though I do, but rather because something seemed off with her on Christmas. I'm worried about her.

The thought of her Dad trying to find her makes me sick to my stomach.

What if he finds her? What will he do?

"You're awfully quiet," Lizzie says as she plops down next to me on the couch. Her hair has faded since Thanksgiving, and her dark roots have begun to show. "You hungover from last night or something?"

I am, but that's not the reason for my brooding.

"I've just got a lot on my plate right now," I answer cautiously.

"Hmm," she hums thoughtfully, her brown eyes narrowing. "Wanna talk about it?"

"I can't," I tell her truthfully. "It's not just about me."

"Does it have to do with Mabel?" When I don't answer, she takes it as a yes. "If you're having girl troubles you can come to me, Alex. I might be able to help you out, you know, give you a woman's perspective and all that shit."

I shake my head. "You're not a woman, Lizzie. You're my sister."

"I don't see the difference," she quips.

"I do," I grumble back irritably.

"Just keep out the gory details and I'll do my best to help," she continues, brushing her lavender colored hair behind her ear. She pulls her legs up onto the couch and crosses them, turning to face me.

"Gory details?" I can't help but roll my eyes at her. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Sex, Alex. I don't want to hear about my brother's dick—"

"Jesus Christ, Liz." I sit up straight, whirling towards her to shoot her a dirty look. "What the fuck?"

She shrugs innocently. "I'm just saying."

"To hell with this." I make a move to get up, but Lizzie quickly grabs the sleeve of my shirt in a tight fist.

"Sit down," she commands. "Sit down and tell me what the hell has your panties in a bunch. If it'll make it easier we can drink about it."

"Really, Liz? At one in the afternoon?" I raise an eyebrow at her, but sit back down.

"You used to tell me about your problems all the time," she murmurs, her eyes pleading. "It was always us against the world, Alex. Let me help you."

She's right. Before she moved to New York I used to go to her all the time. I'd vent about my petty annoyances before letting them inflate my temper, and she'd calm me down by helping me sort through them.

I lower myself back down onto the sofa cushions in defeat.

"Fine," I mutter, dragging a hand over my face. "But I'm not doing this without whiskey. Lots of it."

Lizzie claps her hands excitedly and rushes out of the living room on her quest for alcohol. I cross my arms over my chest and lean back, staring up at the arched ceilings of our childhood home.

I might as well come clean, I tell myself. It's not exactly my secret to tell, but I have to get some kind of advice. If I let this sit for too long it'll fester, and I won't be able to stop myself from going after that prick.

She returns to the living room with two lowball glasses halfway filled with ice and a bottle of Honey Jack. Lizzie sets them down on the coffee table, on coasters of course or our mother would have a fit, and twists off the cap to the whiskey.

At least this will help with the hangover.

She fills a glass with a generous serving and bends it to me before pouring once for herself.

"Alright little brother, get talking." Lizzie gives me an expectant look over the rim of her glass before taking a drink.

I follow suit, tipping my glass back and taking a large mouthful of the burning liquid past my lips. "It's not just Mabel, there's shit with school and hockey too."
She nods, settling further into the couch. "Like what?"

I go on to explain the predicament I'm in regarding choosing between hockey and my degree while continuously sipping my drink. By the time I'm finished ranting about that I can hardly feel the burn of the liquor as it slides down my throat.

"Shit Alex, what are you going to do?" Lizzie asks with wide eyes.

I shrug. "Coach said he could try and work with my schedule, but I'm not too sure about that. I mean, what's the point if I won't have as much time on the ice?"

"It's a nice offer though," she insists.

"True." I sigh loudly. "You should've heard what he said though. The guy likes to say that the team is a bunch of gossip queens but he hears -everything. He thought Mabel would be the reason I don't want to go pro."

"What an ass. Why would he think that?"

"He's seen it happen before." I grab the Jack and pour myself another glass. "Few years back he had a guy who was pretty girl crazy. The guy was scouted by the NHL and came really close to signing with a team but I guess his girlfriend went crazy about it. Blackmailed him with a sex tape, saying she would send it to the team manager and his family and all that. Then she trashed the locker room at DU."

Lizzie takes a long pull from her drink and slams it back onto the coaster, making a show of dragging the bag of her hand across her mouth. "Damn. Bitches be trippin'."

I stare at her, arching an eyebrow. "What the hell was that, Liz?"

"What? I'm just trying to channel my inner 'bro.' I can be cool." When I don't say anything she sighs. "Yeah. I figured I was pushing it with that one. So why don't you want to go pro? Isn't that a lot of money? And I thought you loved hockey."

"I do," I reply sternly.

"Then why not try and go pro? You're good enough, Alex, I'm sure of it. You've always done well on the ice."

"It's just not worth it," I mutter, shaking my head. "Yeah its a lot of money, but for how long? What if I'm forced to retire early? What if I get injured? What then? It's just safer to go the teaching route. Maybe later down the line I'll coach a junior hockey team or something."

"Is that what you really want?" Her eyes narrow accusingly. "Since when have you been about playing it safe?"

"I want to teach, Liz."

She lifts her hands, showing me her palms in defense. "Okay, okay. So what about Mabel then? What's going on there?"

I hesitate for a moment, chewing on the inside of my lower lip thoughtfully. Can I really tell my sister—or anyone for that matter—about Mabel's past?

Lizzie nudges me lightly in the shoulder. "Same rules apply as when we were younger," she murmurs. "I won't tell a soul."

"Mabes was...abused," I say carefully, eyeing my sister for her reaction. She remains the perfect picture of composure, hardly batting an eye, so I continue. "Her Dad used to beat the shit out of her and it really fucked her up. Like, bad. She has panic attacks, night terrors, the whole shebang. It really messed her up. I can tell sometimes that she's trying to break through her protective shell that's built around her, like she wants to bend the rules a bit and experience new things, but sometimes it really holds her back and she needs encouragement and coaxing from other people. It's like she's constantly afraid she'll get in trouble for speaking her mind."

"That's why you acted so funny on Thanksgiving when Mom asked her about her family," Lizzie declares, and its almost like I can see all the pieces clicking together in her head. "Shit Alex, that's so fucked up."

I nod, swallowing harshly. "It really is. And when I talked to her last night she told me that he's looking for her. That he's getting married soon and for some reason wants to contact her."

"That's not good." She clamps a hand over her mouth, staring back at me with wide eyes.

"I don't know what to do for her," I admit gruffly. "I want to make her feel safe, but I just don't know what I can do to help her feel that way."

It's an open-ended statement, one that I know Lizzie doesn't necessarily know the answer to, but we still fall into a silence as we both rack our brains for ideas.

"What if you teach her some self defense?" she suggests. "It could really help build her self esteem, your relationship with her, and it'll give her a fighting chance if something ever happens again."

I perk up instantly. "That could work."

Lizzie smiles triumphantly and holds out her glass to me expectantly. "I told you I was good at this shit."

I roll my eyes, clinking my drink against hers.

Dad enters the living room in a flannel and jeans, his gaze zeroing in on the bottle of Jack sitting on the coffee table. "Really guys? It's the middle of the afternoon."

Lizzie and I shrug indifferently, but on the inside I feel like a kid getting caught with his hand on the cookie jar.

He crosses the room to sit in the recliner and  kicks his feet up with a grunt. "Well don't just sit there staring, one of you pour me a drink."

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What do you guys think of Lizzie? Do you think it was right of Alex to go to his sister for advice, especially about Mabel?

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