think. I think you’ve hated her so much and for so long that now that she’s gone, you have no idea what to do with yourself or where to channel your anger.”
Narrowing his eyes, he almost seems as though he’s actually trying to understand. But when he makes his next few statements, I’m reassured that he’s still a judgmental asshole who will never fully recognize the shit I’ve had to endure. “Whatever it is, get over it and grow up. You’re twenty-three, but you’re acting twelve goddamn years old. And who’s left to clean up your mess? Me .” Throwing his hands in the air, he looks back toward Cash’s truck. “Now I have to go handle shit with your stupid-ass boyfriend so that you don’t go to jail tonight. And mark my words, you will owe me . You’ll pay for this window and any other cosmetic damages regarding his truck, and you will be doing this by not only working here, but also working at Blake’s duplexes because we both know that babysitting his kids isn’t going to make you anywhere near the amount of money you’ll owe me and because that’s the only thing I can think of right now.”
Obviously frustrated, he runs his fingers through his jet black hair. “Go home, sober up, and I’ll text you the address in the morning. Be prepared to actually work, not float through the next couple of months.”
I watch his mouth moving, but I don’t really hear anything else he’s saying because my mind is honed in on the only part of his tirade that actually scares me.
Home.
Where the hell am I going to sleep tonight?
Cash’s is obviously out of the question. And I’m definitely not crashing at Sadie’s — enough criticism has been inflicted this evening without enduring her snotty roommates.
Shit.
I’m going to have to go to Mother’s. I’m supposed to be living there anyway, but the lingering memories throughout every square foot of that house haunt me every time I enter it. Unfortunately, it looks as if that’s the only option I have this evening.
Biting my bottom lip to keep it from trembling, I look back up at Trace’s hardened blue eyes as they just glare in my direction. No more words are spoken between us, and I couldn’t care less.
I don’t have shit to say to him anyway. I’ve wasted my time pleading my case since I was six years old — he definitely never bothered to try to understand then. Both, repeat both times he returned home to see us, Mother was an absolute angel. She didn’t drink a drop, was overly affectionate toward me, and delivered the perfect performance of a loving, doting mother. I was lucky, I guess. She saved her demons for me and me only. After what felt like hundreds of calls to him asking him to come get me, and with his refusal every single time, I eventually cut him from my life.
He doesn’t know me.
He never will.
My eyes remain locked with his as he continues shooting daggers at me until Harlow finally arrives with the first aid kit. I watch him as he turns and angrily stalks toward the bar as Harlow pulls me over to Trace’s truck and lowers the bed door, urging me to take a seat.
I’m all alone.
Always alone.
She begins cleaning my wounds, and I hiss through my teeth as she lightly dabs the antiseptic cloth where the pooled blood on my arms and legs has already begun to dry. Inspecting for any remaining pieces of glass in my skin, her green eyes sadden as they travel up and down my body, taking in the numerous cuts and gashes. With a tender swipe of her thumb to my cheek, she removes a fallen tear while giving me a sympathetic smile. “You’re gonna be just fine, sweetie.”
I’m not sure, but I think she’s talking about more than the damage done to my body. After giving her a weakened smile in return, she dips her head in affirmation before squeezing my leg and turning to follow in Trace’s footsteps.
Wiping my face, I take in another deep breath and turn my head towards Cash’s truck. His back window is completely