The sound that leaves her throat is enough to burst my eardrums.
Ingrid’s room isn’t… Ingrid’s anymore.
It’s…
“Puke green!” Ingrid roars. “She painted my room! She took out all my furniture! Is that a crib?!”
My dick—understandably—softens.
“Who does she think she is!” Ingrid screeches. “I can’t believe this. Where am I supposed to sleep?”
Then, she starts ripping paintings of flowers off the wall and throwing them. Curtains come down. Children’s books are flung across the room.
“We weren’t even gone that long!” Ingrid continues, her voice shaky and raw.
I stand in the doorway, not sure how Jason and Jill could let Isla do this to her.
And it hits me that Ingrid isn’t other people’s first choices either. She’s always tossed aside. She’s always picked last.
But she will always be first to me.
I walk across the room and place a hand on her shaking shoulders.
“Ingrid,” I say.
She turns to face me, tears streaking down her cheeks.
“How could they let her do this?” she asks me.
I swallow hard. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t have a place anymore.” Then, she bursts into tears.
She lays her head against my chest as I hold her, listening to her cry.
There are a lot of people who need me. Cash needs a room. My room. Even though he has a dad and a whole mansion. Elowyn needs a brother. A friend. Even though she has my dad. She has a house and a life that’s been much easier than mine.
But Ingrid.
Ingrid needs me, too.
And if I have to choose between staying and taking care of everyone, and her. I choose her.
I choose New York.
I choose the hard, difficult path because that’s what’s best for us.
“Hey,” I say softly.
Ingrid looks up at me, her eyes filled with tears. “How could they let her do this?”
“Let’s get our bags and head down to my house.”
“Where are my things?” she asks me.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “But we can figure it out tomorrow.”
She wipes the tears off her cheeks and looks around at the destroyed room.
