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I turn on my side to look at him. “Who does?”
“Hadley.” He shrugs, while I pull my brows together. “I don’t know why, but it feels like I’ve met her before.”
“Yeah, it’s weird you said that, because I’ve thought that too,” I mumble.
“Really?” he asks, and I nod. “That’s kind of weird.”
“I’m sure we’re just being weird,” I say. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that maybe he’s right. Perhaps we have met Hadley before. But when?
I guess it doesn’t really matter right now. All that does is getting Alex help, keeping my siblings out of trouble, and helping Hadley get her sisters back. I just hope I can handle everything.
25
HADLEY
One night,approximately ten hours, not even an entire day. That’s how long ago my sisters were hauled off by Social Services, yet it feels like an eternity. I barely slept last night, staring up at the cracked ceiling of Blaise Porterson’s bedroom, worrying about where they are, if they’re safe, if they’re scared. More than likely they were taken to a group home and probably slept worse than I did. I’d know. I’ve been to a couple, and they’re crowded and loud and uneasy. I couldn’t wait to get home, which means, if my sisters are at one, they’re feeling the same way.
I need to get them out of there.
In the past, when we would temporarily get taken away from our dad, we’d be in a group home for a couple of weeks while he got his shit together and then we were released back to him. That’s not going to happen this time, not after he tried to beat the shit out of me. If I know my dad, he left Honeyton the moment he realized the cops had been called. He’s done shit like this before—gotten in trouble with the law and bailed out of town. But he always took me and my sisters with him. This time, he couldn’t. The law wouldn’t allow him to.Iwouldn’t allow him to.
I’m okay with the idea that he won’t be in our lives anymore. I just wish I could’ve gotten him to sign guardianship of my sisters over to me. Since he didn’t, I’ll have to find another way to obtain it. While Blaise has assured me that he’ll help, I’m not going to put all of my hope into him coming through. Sure, he helped me out last night—stopping my father from beating my ass and letting me spend the night at his house because my dad might have given me a concussion—but I never completely rely on other people. No, the only person I can truly rely on is myself.
“Yo, bro, have you seen my black pants?” Alex shouts from just outside Blaise’s shut bedroom door, tearing me from my thoughts.
I’ve been awake for a couple of hours, surrounded by the scent of Blaise’s cologne, which I’ll admit to only myself smells good, lost in my thoughts and worries and trying to figure out if I should go to school today. I don’t want to. Not only does my head and face hurt like a bitch, but I’m exhausted and know I’ll barely be able to pay attention. But I think the first step of showing I’m guardianship material means getting my act together, not just with school, but with a better job that pays more. There’s probably more to it than that, though.
“Fuck, how am I going to figure all of this out?”
I wait in silence, hoping some answer will fall out of the ceiling and land in my lap. Of course, that never happens. If it did, I might get extremely concerned about my possible concussion.
Sighing, I roll to my side and check the time on the alarm clock. Crap, if I don’t get my ass out of bed now, I’m going to be late.
“Which pants are you looking for?” Rhyland suddenly yells.
“The black ones,” Alex hollers back.
I roll my eyes. The black ones? Yeah, because the Porterson brothers have so many different assortments of pants. So far, I’ve only ever seen them in black, except for the one time Rhyland wore a blue shirt.
“Which black ones?” Rhyland shouts.
“Will you guys shut the hell up?” Blaise hisses. “Hadley’s still asleep.”
I consider letting them think that—at least the damn shouting would stop—but I need to get up anyway.
Tossing the blankets off me, I pad over to the door, pull it open, and step out into the hallway. “Good morning, loudmouths,” I greet them with a smirk.
Rhyland mimics my smirk. “Glad to see you’re a morning person.”
He’s dressed head to toe in—shocker—black, his short brown hair is damp, and he has a Pop-Tart in his hand.
“I’m really not,” I say with a yawn.
“Aw, then it’s got to be us putting you in a good mood.” Rhyland winks at me and I roll my eyes.
“Sleep well, princess?” Alex asks. Or more like sneers.
He’s just a ways down the hallway, wearing nothing but a pair of loose-fitted basketball shorts, his heavily inked arms and chest on full display. Strands of his dark hair are sticking up everywhere, he looks as pale as the damn undead and the bags under his eyes don’t help either. After what I witnessed yesterday morning, he’s probably strung out. Honestly, I’m surprised he’s up and moving at all. And in infamous Alex style, a smirk tugs at his pierced lips as his hard gaze settles on mine.
