AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Thor.” She’s crying, and her voice is shaking. “You need to come home. He’s bleeding. I—”
I don’t let her finish. I’m already grabbing my keys and hopping the bar.
CHAPTER11
Addison
I’ve damn near pulledmy hair out at the root while pacing back and forth waiting for Thor to get home. Matthew is curled up in the closet of the main bedroom, he’s screaming so loudly you might think I was harming him. If the neighbors don’t call the cops it’ll be a miracle.
Thor bursts into the house, the door slamming off the wall as he swings it open. Is it still on its hinges?
“We’re up here.”
He’s already sprinting up the stairs, steps thundering even over the cries of Matthew. “Where is he? What happened?”
Not letting me answer either question, he pushes past me, following the wails of his son.
“It’s okay, buddy. Dad’s here. I’ve got you.” Thor looks up at me, tension tight around his eyes. “What went wrong?” His voice is laced with the same kind of disappointment my parents have when they address me.
His questions are relatively harmless, expected even, but all I hear when he opens his mouth is, “Addison you’re a failing failure who fails.”
Matthew screams louder, and Thor waves his hand at me. “You should probably leave so he can calm down.” He crawls into the closet and lies beside Matthew, dismissing me. He’s talking to him in soothing hushed tones, wrapping his arms around him, and stroking his hair.
I don’t know what to do. I want to help, but I don’t want to make Thor any madder at me. Of course he’s mad at me, he left his child in my care, and he’s fucking bleeding.
Coming here, moving in like this, even just for six weeks was a mistake. A giant fucking mistake.
Thor’s lawyer friend, Slade—the same guy who owns the Protocol club—was able to get me out of my rental agreement without it costing me a penny. Okay, no more than my first and last month’s rent that I already paid. I have no idea how he did it, but I don’t need to find a roommate off the internet who sends me pictures of his purple, veiny cock. I don’t need to sell organs on the black market to afford the monthly rent. And I don’t need to leave the country and change my name because I stupidly signed a contract without confirming the person I was moving in with was still moving in with me.
I should be happy. Things went better than I thought they would. I’m living rent free in Thor’s beautiful house for six weeks, eating all his ice cream, using all his hot water, and hanging out with a pretty cool kid who knows more about hockey than I’ll ever know about anything. Ever.
But right now, standing listening to Matthew crying, knowing how angry with me Thor is... I should have taken my chances with collections. This heavy feeling in my gut is awful.
As I head downstairs, my mind goes into overdrive. Should I leave? Like should I grab my overnight bag and haul ass and turn up on one of my friends doorsteps leave? Or should I go hide in my room? Or should I wait here in the living room for Thor to come downstairs and yell at me?
“You should leave,” could mean anything. He wasn’t particularly specific. Is he done, done? Is this first strike of three done?
Ugh. I feel sick. Matthew looked so scared when he saw the blood. The more I keep trying to tell myself it could have happened to anyone, neurotypical kids too, the less I believe it.
This is all on me.
I’m so out of my depth right now. I’m regretting ever agreeing to the twinkly eyes and easy smile of the beautiful man who asked me to take care of his terrified kid. I knew better. I’m not cut out for childcare. It was a dumbass decision that I now regret immensely.
I was so blinded by his wallet, and his fucking tongue that I let my sense of reason take a vacation.
I should have sold a kidney, or started an Only Fans, sold lemonade on the street at a stop sign... Something.Anythingthat wasn’t move in with a near stranger and his brand spanking new eleven year old neurodivergent child.
What the hell was I thinking?
Better question, what can I do?
I pick the skin around my thumbnail as I pace, struggling to find an answer that I want to entertain. Sarah will know what to do. But I’d rather shave off my eyebrows and draw them back on with a hot pink sharpie than call my sister.
She’ll have some magic solution for getting kids to let you put a Band-Aid on. She’s bound to have faced this situation with my niece and nephew at some point. But then I’d have to tell her what I’ve done. She’s going to lecture me. We both know I have no business being responsible for anyone, not even myself. And especially not a child.
With shaking hands I pull up her number on my screen, swallow down the bile threatening the back of my throat, and hit the call button, then the speakerphone button.
I start filling the sink with water listening to the ringing. The phone rings three times before she answers. “What did you do?”
