“Yeah, fine,” I agreed, but I wasn’t sure it was a promise I’d keep. Brock was itching for another chance to sink his fists into Carter, but I wouldn’t be the cause of Brock ending up behind bars. Carter might have kept his mouth shut this time, but if Brock touched him again, Carter would find a way to get revenge.
My stepbrother was a snake. He was just waiting for the opportunity to strike. Carter wouldn’t forget what Brock had done or what he had prevented him from having.
For now, I had to handle my stepbrother myself, and luckily, for a few weeks he wouldn’t be much of a threat.
Brock returned my phone. He trotted down the stairs, pausing at the bottom to glance back up at me. “I’ll pick you up in the morning. Don’t make me wait.”
I was about to roll my eyes when I heard my mother hiss from the bottom landing. “What is he doing here?” She stepped into view wearing a black silk robe and high heels. Who the fuck actually walks around the house like that?
Brock must have had the same thought as he glanced my mother over and made a sound in the back of his throat.
Shit. Shit. Shit.I felt like I just got caught in the middle of the night sneaking a boy out of my room. Except he hadn’t been in my room and this wasn’t just any boy. My cheeks flushed. “He drove me home. It’s not a big deal,” I said nonchalantly.Please don’t make this a big deal. Please don’t fucking embarrass me. Not now.
She noticed for the first time my limp as I hobbled down a step or two, clutching the banister like it was my lifeline. “What happened to you?” Most mothers would sound concerned when asking such a question. Not my mother. It came out more like an accusation.
My eyes bounced from Angie to Brock, pleading with him not to say anything. “I had an accident at school. It’s nothing, just a sprained ankle.”
“Which you might want to get looked at,” Brock added, leveling Angie with a disapproving glower. He towered a good foot over her. “There could be a hairline fracture.”
Angie’s black smudged eyes narrowed. “I think I can take care of my daughter,” she spat.
I gasped. She was such a deliberate bitch to Brock. Mom had definitely hit the bottle tonight—not that she needed liquor to be a raging bitch.
Brock wasn’t intimidated. “Let’s cut the bullshit. We both know you’re not winning any mother of the year awards. Don’t we?” His tone was savage.
My mouth dropped open. But once I got over the shock of hearing him speak to my mother with such disdain, the words registered. My fucking head was spinning, and I just wanted to get into bed.
She sucked in a breath. “How dare you. Get out before I call the cops.” Her finger pointed down the hall as hostile darts shot from her eyes.
“Gladly,” he said icily. He turned and left without a goodbye, the front door slamming behind him seconds later.
I stared down disbelievingly at my toxic mother.
She whirled on me, eyes wild, chin lifted in the air. My mother could be stunning when she wanted to be, and men found her attractive. She knew how to use an alluring smile and a flirty bat of her lashes to get what she wanted. But she could also be downright pathetic and a loose cannon just waiting to detonate. “Your boyfriend is not to step foot inside this house again,” she said in a sharp voice that cut through me like glass.
My heart sank, and I was suddenly too damn tired for this. I didn’t have the energy in me to fight with her. Not tonight. “Brock is not my boyfriend.”
“I don’t care what you call him. He is to stay away from this house, from this family. Is that clear? The next time he shows up, I will call the police,” she threatened as a light down the main floor hallway flipped on.
“Is everything okay?” I heard Steven’s concerned voice.
“Fuck this,” I mumbled, turning to limp off to my bedroom.
“You will not speak to me with such disrespect. Don’t you walk away. Josephine!” she cried after me.
Chapter Eighteen
Darkness cloaked my room, and the only sound was the ringing from my phone. My ankle elevated on a pillow, I snuggled under the bedcovers. The clock on my phone had read just past ten o’clock when I hit Maddy’s number. Locked in my room, I spent the last three hours trying to calm down. When reading or watching YouTube didn’t work, I turned to a friend.
“Hello?” Her voice filtered from the other end of the phone.
“What are you doing right now? Can you talk?” I asked, biting on my lip as I waited for her to respond.
A series of wrestling noises came through, as if she was searching for something. “Sure. Is this about what happened at school? Rumor is someone pushed you. Are you okay? Grayson was pissed. More than usual,” she rambled. This was the first we’d talked since my fall.
I frowned. “You talked to Grayson?”
“Yeah, I called him after practice.”