by Annie Brewer
Once I pry my eyes from the view, I just stare at her with my mouth hanging open, not sure what to say. I have a ton of replies on the tip of my tongue, but none I should really voice. Something along the lines of, “I noticed you years ago,” or “I’m noticing you now and don’t like how you’re dressed” wouldn’t be wise. If only things were simpler. If only I led a different life.
She starts laughing really hard, out of the blue. Her face reddening at the embarrassment of her statement. It’s almost as if she’s shocked by her own words. She’s covering her face, peeking at me through splayed fingers. “Forget I said that.”
“I wish I could.”
She sobers and settles both hands on her hips, glaring at me. “I don’t really say stuff like that.” She turns back and goes into the bathroom as if remembering something. When she comes out, her phone is raised in her hand, facing me. “Smile,” she says. And the next thing I know, she’s taking several pictures, all of which are practically the same. I didn’t have time to react before the clicking sound of the camera goes off—once, twice, and then more times after that.
I sit up and cock my head a little. Click. “What are you doing?”
Click.
I chuckle. “Addie.”
She lowers her hand and sighs. “My best friend wanted me to take pictures of you. She’s dying to know what you look like.” She rolls her eyes with a snort. “So, now she can shut up and quit bugging me to get pictures of you.” I listen to her ramble on and on in amusement. “Tall or short.” She pauses and looks up. “Well, that, she won’t really get an answer. Kinda hard to distinguish that fact from the position you’re in.”
I lean back on my hands and smirk, my ears perk up at this revelation. “So, you’ve been talking about me?” I play coy, but secretly wonder what’s been said. Good? Bad? Indifferent?
Another eye roll.
I laugh and scratch the back of my neck. “You should get your eye problem looked at,” I tease, enjoying catching the pink in her cheeks. Blushing is a cute look for her.
She’s looking down at her phone, not paying attention to me. Her lips quirk up in a knowing grin and she’s giggling to herself. I can only imagine what kind of conversation is being held on that phone. And it would be so easy to just jump off the bed and snatch it out of her hand to get my answer. But I’m not that mean and kind of lazy right now.
A loud buzzing sound draws my attention from her to my own phone where it’s lying on the nightstand. I reach back and unhook it from the charger, seeing the screen light up with a text. From Shelly.
Are you coming out to party tonight? I think we should talk.
Shit. I never responded to her other text she sent me. I hover a finger over the buttons, thinking of a good reply. My mind isn’t cooperating at the moment, though. So I swipe out of the messages, tossing the phone away as I lean back to lie down. I cross my legs at the ankles, folding my arms behind my head and look straight up. “You do look nice, Addie.” I say it to the ceiling, as if it’ll give me courage to speak a half-truth, instead of looking at her and risk getting tongue-tied.
It takes a while before she says anything, I almost wonder if she heard me, but then she stuns me when she asks, “Why aren’t you playing basketball anymore?” Well, that wasn’t what I expected to hear.
I wait a short beat before swinging my legs over the side of the bed and straightening to look at her in question. “Where did that come from?” More importantly, who did that come from?
Shrugging her shoulders, she leans against the wall and avoids eye contact with me but keeps her attention on her cell. I’m about ready to take that damn thing from her and throw it if it’ll get her attention. “It was just a simple question, Ky.” Her expression says, duh. Bullshit.
I shake my head. “No, Addie, there are no simple questions.” I pause before getting to my feet, ready to get this party started. Or rather, the drinking. “We should go.” I grab a hat from the collection on my shelf above my desk and put it on backward, walking toward the door.
Addie straightens but doesn’t make a move to follow. Her hair falls down over her shoulder and shields her face. “I’ll meet you at your truck.” She pushes buttons on her phone, still looking down. Why can’t she fucking give me one second of her attention?
Opening the door, I step halfway outside. I lean against the frame, watching her. “Are you okay?”
She nods, before waving her phone in the air. “Just give me a second.”
I don’t argue, but fuck do I want to, giving her one last look before closing the door behind me.
I sit in my truck with the door open so I can finish my cigarette, scrolling through the channels, not really listening to what’s playing. But the noise distracts my thoughts, so whatever. I set my cell in the cup holder and crank the engine. Leaning my head back against the headrest, I shut my eyes for a few minutes. I have no idea how much time passes before I hear the passenger door open and Addie hops inside. Turning to look at her as she’s buckling her seat belt, I offer a half smile. “Everything good?”
She shrugs with a nod. “I was talking to Layla. She needed to tell me about something.”
I realize in time I’m almost out of cigarettes, but have another pack in my room. Before buckling my seatbelt, I slip out of the truck. “I’ll be right back, forgot something.” I gesture with a nod.
She nods back, mentioning something about stepping into the house to talk to my mom before we leave.
I grab the pack, use the restroom, and run a comb through my hair once before coming back outside. Addie hasn’t returned to the truck yet, so I get inside, turn the key, and wait with my window down. It isn’t long after that I catch both her and my dad bursting through the door.
Whatever the reason, I don’t wait before I’m throwing the door open and hopping out of my truck. He stumbles inside as I approach her and grip her by the arm. “Hey, what’s wrong?” I can see a flicker of apprehension on her face and I’m automatically on the defensive. “What did he do?” She won’t look at me, though I’m sure she can hear the anger in my voice to know I’m pissed.
She pushes me away, telling me she’s fine. I don’t believe her. “I think your dad is just drunk.”
Of course, he is. Fucking hell.
I nudge her forward. “Wait in the truck, I’ll be right back.”
I turn back to the porch. “Ky, it’s fine. Come on.” She’s calling me back, but I can’t just leave without confronting the asshole first. “It’s no big deal.”
I shake my head, disagreeing. “Yes, it’s a very big deal.” I come up to the window. “I’m sorry. I’m not gonna let him get away with his bullshit.”
She hesitates, but finally nods and turns away from me in her seat.
I turn my back and rush up the porch steps, crashing through the door. I’m searching for him with clenched fists, although I don’t plan on pummeling him just yet, unless he starts it. Boy, do I have to muster up some self-control.
“Ky.”
I spin around to face my mom. Her expression—bunched eyebrows and a frown on her lips—displays her confusion as to why I haven’t left yet. “Where is he?”
With a sigh of resignation, she places a hand on her head, as if she’s fighting a headache. “Ky, please. Don’t look for him.” Her voice is broken, defeated. Always playing the advocate. For just once, I’d like her to choose me over him…consequences be damned. She blinks her eyes a couple of times, but nothing comes out. “He’s not in the right frame of mind.”
“Is he ever?” I throw my arms out wide. “Does that fucking excuse his behavior?”
She shakes her head. “I know, I’m sorry.” She bites her bottom lip to keep from trembling. “Please, tell Addie I’m sorry. He didn’t—”
I look up at the ceiling with my hands laced together on top of my head, breathing in through my nose and closing my eyes. I feel my patience slipping, so I need to grasp every bit of whatever I can, to keep my voice from rising to dan
gerous levels. Basically, I need to get out of here before I snap. I keep my tone low when I say, “Mean it…you were gonna say he didn’t mean it.” Opening my eyes, I swallow hard. “When are you gonna learn he doesn’t care what he does? Or how he hurts those that…for God only knows why, love him.” I don’t put myself in that category. He lost my love long ago. I just wish he’d lose my mom’s, too.
She waves her hand as she turns her back. “Just go, Ky. Addie’s waiting for you.”
I hate that she just used Addie as bait, because I’m telling her the truth and she doesn’t want to hear it. She doesn’t want to admit that her husband is Satan, reincarnated. She’d rather live in denial than leave his ass. I don’t get it.
Finally giving up, I throw my arms up in the air and spin on my heel. I’m done. I call over my shoulder, “Whatever, I guess it’s too much to ask of you to stick up for your only son. You’re weak and a coward.” Words spew from my mouth before I can stop them, but I don’t care anymore. “Keep living in this fucking prison, I’m done.” I feel tears sting my eyes, but I hold them back. The sight of my mother’s agony and torment rips me from the inside out. I have to get out of here.
I stop short just before plowing into my father on the way to the front door. He looks me up and down, stumbling a bit on his feet, a sneer on his lips. “Why the fuck are you still here?” His beer sloshes with his jerky movements. “Where’s your perdy friend?” he asks, slurring his words. “She’s gotten good lookin’ over the years, right?” He laughs at his own not-so-funny joke with a nudge to my shoulder.
He’s goading you. Don’t fall for it. Just go.
My mind wanders to Addie and how she’s feeling right now. I’m wasting time. I stop in front of the door, reaching for the handle and turn back to face him. That’s when I catch my mom pulling him away from me, but he doesn’t budge. Well, if stumbling from drunkenness is budging, though it’s not his choice. Finally, I grit my teeth and bite out in a warning, “Fuck with her again”—I wag a finger at him—“and I’ll fuck you up.” And with that, I leave the house, slamming the door behind me.
When I hop into my truck, it takes a minute for my heart rate to return to normal. My hands are shaking and I feel like puking. The sight of his face making me sick. I drop my head into my hands, taking several deep breaths. “I wish my mother would just leave him.”
My words are a whisper, but Addie hears them and scoots closer to me. Her arms wrap around my back and she presses her head against mine. This is what being comforted feels like. I like it…a lot. I lean into her comforting arms, inhaling the scent of her berry shampoo, allowing my senses to get lost in her.
“I wish you had told me things were so bad, Ky.”
That makes two of us, now. Then again, I thought I could just live with it. Deal with it and that’d be it. It turns out I’m not as strong as I’d portrayed myself to be. I lift my head to look at her. “No, I couldn’t.” I search her gaze. “You didn’t need my drama in your life.” Without thinking, I let my thumb stroke her cheekbone once before I realize what I’m doing and stop. “It’s fine. Let’s not dwell on this right now.”
Finally kicking up dust and rocks, I turn onto the main road in front of our house and don’t look back.
Addie stays quiet for half of the drive and I don’t like the silence. I’m dying to know what’s going through her head, if only to silence the screams going through mine. I hope she’s not regretting coming here, even though I sure as fuck would if I were in her shoes. I’d be on the next flight home as soon as possible, as far away as possible from that bastard. Unable to take the silence anymore, I give her shoulder a little nudge until she looks at me. “Wanna share what’s on your mind?”
She opens her mouth to speak but then closes it again and looks out the window. She’s obviously not sure how to address the situation. I can’t blame her. As shitty as her situation is, I doubt her parents are abusive. Actually, I’m certain they’re not. It’s just not in their personalities. I can’t say I know what she’s going through—then again, no one can say what anyone is going through. Every situation is different. If my biggest problem were my parents getting divorced, I’d honestly take it in a heartbeat. I just hate that she had to witness my dad’s drunken stupidity and crudeness.
I’m losing my mind right now. “So, that was awkward, huh?” I try to lighten the mood since the tension in the air of my truck is so damn suffocating. I contemplate hanging my head out of the window like a dog.
She plays with her fingers in her lap. “Do you think he’ll tell my parents I’m here?” That’s what she’s worried about? I mean, I get it, but after what went down, that would be the least of my worries.
I purse my lips, keeping my eyes on the road. It’s time to keep the conversation casual. I want us to have fun tonight. Scratch that, I want her to have fun while she’s here. “I honestly think he’ll forget in no time.” It’s then that I realize she’s changed out of her skirt into jeans, but kept the same blouse on. “Why’d you change?”
“I wanted to be comfortable.” She messes with the air conditioner, pointing the vents to her. “I’m more a jeans kinda girl, anyway.”
Shoving a hand through my hair, I nod. “You looked good in the skirt, just so you know.” I blurt it out without thinking and then wink at her, because it’s true and why should I keep it a secret? “But I’m glad you changed. A lot of guys that attend these parties are jackholes. And when they get drunk, they tend to get a little pushy when it comes to females.” I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, thinking about Rich and Greg.
She closes the vents and lifts her feet onto the seat, hugging her knees. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.” Her voice sounds pained or just muffled. “Will there be drugs there?” She turns her face to the side so she can look at me, pressing her cheek against her leg.
I swallow before answering her, avoiding her gaze. “I wouldn’t doubt if there were.”
“And do you still do them?”
I feel as if I’ve been slapped by her accusation. Sure, it’s legit but how would she assume I did drugs? It’s not as if I ever did them in her presence. I blink, rapidly and give her a brief sideways look. “Still?” I try to keep my tone calm, unaffected. “What makes you think I used them?” Both hands grip the wheel hard and the edge of the cover digs into my palms. It’s old so there are some rips in it which are now cutting into my skin, but it’s keeping me focused at a time when I need it. Because it’s really not what I’m focusing on at the moment, as I toss her a few side glances and wait for her to answer.
She swallows a few times, playing with her hair, and looking out the window.
I’m getting tired of feeling like I have to force the thoughts out of her, to get her to talk. I want her to just talk to me, to trust me the way she used to. I know times have changed—we’ve both changed. And I don’t deserve her trust. I need it, though. I need her.
I speak with a soft and coaxing voice, “Addie, quit beating around the bush and tell me what you’re afraid to say.” I start to think my mom has told her stuff while they were out. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
She plants her feet back on the floorboard and crosses one leg over the other. I’m very thankful she changed the short skirt for her jeans so I wouldn’t be distracted by her tanned legs while driving. Even though I shouldn’t be ogling her in the first place. That’s beside the point.
“Wanna know what’s on my mind?”
I nod, watching the road. We should’ve been at Brent’s by now, but I decided to take the longer route. These streets are usually deserted this time of night, but I’ve been stuck behind a car, which is enjoying pissing me off, making me go less than thirty miles an hour. I grunt and check the lane next to me to see if I can pass this asshole before I rear-end him and ruin our whole night.
I extend my arm and point a finger up. “Hold that thought and hang on tight,” I tell Addie, giving her little warning to prepare, after seeing the coa
st is clear. She quickly grabs the “Oh Shit” bar. I swerve into the next lane, pick up my speed, and pass the bastard in the Mustang. Not before I send him a glare that he responds to with his middle finger out the window. I ignore it and keep a fast pace going down a hill.
When I’m far enough ahead and check the mirror to see no one is in close distance, I check on her and say, “Okay, now you can tell me.”
Addie’s shaking her head at me, not amused. “What is it with guys and their need to be macho when it comes to driving?”
“What is it with girls and their need to change the subject when it comes to serious topics?” I snap, equally irritated.
She crosses her arms and cuts me a glare, offended. “I’m not changing the subject.”
“Then tell me why you think I used drugs.” I’m testing her to see if she’ll be honest with me, if she’ll fess up about having heard it from my mom. “Is it because of what my father said? Calling me a druggie?”
She shakes her head and uncrosses her arms. “Your mom told me.”
I had my head turned away and didn’t catch her words clearly, also because she said it in a quiet voice. Glancing at her again, I ask, “What was that?”
“Your mom is worried about you,” she says louder, her eyes filled with her own concern. “The people you hang out with are bad influences, she says.”
Right, of course she’d say that. And being at home with an abusive father and a push-over, absentee mother is better, right? I don’t say that, but it’s the truth. And I’m sick of my mom finding fault in my friends when she knows damn well I hate being at home, around him. Not that drugs and skipping school are the ideal solutions. Or that my friends are really better than the both of them. She is right about that. Still, I won’t admit that to her when she won’t admit to me that my father’s not a fucking saint. Damn, this conversation escalated quickly.
Closing her eyes, Addie drops her head and inhales a quick breath before shifting in her seat to look at me again. I can see the agony on her face, the pain in her eyes and I feel my chest tighten. I hate seeing her this way, not knowing how to fix it. Or if I can. “I don’t wanna fight,” she says in a sad voice. “I was just telling you your mom worries about you.” Her hand reaches across the seat to rest on my knee. I hold my breath, not sure how to respond to her touch. I want to cover it with mine and lace my fingers with hers. I want to tell her how much she means to me. I want to tell her what a coward I’ve been, running from these strange, unfriendly feelings. But I don’t do anything at all, which gives her the wrong idea. “I’m sorry.” She removes her hand and places it back on her lap. I’m not, put it back. I liked that. She doesn’t talk or look at me again.
