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“You take them from here, I’ll call the cops and have your ass arrested,” Elliot says, and I hear myself growl.
“You go right ahead and call the cops, you goddamn coward. You explain that bruise on her head with that whiskey breath.”
“Stay out of this, Adam,” Elliot glares. “You think they’ll believe you two? Kids fall. All the damn time.”
“And some kids are pushed by their asshole stepfathers. You call the cops.” Zach steps closer to them. “You dare go near them, and I’ll tell them everything. Every drunken night where you shoved me. When you pushed me around and left me bruised. When you tripped me on purpose, and I fell head-first into the corner of the coffee table.”
Goddammit. I knew Elliot had something to do with Zach needing four stitches that day, but he wouldn’t admit it.
Elliot pales but only slightly, and his mother sobs like a moron. I feel no sympathy for her whatsoever, I realize. She should have been there.
“Fine. Take the brats,” Elliot says with a snarl.
“What? No,” their mother cries, but Zach isn’t listening as we walk over to the front door, meeting Mary and Anna who both have their bags packed and their coats on.
“You choose. Right now,” Zach addresses his mother. “It’s him. Or it’s us. But if you choose him, prepare for a goddamn battle because these girls aren’t ever living under his roof again.”
“Zachary...” she cries.
“No.” His tone is calm and in control as he pushes the door open, already knowing her choice.
I follow them out as the girls hop into his truck, which is still parked here, and I get into mine.
Zach drives off, and I follow. We don’t need words to know we’re heading to my folks’ house. I hope they know what the hell to do because I have no clue.
All I know is I have Zach’s back, no matter what.
TWENTY-TWO
ZACH
I’m numb as I drive to the Bates’ farm. I can’t believe I let them down like this. I can’t even look over at my sisters as I drive. I let them down. I never let them down.
When we get there, I park my truck in the drive, and Adam parks his next to mine. I grab one bag, and Adam grabs the other, his hand smoothing gently against my back in a small gesture before we walk up the front steps to the door.
Adam unlocks the door and lets us all inside. But his parents are right there, concern dripping from their features because they’re real parents. They worry. They care.
They don’t start crying and babbling when they’ve been caught doing something bad. They don’t ever hurt their kids, and they’d lay down their lives to keep them safe. “What’s going on?” Adam’s mother rushes to us, and her eyes instantly zone-in on Mary because of course they do. “What happened, sweetie?”
Mary instantly closes her little arms around Adam’s mother and sobs, “Elliot got mad at me because I threw up and ruined his trip, and he shoved me. My head hit the wall.”
Adam’s mother’s eyes meet mine and then land on Adam. “Did anyone call the police? Does she need a doctor?”
“No,” Mary wails. “I don’t want to go to the doctor. I don’t want the cops to come and take us away.”
“Oh, honey.” His mom sweeps her hand over Mary’s cheek, and it’s so comforting, I want to cry.
Adam’s dad looks furious as he glances at us. “What happened? Where is Elliot?” His teeth are tightly clenched when he asks.
Adam answers, “We took the girls. Told them if they called the cops, we’d tell them everything.”
Mrs. Bates hugs Mary and Anna to her. “Girls, why don’t you go into Adam’s room and get some rest. I’ll bring you some hot chocolate in a moment. Okay?” The girls nod and do as they’re asked.
“I’m sorry we came here,” I say to both of them. “We didn’t know where to go, and I couldn’t leave them there.”
“Why didn’t you call the police?” Adam’s mom asks.
“They’ll take them. We don’t have anyone. Our grandma... she’s not well, and the girls will end up in foster care.” My throat actually aches as my worst fears are spoken aloud.
