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I hear Adam’s laugh, but I don’t look at him. I can’t be bothered right now. Coach ran our asses ragged today, and it’s hot as hell outside. I mean, he’d never put us in danger or anything. He made sure we drank plenty of water and took breaks, but he didn’t let up.
Doesn’t help that he has a new assistant coach—a Big Bend Bear—who he doesn’t seem too thrilled about. So he took out his rage of being stuck with our enemy on us, and man, is my body weeping right now.
Doesn’t help that I’m still slightly hungover.
“You’re fine,” Adam says, and I swear he barely broke a sweat today at practice. The guy just has a natural talent out on the field. There’s nothing like it. The harder Coach pushes, Adam pushes back even harder and makes it look easy. Always has.
I finally look over at him, where he’s sitting on the chair by my desk. His hair is damp from sweat and the water he poured on it after practice, but he doesn’t look as wrecked as I feel.
We skipped the showers to get back to my place before my mom had to leave for her shift at the diner. But I don’t know how I’m going to be useful to my sisters at all this evening.
“We have school tomorrow.”
I groan and toss my arm over my eyes. “Don’t remind me.”
He chuckles again. “You like school.”
“I want to sleep for a year first. Then maybe go to school.”
Again. Another laugh. It’s a quiet deep rumble I’ve become addicted to over the years. When I hear it, I can’t help dropping my arm and sneaking another glance at my gorgeous best friend.
I wish I didn’t think of him this way, but I can’t seem to stop torturing myself. “I need to get home for chores and dinner.”
He stands up, stretching and showing off a sliver of the tanned, toned skin of his abdomen. I sit up, dragging my eyes away from him. “I’ll go with you.”
He looks like he’s going to argue with me, but it’s cut off by a loud crash and then my youngest sister’s scream. We’re both out of my room fast and in the living room, where I see a vase has fallen off the side table where Elliot is currently sitting on the couch.
My sister is cowering behind a chair and looking at him in terror.
“What happened?”
Elliot takes a drink from the beer I now see in his hand. “I told her to go to her goddamn room. She’s running around here like a little maniac. Knocked over your mother’s flowers.”
I grit my teeth. The fucker picked the neighbors flowers and brought them to my mom yesterday. She was so happy. Mrs. Henderson was pissed-off about her missing hydrangeas. “She’s eight.”
“She’s a goddamn menace,” he says, taking another swig of beer, staring at my little sister, who’s still crouching behind the armchair. “Clean it up.”
My hands fist at my sides, and when I look down, I see Adam’s are doing the same thing. “I’ll get it,” I say, looking at Mary and telling her silently to stay there with my eyes. She doesn’t move, and I hate how terrified she looks.
Goddammit, I have to get Anna and her out of here. I’m eighteen. I could leave today if I wanted to—and God, do I—but I can’t leave them.
Adam grabs the trashcan from the kitchen, and we pick up the broken glass and throw it away with the flowers as Elliot remains planted on the couch, drinking his beer.
“Uh, I guess I should stay,” I say, looking helplessly at Adam. What I wouldn’t give to go to his house with him and do some chores, despite my body being worn out from the day.
He looks over at Mary, just as Anna comes into the living room from the girls’ room to check out what’s happening. Adam’s eyes meet mine again. “How about you guys come with me. Mom always makes way too much for dinner.”
His eyes are pleading with me. I know he doesn’t want to leave us here, but does it really matter? We’ll end up here later anyway. Mary is only eight. She still has ten years left of this hell.
But when I look over at Mary’s hopeful eyes, I know I can’t deny her this. Not tonight. I just nod.
We don’t bother saying anything to Elliot as we head out to Adam’s truck. We pile in, and he drives us out to his place while Mary and Anna complain about being trapped between stinky boys.
Mary is giggling by the time we make it out to the Bates’ farm, so I’ll fucking take it. I want to lecture her about running wild around Elliot and how dangerous it can be, but I’m tired of telling her that. She’s eight. She should be carefree. She should be able to have fun.
We hop out of the trunk and are greeted by Adam’s mom, who seems thrilled we brought the girls over. They love her too. If they had their way, we’d live here, but it hurts too much to think about something so out of reach.
Mrs. Bates has her own family. Adam and his brothers are a handful. But seeing her wrap her arms around both of my sisters and then wave them inside to help her makes me long for the days when our mother was like that.
