Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
It takes me a second to realize he’s pointing at me. Staring at me. His face goes red, and he takes one staggering step toward us. “What the fuck is she doing here? What the hell is wrong with you?” he demands. The way he blinks like he can’t quite see Briggs reminds me of Buck, how he gets when he’s drunk.
Briggs scoffs, then starts for the stairs without saying a word. I follow close behind, almost clinging to his side. If anybody ever told me I would be relying on Briggs to keep me safe, I would probably die laughing. But here I am, hoping his dad doesn’t decide to attack or anything as we rush up the stairs. Once we get to the second room on the right, I can breathe easier.
Only Briggs doesn’t stop. He slows down a little and jerks his chin toward the door. “You can dry off in the bathroom on your left once you get inside.” He continues down the hall to the next bedroom, and I can hear him talking softly to Tia, before the sound of his dad’s angry shouts from downstairs drowns that out. I duck into the bedroom and close the door—once again, since when is Briggs my protector?
His room is nicer than I imagined. Cleaner, neater. Wait, what am I saying? Somebody probably keeps it clean for him. There are plenty of fluffy, lavender scented towels in the linen closet. It’s a relief to peel off my wet clothes, which I drape over the shower curtain rod to dry.
I can’t figure him out. One minute, he’s abusive and cruel. The next, he’s cradling his sister and practically going out of his mind worrying about her. After seeing what happened downstairs, hearing that hateful, nasty voice. I understand why he is so protective of her.
By the time I’m dry, with my damp hair finger combed back and the towel wrapped around my chest, Briggs comes in. He doesn’t say anything at first, and I wait with my heart in my throat to see what happens next.
“Here.” He turns away from his dresser with a gray T-shirt in hand. “You can wear this. I can’t drive you back tonight. You’ll have to stay here.”
I love the way he says it. Like that’s it, that’s the way it has to be. I don’t get any say.
At the same time, leaving with me means crossing through the hall downstairs and running into his dad again. I would rather stay here than risk that. And I’m sure he doesn’t want to leave Tia alone while she’s sick.
“How is your sister?” I ask, dropping the towel and pulling the shirt over my head at the same time. He doesn’t answer, only pulling off his clothes and leaving them where they fall.
Okay. Well, I could try to call Maya, but it’s almost midnight already. It’s too late. I know she would come out here if I asked, but I can’t take advantage. And it would still mean having to go downstairs when that drunk, angry man is roaming around, looking for a fight.
It looks like I’m staying here. He pulls back the blankets and drops into bed, leaving plenty of room on the other side. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any more awkward between us. I crawl into bed and pull the blankets up to my shoulder, lying on my side, facing him. I still don’t trust him enough to turn my back.
It’s dark in here, with only the streetlights coming in from between the partly open blinds. That’s a good thing. Somehow, it’s easier to deal with him when I can’t see his face. I feel a little braver.
“How is Tia, really?” I ask, curling into a ball. He’s on his back, one arm bent behind his head while he stares at the ceiling.
“Hopefully, the medicine I gave her will break the fever,” he mutters. “I’ll check on her in a couple of hours to see if it’s gone down.”
“She’s lucky to have you looking out for her.”
When he snorts, my heart sinks. I should’ve known better than to say something nice, but I’m stupid enough to want to be kind after what I witnessed downstairs. If there’s one thing I understand, it’s what it means to have a terrible parent. I wonder if he ever feels ashamed of his father the way I do when it comes to Mom. “You don’t have to kiss my ass just because you’re in my bed.”
“That’s not what I was trying to do. I’m just saying, she’s lucky to have somebody caring about her. There’s nothing worse than feeling like nobody cares.”
For a long time, I’m sure he’s not going to answer. He’ll ignore me, the way he’s good at doing when he feels like it.