Had she just sent it simply to remind him what he was missing?
My stomach turns and I swear my blood becomes venom, burning me up inside as it passes through my veins. Bitches like this only see one thing when they look at my father.
They see money.
What they miss is that there’s a woman standing beside him. A woman who’s been there through everything—the good, the bad, and the ugly. My mother’s a hopeless romantic when it comes to his sorry ass. Emphasis on the ‘hopeless’ part. Problem is, he knows she’ll never leave. So, in turn, he never changes.
Now, here comes this new distraction, primed to suck up the tiny fragments of time he doesn’t spend at the office. Another reason for him to stay gone for days on end. Another gold digger to leech off his bank account.
Perfect.
Instead of taking the phone and hoping my father doesn’t notice, I pull out my own and snap a pic of the image.
Whoever she is, whatever she thinks she’s going to take from this family that other women before her haven’t already stolen, she has another thing coming.
When I find her—and I will find her—I swear I won’t stop until I tear her whole fuckin’ world to shreds.
Eye for an eye, bitch.
@QweenPandora: Spotted—a speed demon by the name of Vin Golden, barreling through the streets of downtown Cypress Pointe in his Tahoe. Tsk, tsk, tsk, boys. What on Earth could you three have done to bring down BigDaddy’s wrath?
KingMidas, MrSilver, PrettyBoyD, I don’t extend invites like this often, but … the floor is all yours if you care to explain. Inquiring minds definitely want answers.
Later, Peeps.
—P
Chapter 3
—Late August, seven weeks later—
BLUE
Mike’s door will be nothing but rubble when I’m finished with it. He’s got this long-standing rule about not being disturbed before noon, but screw that, and screw him. Screw the slurred lecture I’ll have to sit through once he’s finally conscious again, too.
Just thinking about it, I can practically smell the day-old whiskey on his breath, feel the moist heat hitting my skin when he gets in my face. A sign he’s really angry.
He’s always angry.
Still, even knowing what’s to come, all that matters is the shut-off notice crumpled in my fist. If I hadn’t been digging through the junk drawer for a pen to forge his signature on papers for Scarlett, I never would’ve found it.
The sound of my palm slamming his door fills the house again.
“One Week, Mike! That’s when the electricity will be turned off. Thank you so much for the heads up!”
Who am I kidding? This is pointless, and as I sink to the floor, I’m reminded that the only thing the man has ever loved besides Mom—dysfunctional as they are—is his booze. And with her gone, he seems to care about everything else even less than before.
Including us, his kids. Father of the year he is not.
The rustling inside his bedroom has me pressing my ear to the door, but then a loud thud and a groan are the last thing I hear before he goes quiet again. Reality sets in and there’s no doubt it’s on me to fix this.
Like always.
Furious tears flood my eyes and I only quench them at the sight of a wobbly, messy-haired girl Frankensteining her way down the hall. Feeling a bit guilty for waking her with my tirade, I force a smile. It’s the best I can do to shield her from the truth of our life here under Mike’s roof.
Mom used to say Scarlett was as much my kid as she was hers. It’s true, even if I do want to throat-punch the girl right out of her flip-flops sometimes. Sure, she’s grown to match my height now, but she’ll always be my little sister.
Always.
“Geez! What’s all the noise?” She slides down the wall until she’s seated beside me, her hip pressed against mine.
Quickly tucking the shut-off notice into the pocket of my pajama pants, I smile again to mask that I’m so incredibly pissed.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” is the best answer I can come up with without lying. Although, I suppose it’s still a lie. We all needed to worry about sitting in the dark. However, it’s not her burden.
It’s mine.
My only hope of not being questioned to death is to change the subject, so that’s what I do.
“I signed your form. Should be all set for Monday.”
One corner of her mouth tugs up as she leans to rest on my shoulder. “Thanks, Sis.”
I nod to let her know she’s welcome. “So, a few more days and you’re officially a high schooler. How’s it feel?” When I nudge her knee with my own, she shrugs.
“Fine, I guess. Would’ve been cool to have you around, though.”
Guilt follows those words, even though I wasn’t the one who secretly applied for my Cypress Prep scholarship. Hunter was to blame for that. Apparently, he saw something in me he didn’t trust our parents ever would. So, submitting the application in secret was his way of showing me I was more than I realized.
And then, he went away.
His efforts got me waitlisted a year ago, and then the admission letter finally came for me to attend this coming semester, the start of senior year. You know, when all teens love being shoved into a new school where they don’t know a soul.
Insert sarcasm here.
I felt obligated to say “yes” when the letter arrived, but giving that answer comes with a high price. It means leaving Scarlett to face the harsh landscape of South Cypress High—the worst of the city’s iffy schools—on her own. Sure, Jules will look after her, but I’m not convinced anyone can do that job as well as I can.
I keep telling myself she’ll be fine, because she and I are resilient like that, but I worry. We can’t afford to let emotion rule our decisions right now, though. I have to do this, for both of us.
“I’m not the one who should be nervous, Preppy,” she teases. “How will you adjust being under Pandora’s watchful eye?”
I frown. “Who is this Pandora person? I’ve heard Jules mention her.”
Apparently, my ignorance annoys my sister, because I get a big eye roll in response.
“You live under a rock. I swear,” she scoffs. “She—or he, no one really knows— is a social media influencer. She posts whatever she or her minions see. I mean, like, on her app and all her social accounts. If it goes down at C.P.A., and it’s newsworthy, you best believe Pandora knows about it and she will tell. It’s usually only stuff about northsiders, but everyone follows,” she adds. “So, consider yourself warned.”
I can’t help but to laugh. Scarlett means well, but she’s always been a bit dramatic.
“Well, I’m pretty sure I’m going to start my year invisible and end it the same way. So, no need to worry I’ll sully our good family name,” I tease, knowing our name means crap around here.
On cue, as if to punctuate the thought I’ve just had, Mike—still drunk and passed out—lets a huge fart rip on the other side of the door.
Scarlett’s mouth gapes open while struggling not to laugh, and then we both lose it at the same time. That’s us, cut from the finest cloth. A real class-act.