“I’m an Americano person, generally don’t like things too sweet,” I answer.
Wes smirks. “Sounds perfect, I don’t really do sweet. I like when things have a littlebiteto them.”
My hand slips on the counter where I had it resting. The way he just said that four letter word, the one I have tattooed on my ass. The one I’msurehe didn’t see, has me questioning several things about him, and about myself.
“Great, coming right up.” I turn away, and hope I didn’t sound too breathy when I said “coming.”
For fuck’s sake I’m losing my mind.
“You okay?” Jenn calls out from the back of the small coffee stand.
“Yeah, would you ring him out for me?” I don’t want to face him again. I don’t think I can continue to keep my cool any more today.
Jenn charges him, and I hand her the finished drink without showing my face out that window any more. Jenn doesn’t question my need to escape and I continue to busy myself for the remainder of the day.
It’s not until I get home that I check my phone for the first time today and instantly wish I didn’t. Not only do I see a text Wes sent me earlier, right after he got his drink. But there’s a text waiting from my oldest brother, Brent.
He doesn’t reach out much, and both him and Brynn have started to try less and less, but I don’t think they’ll stop completely. Not like Bryson who I’m pretty sure is so caught up in his own bullshit to think about anyone other than himself.
Brent: You’re going to have another niece, thought you may want to know.
I sigh. The urge to say something is strong, but the fear of being pulled back into the repressed memories and screwing up the happy life he’s clearly building holds me back. I know he’s with a woman named Chandler, who he apparently shares with two other guys on his hockey team. I don’t judge, but damn do I want to ask some questions abouthowandwhy.
They had a daughter a couple of years ago, and as I scroll up in the text thread there’s a picture of a tiny baby wrapped in a pink blanket with the name “Evie” on a round wooden sign resting next to her.
My niece. One I haven’t met before, and now I guess I’m going to have another one. I’m not surprised Brent is having kids, he’s probably a good dad. He did what he could to raise all of us, even though he left and couldn’t protect us from the daily abuse we endured. I don’t blame him for it.
I did what I could to protect Brynn from most of it. I learned no one was coming to save us, all we had was each other. But as we grew up, I only ever had myself because I refused to drag anyone down in the depths of my mind. Not with the memories andtrauma constantly threatening to pull me under at any given moment.
Like right now, when I can hear the yelling again.
Brandon, my second oldest brother, slamming doors on cabinets and drawers looking for something. He’s always looking for something. I don’t know what it is, but when Brent was still here he would stop him and kick him out.
But Brent’s gone. He’s playing hockey. He said he would get us money and help, but right now I just wish he was here.
“Should we help him look?” Brynn’s little voice asks.
I shake my head. “No, we should stay here.”
I quickly go to the bedroom door, making sure it’s locked so he won’t come in. Whatever he’s looking for isn’t in here with us. Bryson yells again, and I can hardly even understand the two of them, it’s just raised voices and slamming objects.
Our parents aren’t here, but that’s usual, I don’t know where they go. If they aren’t gone, they’re passed out. Brynn sniffles, and I pull her into me, wrapping my arms around her head trying to muffle the noise.
Doing that for her makes it so I can’t cover my own ears. I try to use my shoulders to help myself, but it doesn’t work. I’m not sure how long it goes on before the noises finally stop. As soon as I get the chance to leave this place, I’m never looking back.
This is the reason I’m not replying to Brent. I won’t be pulled back in. Brandon is gone. He died, and he can’t ruin my life any longer. But I could ruin theirs if I’m allowed in.
I exit out of the text thread and see Wes’s text. The distraction seems nice, and part of me wishes I could just give in. Let him use my body like he did that night and give me a distraction I so desperately need. But I know it isn’t worth it, and it will only leave me feeling worse the next day.
Wes: Didn’t even say goodbye to me. That’s another strike, Angel.
I can’t even come up with a witty comeback with my mind swimming in the sea of trauma that I don’t think I’ll ever get out of. I lock my screen, toss the phone onto the couch and go to the freezer, pulling out a bottle of vodka to pour myself a drink. I try to limit myself when I’m like this, knowing our family history with drugs and alcohol.
It nay not have been alcohol that took my brother’s life, but it was an addiction and I don’t ever want to battle with that myself. I vow this will be my one for today, even with a heavy pour and the juice I mix in. The cold liquid burns my throat on the way down, but helps my muscles loosen and my mind calm. At least for now.
CHAPTER 7
Wes
