Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Every good thing is slipping through my fingers. And in its place is whatever comes of this.
“I can’t go home. I can’t go back to that.” Panic hits me, along with stabbing blades of guilt that I can even think of myself when my mother is lying here broken, when I’ve failed her so completely.
But I don’t want this to be my future too.
I can’t walk this path.
I won’t.
I’ll go to the trailer. Stay at the shelter. But I won’t live under the same roof as my dad. Not after this.
“You can stay with us until we get this figured out,” BJ’s mom says.
“What?” I wonder what BJ said to her while Coach and I were at reception so he could take down our insurance information.
“We have a spare bedroom. It’s yours for as long as you need it.” Her smile is warm and full of empathy.
BJ hooks his pinkie with mine.
I worry about the ripple effect. How this will impact what comes next. How it will change this thing with BJ. How hard it will be to keep my feelings for him locked down if we’re living under the same roof. How nice it will be to have a break from the emotional warfare.
It’s nearly three in the morning when we get back to the Ballistics’. I’m exhausted but on edge. Lily follows me and BJ upstairs, and she sets me up in the room across from his. Like every other part of their house, it’s pretty and clean.
She turns to BJ, who stands just outside the door, one hand tucked into his jeans pocket, the other kneading the back of his neck. His eyes are droopy, like he’s struggling to stay awake. He fell asleep a bunch of times in the waiting room. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he’s got a neck crick.
“Why don’t you give us a minute, Randall?” Lily says to BJ.
He nods once and crosses to his bedroom, but leaves the door open a crack.
“How you holding up?” Lily asks.
I lift a shoulder and let it fall. “I’m worried about my mom.” Tears prick at my eyes, and I have to swallow all the emotions that threaten to overwhelm me.
She nods. “I’m sure you are.”
“I shouldn’t have left. I knew he was angry, and I left her alone with him,” I admit.
Lily’s eyes turn sad. “Oh, honey, this isn’t your fault. It’s a terrible accident, but you didn’t cause it.”
My chin trembles, and those tears I’ve been fighting leak out, because she doesn’t realize I did cause it. I gave him the idea.
“Would you like a hug?”
I nod, and she wraps her arms around me. As I sink into the comfort, I realize this is what it’s supposed to be like. The way I have to protect my mom from my dad isn’t normal. I shouldn’t be taking care of everyone else all the time. And that knowledge makes me cry harder, because the bubble I’ve been in for the past week has burst, and everything good feels like it’s hanging in the balance, waiting to drop.
I don’t know how long we stand there, BJ’s mom holding onto me while I fall apart, but eventually my tears run dry. I’m so tired. So hopelessly exhausted.
Lily squeezes my hands. “Why don’t you try to get some rest, okay?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ballistic. For everything you’re doing for me.”
“It’s Lily, honey. And we’re here to help.” She crosses the hall to BJ’s room, and I notice my backpack is sitting just inside the door, which means BJ saw me snot-sobbing all over his mom. I don’t even have the energy to be embarrassed.
The booze has been removed, so I’m guessing BJ tucked it away. I rummage around and find my toothbrush, then head for the bathroom. I always keep one with me for post hockey practice, so my mouthguard doesn’t get funky. I cringe when I get a load of my reflection. My skin is blotchy, and there are huge, dark circles under my puffy, red eyes. I look as bad as I feel.
I use the bathroom and pull a fresh shirt from my bag. The dryer sheets inside don’t mask the scent of stale cigarettes. But there’s nothing I can do about that.
When I open the bathroom door, BJ is sitting on the edge of the bed. He looks tired and worried. He motions to the nightstand. “I brought you a glass of water.” He extends his hand, palm facing up.
I cross the room and slip my fingers into his. He pulls me between his legs, settling a hand on my hip. He inspects my face.
“I look like shit.”
“You look beautiful and sad and tired,” he murmurs.
“I didn’t want you to know how bad it was,” I whisper.
“You’ve been fighting for a long time, huh?”