The number is saved under “Important contacts.” There are only two numbers in there—Raine’s and my parents’ occasionally functioning one.
I half-close the apartment door and lean against the wall on the dark landing as I call his number.
Please, Raine, pick up. Come on. Don’t make me call our aunt and beg her to put you on—if you are around, which isn’t a given—have to explain the emergency and hear again about what a loser I am.
Don’t fucking ignore me. Not now.
I kick my boot heel back into the wall and grit my teeth.
The phone rings and rings, and I’m ready to throw the goddamn thing down the stairs. Don’t even know why I’m still trying, not giving up. Raine told me many times I should. That he doesn’t care.
But I do.
The ringing of the damn phone is echoing inside my head, sending slivers of pain down my spine. Lack of sleep isn’t helping. I slept like shit even before Jason was thrust into my care a few days ago, what with Mom being unwell, and the push and pull of need.
The need to be by her side.
The need to be as far away from her and my dad as possible.
The need to take her away, take her to a doctor, see if there is a cure. To find forgiveness. Not that I deserve forgiveness. But I c
an’t help wanting it.
The need to go back to Kayla’s side, grab her and ask her to give me a chance.
He won’t answer. I should have known better than to try. Resigned, I pull the cell away from my ear and stare at the lit screen.
Call connected.
Is this fucking real?
It takes my brain two precious seconds to catch up, and then I slam the cell back to my ear.
“Raine?” Oh thank fuck, thank you. “R. Hey.”
“What the fuck do you want, Shun?” Every word clipped and heavy with fury and loathing. “Why do you keep calling me?”
I soak in his angry voice, and I can’t help smiling. He answered.
“How are you, R? How’s school?”
Raine’s almost eighteen now, but in my mind’s eye he’s still a kid, the kid I used to look after as we grew up.
“Fine.”
“Only you ran away again last week and skipped school, didn’t you?”
“Fuck you. That’s none of your business.”
“That’s bullshit.” I thump my head back against the wall, and for a moment a bright flash goes through my skull, erasing the worry and guilt and anger. “I care, and I wanna—”
“You gave up the right to be concerned when you shipped me away. You know what? I’m tired of rehashing this over and over. Go to hell.”
“R, wait.” I rub my fist over my eyes. My head aches. “It’s about Mom.”
“Screw her, too.” But his voice loses some of its heat. “I don’t give a damn about her, and it figures you’d care more for her than me.”
I blink in the darkness, the words a blow to my chest. “What the fuck? I don’t—”