“That’s what I said,” Brock says.
I nod, squinting as I recall the last thing I heard of her. She was a scholarship student, like me. The Three Kings of Almadale Prep can be cruel, but the queens can be worse. Catty, mean, hateful. Whatever horrible adjective you want to pin on them is accurate, and Peyton was enemy number one when it came to them. The bullying got to the point where she got in a fight and was expelled and returned to her side—the poor side—of town, attending the public school in Loredo.
“Haven’t heard anything about her since she left,” I say with a shrug.
Brock whips in next to the bus stop.
“Is that who you are going to see?”
“Nah. Got a meeting with someone. I’d take you home, but I don’t have time.” He waits in silence, letting me know to get out.
I scowl. “What’s eating your ass?”
“Out, C.”
I narrow my eyes but decide I don’t have the energy to get into it about the mysterious shit he’s got going on right now. I slam the door, and he pulls away while I raise my middle finger at his disappearing taillights before taking a seat.
I step off the curb by the bus stop and shove my hands into my pockets. After a turn right and a walk down a dusty road, I arrive at Casa de Walters—my grandparents’ trailer and my current place of residence. If it were just me, I would walk out tonight. I wouldn’t return home, and I sure as shit wouldn’t talk to my grandparents ever again. The good-for-nothing sacks of air are technically my guardians but only for a little while. As soon as I turn eighteen in December, I’m fighting them for custody of my brother. My one reason for everything I do now.
I open the door as silently as possible and cringe when the hinges creak. A pile of shit, like the rest of the house. If you can even call this dump a house. My grandparents only took us in for the money. There is no goodness in their hearts. They didn’t have any business having a child, and their child, my mom, didn’t have any business having us, but here we are. Me and Abe against the world.
“Where you been?”
I freeze at the gruff voice. My grandpa’s large form is lying prone on the couch, and his head rises to look at me.
“Like you care.” I stride past him, but he sticks a foot out, catching my ankle and making me stumble.
“I didn’t ask you to back-talk me, boy.” He rises to sitting and rubs the back of his neck as he shifts it left and right.
My bet is, he’s been on that couch all damn day.
“Get me a beer. Let’s have a little chat.”
I stand still for a moment, weighing my options between walking away and the war that will create or being his bitch and fetching him a refreshing beverage.
My eyes fall on a framed picture, one of the few around here. I’m around ten, and Abe is cradled in my arms as I stare at him. He looks so small. He was tiny, a preemie, born addicted, and I spent nights up before school, watching him breathe, making sure he was going to be okay. Making sure we were going to be okay after our parents split from us. They didn’t want to take care of a preteen and an infant, more interested in chasing highs than being loving parents.
I stalk to the fridge, wrenching it open and pulling the bottle of beer, all but throwing it at Grandpa as he sits, still crouched on the edge of the couch.
“Delicious,” he says after a long pull, smacking his wrinkled lips together before leaning forward to set it on the table in front of him. “Sit.” His short demand brooks no argument.
An old, worn recliner rests diagonal to the couch. I reluctantly walk toward it and sit next to my grandpa.
“A little birdie tells me you are going to try and take Abe from us.” His posture is relaxed, but I know him for who he is. Someone who can strike fast and with accuracy you wouldn’t know he possessed.
My hands clench the armrests as I watch him pick up some papers from the end table, holding them pinched between his thumb and forefinger.
“Going through my things?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Oh no. This is my house, so everything in it belongs to me. I was doing a sweep of the room I let you stay in.”
I stay silent. I hoped that they wouldn’t get wind of me wanting to take Abe once I was of legal age. I printed some papers off at Bodhi and Brock’s house. I’m an idiot for bringing them back here, knowing that I don’t have privacy.
“Let me teach you something, boy. You might be turning eighteen soon, but Abe is only seven.”
“Yeah, you have eleven more years to milk money out of the system instead of being a real grandparent. That’s all we are to you. Not grandchildren, but dollar signs.” I can’t keep the pure anger from seeping into my voice, and I realize my mistake when Grandpa lunges from the couch, grabbing the collar of my shirt. My hands clench, but I hold back, knowing that hitting him will only make things worse for Abe.
“You think you are grown? You know nothing about the real world. It’s gonna eat you up and spit you out on your ass, and don’t think we will allow Abe to take the fall with you.”
“Like you fucking care.”
“Make no mistake, boy. You won’t win.” His fingers slowly uncurl, my wrinkled shirt lying stretched out against my neck. With his gnarled hands, he makes a show of holding the papers back up, ripping them down the middle and throwing them at my feet. He swipes the beer bottle off the table where he set it earlier and stalks out the door.
I fight the urge to put my fist through the wall, and instead, I stand and continue down the hallway, stopping at my and Abe’s room to lean against the doorway. I see the lump of his body under the covers in his bed, soft snores drifting out, and I close my eyes.
I’ve never seen Grandpa go after him, but his demeanor is deceiving. One minute, he’s happy, and the next, he’s striking me. I wouldn’t put it past him to start in on Abe now that he’s a little older.
I have to get him out of here.
4
Landry
The morning light wakes me up, filtering into my empty room, and I toss the covers off, a nice sweat coating my body since I slept in sweatpants and a hoodie. I creep to the window, glancing out to see what is visible in daylight.
My room looks out over the side driveway that leads to the detached garage, but I can also spot half of the pool that spans part of the backyard if I crane my neck the right way. I’m going to get some good workouts in there. I’ve never been much of a runner or weight lifter, but put me in a pool, and I can outswim anyone.
My stomach growls, letting me know that if I don’t get breakfast soon, it will revolt. I grab my toothbrush off the counter in the bathroom and take the edge off my morning breath in case I encounter anyone downstairs. I have no idea if the boys came back last night, as I was too busy trying to get some shut-eye.
Shuffling down the front stairs, I turn toward the back hallway, where Mom pointed out the kitchen when I came in yesterday. I head straight for the fridge, and after perusing the shelves, I grab a yogurt and a water. As I shut the door, a figure looms behind it. I scream and clutch my chest, the water bottle falling from my grip and rolling across the floor. One of the twins stops it with his bare foot as he chuckles. Based on the laughter alone, I deduce that this has to be Bodhi. I’m not sure Brock ever smiles. Once I meet his face, his nose ring confirms my suspicion. As he’s bending down to retrieve the dropped bottle, my gaze locks on his naked body. Okay, not all the way naked, but he doesn’t have a shirt on. Small water droplets dot his tanned skin and roll down cut abs. Down, down, down.