WTF gives?
“What are you doing here?” I asked, moving into the room.
Mads’s head turned toward me, finally noticing me. “Grayson’s mom asked him to stop by and grab some papers from my mom,” she quickly explained. Her cheeks reddened as if she was uncomfortable being caught fraternizing with the Elite.
Grayson and she were cousins. I knew that. But still, it was odd seeing her talk so casually with them. At school, they didn’t even acknowledge each other. “Oh,” I replied, stopping a few feet from Brock.
I should thank him or something, shouldn’t I? But the idea of bringing up last night made my stomach churn. The last thing I wanted was to toss up breakfast all over Mads’s kitchen.
“I also came to check on my cousin,” Grayson added, scowling at me like he wanted to stick his syrup-covered fork in me. The look he gave me was one of mistrust, as if I was the one who might hurt Mads. It didn’t make sense. Another day, I might have called him out on it, demanded to know why he disliked me so much, but today, I didn’t have the strength.
Mads cleared her throat. “As I told these two Neanderthals, we’re fine.”
Brock forked a hand through his hair, and that was when I noticed his knuckles. They were red and swollen, and his right knuckles had a nasty cut. “You’re hurt,” I gasped, moving forward to inspect his hand before I realized what I was doing. It looked worse than it was.
Jerking his hand from my fingers, he shoved them into his pockets, and I raised my eyes to his. “I’m fine,” he said briskly. Those aqua eyes became glaciers, cold and untouchable.
An awkward silence descended. I took a step back, regretting my impulsive action to touch him. “Sorry,” I muttered.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Brock said.
“He’s right,” Mads added gently, trying to take some off the edge off Brock’s tone. “This is not your fault.”
Perhaps I should have inquired what happened after I left, if Carter was alive, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. And I really did care that much. I shrugged, adopting my blasé attitude, which was a total front. “Still doesn’t make it suck any less.”
Grayson finished his pancakes and stood up, rinsing the plate off in the sink. “We should go,” he said to Brock. I couldn’t help feeling like Grayson was rushing to get away from me.
Brock nodded.
Shifting my weight, I leaned against the counter and brushed my slightly damp hair off to one side. I’d forgotten about the mark on my neck until Brock’s gaze darkened. His hand reached for my chin, and I didn’t stop him as he angled my head slightly, exposing my neck where there was a bright cherry-red mark and bruising from Carter’s teeth.
His thumb brushed softly over the skin, the line of his jaw hardening. “He never should have touched you.”
I couldn’t help sensing there was a warning in that statement, as if Brock wasn’t done with Carter. His fingers slipped away from my neck, taking his warmth with him. I tipped my chin to look at him, but Brock was already walking away, right behind Grayson. I just stared at his back and swallowed.
The rest of the day was chill and far less exciting than the last twenty-four hours had been. It was just Mads and me hanging out, binging trashy TV, and eating everything in sight. I never wanted the weekend to end, but of course, Sunday rolled around. I would have to go home eventually, and I debated whether I should call Dad. After mulling it over, I decided this was a conversation I needed to have in person. Mads refused to let me take an Uber to my old neighborhood despite my arguing and demanded I let her drop me off. I begrudgingly agreed.
So here I was, late Sunday morning, staring at the house I grew up in.
It was a white ranch with black shutters and a wraparound porch. At the end of the driveway was a two-car garage Dad used as his shop. We never parked our cars inside. There wasn’t room with all his tools and workbenches. Not to mention the car lift he had installed a few years back. I’d spent countless hours in that garage, watching him work under a car, handing him tools and listening to old eighties rock.
A wave of nostalgia hit me as I just stood in front of the house staring. Tears blurred my eyes. I missed everything about this little house, from its creaking floors to the leaking faucets. It was home.
Dad’s truck was parked out front, and as I walked past, I let my finger trail along the metal trim. I had learned to drive in this car. Sniffing back the surge of emotions, I wiped at my eyes and walked onto the porch. It felt so strange ringing the doorbell to my own house, but since he wasn’t expecting me, I didn’t just want to barge in.
God forbid if he wasn’t alone. I didn’t think my dad was dating, but it had been a while since we talked.
From the other side of the door, I heard him shuffling and fumbling with the lock. He blinked at me after opening the door, staring at me as if he was dreaming. “Josie?”
“Hey, Dad,” I said with a wobbly smile.
His face was covered in stubble, like he hadn’t shaved for a day or two. But other than the tired lines under his eyes, he looked the same. He ran a hand through his black hair that only had a dusting of gray at the temples. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” His brown eyes grew concerned as he took a good look at me.
I let out a watery laugh, trying to keep myself together, but it was hard. Seeing him in person, I suddenly felt five again and longed to have her dad make everything better—take away the pain. “Still wearing those silly band T-shirts, I see.”
He let out a gruff chuckle, glancing down at his shirt. “Yeah, well, they pissed your mom off.”
That was a good enough reason for me.