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My sister Macy’s a nurse, and now she sounds concerned. “It’s still that sore after a week?”
“Yeah, I can barely move it.”
“What are you doing for it?” she asks. “Shut up, Wolfie!” she yells to the dog, who is howling again.
“Just CBD cream and ibuprofen at night.”
“You probably have a tear. You need an MRI,” she comments.
“I can’t imagine what that will cost me. I’ve already gotten a five-hundred-dollar bill from the ER. And that’s with insurance.”
“Those stingy bosses need to get you better health insurance, honey. That’s crazy.”
“It’s my deductible. I haven’t met it yet.”
“Deductibles are such bullcrap.”
I take a bite of my peanut butter and banana sandwich. “Don’t I know it.”
“Well, I gotta go, Jack has two baseball games back-to-back. Gotta do the sports mom thang!”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you later.”
I hang up and look around my kitchen, depressed I can’t go mountain biking. I really need to find another hobby that won’t completely ground me when I get hurt.
I bring my sandwich to the living room and grab the book I’m reading from the end table, pulling out the bookmark and picking up where I left off.
After the sandwich is done and I’m a few pages in, I feel my eyes grow heavy, and they close.
“You hate your job sometimes, too. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m going through with Jake. He’s overly demanding and pays me shit!” Garrett snaps.
“I don’t hate my job. People are dickheads, it’s life. I deal with it like a mature adult. Maybe you should learn how to, too!”
He points at me. “Well, you should look elsewhere if you think your job is so bad. Since you hate it.”
“We wouldn’t even have this house if it weren’t for me and that job!” I scream, throwing my hands up.
“Are you saying I’m not man enough to afford to buy a house for us? Huh? Because that’s what it sounds like. You can’t take all the credit, Quinn.”
“You’re missin’ the point. We’re going to lose this house if you quit your job. I don’t care if your boss is an asshole. Suck it up until you find another one. There’s a million mechanic shops around here. It’s not hard. Use the dang internet!”
“Don’t you fucking talk to me that way, you bitch. You remember what happened last time you smarted off to me, you ignorant redneck?”
“Screw you, Garrett. I don’t have to sit and take this. I’m leavin’!”
“The fuck you are!” He grabs my arms and spins me around. “I’ve had it with your smart mouth. Treat me with respect or you’re going to be sorry.”
“I don’t respect you because you don’t deserve any. You treat me like horseshit!”
He backhands me and I go flying to the floor. And now I’m madder than a hornet. I get up, grab the lamp from the nightstand, yank the cord from the wall, and toss it at him.
It grazes his shoulder as he ducks out of the way, and it didn’t even break. He picks it up and throws it back at me, missing me and hitting the wall where it does break into pieces. I’m so mad I can’t see straight. I march into the walk-in closet and grab my shotgun. I point it at his face and rack it.
He puts his hands up in surrender and says, “What the fuck are you doing, you crazy bitch? Put that away!”
“Get the hell out of my house now before I shoot your ass!”
“Hey, Alexa! Call 911!” he calls to the speaker.
