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“You have training? How are your ribs?”
“I’m just meeting a couple of the boys there for an extra running session. The ribs are fine. I should be able to start weight training in the next week or two.”
Ellie gives me another hug. “Take it easy, okay? Don’t do any more damage.”
“Night, Jelly.”
“Night.” She closes my bedroom door and I drop onto my bed fully clothed, draping my arm over my eyes. I’msotired. It would be nice to catch a fucking break for once.
There’s a knock on my door and I’m about to tell Ellie that I’ll see her in the morning when Mum walks in, shutting the door softly behind her.
“What do you want?”
Mum leans against my desk and crosses her arms. “That’s no way to speak to me, Conrad.”
I chuckle humourlessly. “How am I supposed to speak to someone who has been lying to me my whole life?”
“That’s not fair.”
I sit up on the edge of my bed. “No, you know what’s not fair, Mum? Constantly feeling like a fucking disappointment in your own family. I’m sick of it.”
“Con–”
“Unless the next words out of your mouth are the truth, I don’t want to hear it.”
“You don’t understand. I’m trying to protect you.”
“Protect me from what? Dad’s constant barrage of insults? Or how about the two times in the last month that he’s put his hands on me? What’s it going to take, Mum? I can’t move out or I’ll lose my inheritance. What am I supposed to do?” The inheritance clause put into Nan and Pop’s will states that we must live at home until we graduate university, or we don’t get a cent. Wes and Ryker only just got theirs last year. They combined that with their signing bonuses and were able to buy a property in Brisbane. They’re free from Dad’s scrutiny–not that they ever had it in the first place. They could do no wrong in his eyes.
Unlike me.
“He won’t touch you or threaten you again. I can guarantee that,” she says firmly.
I stare at her incredulously. “Do you even hear yourself? Why do you even stay with him? What has he got against you?”
Mum moves to stand in front of me, pulling me in for a hug. My head rests against her stomach. I can’t resist relaxing in her arms as she starts to comb her fingers through my hair–just like she used to when I was little. “I’m so sorry, baby. All I’m asking you to do is keep your head down and stay out of his way. Like you said: at the end of this year you’ll get your inheritance and be free of him. Just please, trust me on this.” She presses her lips to the top of my head. “Whatever you do, please don’t tell your sister.”
“This is bullshit. Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on, Mum?” I ask her, my voice cracking.
“Trust me. It’s better this way.” She cups my cheek in her hand, and my stomach clenches at the unshed tears in her eyes. It makes me hate my dad even more–if that’s even possible. “I love you, Connie.”
“Love you too, Mum.”
Once she leaves, I lay back on the bed again. My head’s spinning. Nothing makes sense. My breathing becomes shallow and sweat forms on my forehead. My stomach churns, cramps spreading up my sides. What the hell is happening? I sit up and try to suck in as much air as I can, but it’s like my lungs forgot how to breathe. I’m shaking all over. I feel like I’m losing control. I need to get out.
I stumble to my feet, tugging on my shoes. It takes me two attempts to tie the laces, but I finally manage. When I leave my room, the house is quiet–too quiet. It’s unnerving. I’m on the verge of hyperventilating. I take the stairs two at a time and burst out the front door, breaking into a run on the footpath. I have no idea where I’m going, but all I know is I need to run.
TWENTY-TWO
IVY
WHEN BRADY SUGGESTED having a barbecue to celebrate Jaxon’s birth, I’d been so excited to hang out with our friends. However it wound up being nothing but depressing.
Harley was busy, leaving me as a fifth wheel. Wren was hanging off Brady, and I’d been subjected to Jordan and Ronnie’s PDA all night. Yet another reminder of how pathetically single I am. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see them happy. It just makes me feel Lachy’s absence even more.
After cleaning up dinner, we sit around the outdoor table teaching Ronnie how to playBullshit. It’s essentially a game of bluffing the competition to get rid of all of your cards. Each round, the person who starts declares the value of their card–or cards–before placing them face down at the centre of the table. The next person then places down a card or cards declaring a rank of one higher than the previous round. If you think the person is bluffing, you can call, “bullshit,” and if you’re right, then they have to pick up the entire pile of cards. However, if you’re wrong,youpick up the pile.
“You’ve got a really bad poker face, pretty girl,” Jordan chuckles as Ronnie blushes and picks up the pile of cards. Brady’s just called bullshit on her for the third time. He winks as he places down three cards starting the new round, declaring them three twos.
