“Should’ve just given it to me,” he mutters to himself. The crack of a bottle opening cuts off his mumbling. Or maybe it’s the buzzing in my ears drowning out his barely coherent justification of his actions while his daughter is curled up on the kitchen floor.
Shit, I think I have a broken a rib. Maybe it’s only bruised? Not that it matters. All I know is, I can’t breathe.
I can’t freaking breathe!
I part my throbbing lips to keep from choking on the blood clogging my throat from my bloody nose, but it’s hard. Hard to breathe. Hard to comprehend exactly what just happened or how the light at the end of the tunnel I’d glimpsed until running into my dad has officially been snuffed out. Like some messed-up carousel, I play the last two minutes over and over again, well aware it won’t help anything. What’s to be done? I can’t go back in time. I can’t keep myself from walking into this house or opening my stupid mouth from saying the wrong thing or at the very least, leaving the money with Lexie or locked in my car or…anywhere. I thought he’d be asleep or passed out or on a binger or…anywhere. If I could’ve just made it one more day.
One. More. Day.
I don’t know how long I stay on the floor, watching him through the strands of my blonde hair covering my face, but I don’t dare move. Or even tuck it behind my ear on the off-chance it triggers him in some way, and he comes back to hit me all over again.
“Gotta piss,” he mumbles under his breath. I doubt he’s talking to me, but a small part of me appreciates the heads-up. On wobbly legs, he stands, stumbling to the bathroom with the envelope of cash in his grubby hand.
There goes my laptop.
Keeping my breathing slow and controlled and as quiet as possible despite my screaming side, I shift to my knees, peeking over the edge of the counter where my keys are. The metal is cold in my palm when I grab them and squeeze tight, letting the teeth bite into my skin.
Come on. Move. I gotta move. With one hand on my sore ribs and the other clasping my keys, I stand on shaky legs and walk toward the door as quietly as I can. When I make it outside, I climb inside my car, lock the doors, and twist the ignition. It turns over, and I swear I might have a full-on breakdown until it finally groans to life. The sound is like music to my ears, and I wipe at my cheeks, erasing the lone tear that somehow slipped past my defenses.
Okay. It’s going to be okay. I just need to…I need to clear my head. I need to come up with a game plan. I need to…I need to call someone. Okay. I can do that. Shifting to one butt cheek, I pull out my phone from my back pocket, then dial Lexie’s number. I’m sure she’s still at work. I’m sure it’s no use. But I don’t have anyone else to call.
“Hey, this is Lexie. Leave me a message. Or don’t. Actually, yeah. Definitely don’t leave me a message. Let’s be real. I won’t check it anyway. Text me. Byeeee!”
I hang up before the familiar beep has a chance to come through the speaker and let my head fall forward. Okay. Plan B. I need a Plan B. Obviously, I can’t stay here. I don’t have the keys to my new place yet. I’m not supposed to pick them up until tomorrow, so it’s not even an option. My bottom lip wobbles, but I take another shallow breath, lifting my head toward the ceiling. I had one more night. One more night under the same roof with the asshole, and he just had to screw it up. He fucking had to. I slam my hand against the steering wheel and squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the oxygen from my lungs as I search for a solution.One that doesn’t involve breaking into my friend’s house so I can sleep on her couch when I already know her brother’s using it for the time being. Okay, technically, he’s sleeping in the second room and the couch is free, but the idea of facing Ethan alone? Yeah, I’ve already been stupid enough for one evening.
Okay. It’ll be fine. Everything’s fine. I just need to find a place to stay and…a sob escapes me as I bend forward and rest my head on the steering wheel.
Where the hell am I supposed to go?
22
VIOLET
The hinges are smooth as butter. Heaven forbid, the Harden brothers spend their money on something other than WD-40. I almost smile at my inside joke but stop myself when the simple twitch tugs at my split lip.
Okay, no smiling for the foreseeable future. Add it to the list, right next to breathing. Got it.
“What the fuck?” a low voice murmurs.
I realize I’m staring at the ground, so I peek up, forcing my swollen eyelid to lift for a second longer.
“Jagger!” Ford yells. “Get your ass out here!”
Hurried footsteps manage to cut through the throbbing pain that’s been demanding ninety-nine percent of my attention since the moment my dad’s fist connected with my cheekbone. I try to blink away the swelling and force a smile at a stunned Ford when his oldest brother comes into view.
“What the fuck?” Jagger growls. It’s less confused than Ford’s sentiment and more…lethal, almost. Like he’s already plotting the demise of whoever did this to me. “Ford, give us a minute,” he orders. Ford retreats into the house until I’m left alone with the one and only Jagger Harden. The same black orbsthreaten to swallow me whole as he stares at me, unsure what to do.
I lick my split lip, wincing. “I, uh,” I swallow past the metallic tang in my mouth. “I didn’t know where else to go.” It’s nothing but a whisper, and I hate how I can’t even look him in the eye, let alone see past the blur painting my vision.
Jagger isn’t my friend. He isn’t my confidante. He’s…he’s an asshole. He’s someone who doesn’t look at people like they’re human, yet here I am. On his doorstep. Wanting to cry and run and hide and…
Suck it up, Violet!
Except I can’t. I’m so tired. My head throbs. My mouth throbs. My eyes throb. My side throbs. Everything. Hurts. And it’s not only my face and my ribs. But my soul, too. Does it make me weak? Probably. Not that it matters. None of it does. I freaking hate it. But it’s true. I didn't know where else to go. And what does that say about me? What can I do?
“Come on, Little Thief.” Careful not to hurt me, Jagger wraps his arms around my shoulders, helping me inside. “Let’s get you fixed up.”
It’s cleaner than before. The floor. Last time, it was littered with discarded red Solo cups, beer bottle caps, and the occasional condom wrapper. Now, it’s nothing but freshly mopped, dark stained hardwood.
