My face heats, and my heart pounds. It could be anyone … Alex, Joey, Annie, Jace, Sam. One of my sisters.Jude.
I feel trapped. Guilty. This is all my fault. Why did I come here?
“Well, go on, let’s see who it is,” he taunts.
Why am I terrified? I haven’t done anything wrong.
Sure you have. You spend time with other guys. All the time.
I don’t like this inner voice at all.
“What’s the matter? Caught you, didn’t I?” he sneers.
I tip my phone out of my pocket, glancing at the message.
Jackson:Everything ok? Let me know if you need help. I know how he can be.
Relief.
“It’s just Jackson asking if everything’s okay,” I say casually, trying not to sound intimidated.
He looks at me with disgust and maybe a little fear. “You text each other? Why would he think you’re not okay? What have you said about me?”
“We exchanged numbers because he boosted my car. You told me to call him! We don’t talk any other time,” I defend. Why wouldn’t he want me to have Jackson’s number? I have his sister’s and his mom’s numbers too.
A series of thuds like a tornado falling down the stairs is my only warning before I’m attacked by a giant blond wiggly floof.
“Murray! Hey, buddy!” Never have I ever been so happy to have my face licked.
Giant paws land on my shoulders, and I stumble back a step before I find my bearings to support his weight. It’s not unlike a Sammy hug.
He’s the perfect distraction. Nathan storms up the stairs, shouting and swearing at Jackson.
“Keep your stupid monster dog out of my space. I don’t want dog hair on everything I own. And stay out of my business! Why the hell are you texting my girlfriend? You have no idea how much pressure I’m under right now!”
My stomach lurches when he saysgirlfriend.
No.
“Maybe if you didn’t knock up your one-night stand and live in the basement like a teenager, you wouldn’t feel so muchpressure,”Jackson responds.
I’m filtering out the four-letter words, but good point, Jackson. Nathan calls him a few names—a bold choice since he’s living under his roof.
Chairs scrape across the floor followed by clattering when something smacks a wall and falls to the ground. The yelling’s hard to make out, but my skin turns clammy when I hear my name.
I can’t tell if I’m hot or cold, and I can’t take a deep breath.
I hate screaming.
I hate how Nathan peacocks around the older church ladies like a prodigal returned, but screeches and swears like a deranged psycho in private.
More than anything, I hate unpredictable outbursts, walking on eggshells, and wondering what inconsequential thing he’ll lose his mind over next.
It’s too familiar.
I’m running my hand through Murray’s wavy fur again and again while he licks my leg and sniffs my shoes. I’ve never had a dog, but I love this guy. I’m glad he’s here.
“You didn’t know you signed up to be my emotional support dog today, did you, big guy?” He pops his head up and tilts it to the side like he’s questioning my sanity.
