Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Until that nosy bitch got in the way.
The phone on Dad’s desk rings, slicing through the uneasy silence that’s filled the room while he absorbs the truth. “Yes?” he snaps when he answers, but his tone softens right away. “I see. Right. That lines up with what I’ve heard.” He looks at the two of us, standing side-by-side in front of his desk, before heaving a sigh.
Preston slides a look my way that I catch from the corner of my eye. I know what he’s thinking—one of the things about being a twin is pretty much knowing what’s happening in his head without having to ask. And this isn’t the first time we’ve stood in front of Dad, getting our asses chewed over something or other. It’s obvious from the way Dad’s posture changed that he knows we’re telling the truth, meaning whatever punishment he was dreaming up before now is going to be a lot easier to deal with.
Still, we wouldn’t be in this position in the first place if it wasn’t for that nosy bitch in the parking lot. I mean, how fucking ignorant could she be, sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong? It was none of her business, but that didn’t stop her from trying to be a hero or whatever the hell she thought she was doing by getting Frank to come out and stop us.
“All right. I see what you mean. I’ll deal with it on this side. And thank you,” Dad adds before hanging up the phone. Instead of going back to threatening us, he leans back in his chair and rubs his temples. It’s like he shrinks a little, too, under the weight of everything pressing down on him. “I don’t need this. Why do you insist on putting me in this position?”
His eyes slowly open before finding us again. “That was Paul Wilder. He’s down in the ER, where he just finished questioning Brody.”
All it takes is hearing his name to set my teeth on edge. That motherfucker. I’m not sure what pisses me off more: what he did, or the way he thought he could get away with it. I’d be on my way down there now to finish what I started if I didn’t know Dad would stop me before I made it through the ER doors.
That’s not even the worst part, either. The worst part is knowing he would have gotten away with it if Sarah didn’t break down crying while we sat with her in the curtained-off area, waiting for the results of her x-rays. Please, don’t tell Dad. Don’t tell anybody. The memory is sharp and clear—her tear-stained face, the way her voice shook with fear and pain, the way she looked so small and broken and bruised.
What I wouldn’t give for the chance to kick his ass again. Once wasn’t enough.
“And?” Preston never could wait for Dad to get through a story.
“And… Brody is not going to press charges against you.”
“Why not?” I demand, because I’m not stupid. This is too easy.
“Because… you know what he did.” Dad closes his eyes, grimacing. “I cannot believe this is the decision I’m faced with. He’ll stay quiet so long as we stay quiet about what he did to Sarah.”
“No way!” I didn’t plan on blurting it out. But it comes out of me before I can help it.
Preston is with me. “Dad, this is bullshit! We can’t let him get away with this!”
“You beat the shit out of him. Two on one. There is a witness out there who will confirm that. Do you realize what a judge would do to you if given a chance? I won’t have my sons carrying a police record around with them for the rest of their lives—no matter the reason why,” he adds when we both try to argue.
“But it’s Sarah,” I mutter, not that it makes a difference. We’re supposed to stand back and let some asshole beat our sister and not do anything about it?
“I’m sure your hearts were in the right place.” Dad speaks slowly, like he’s choosing his words carefully to keep things from getting any worse. I guess I should be glad, since it’s better than him losing his shit on us, but now it feels like he’s being patronizing. I fucking hate being patronized.
“Oh, that’s bullshit,” I mutter. I can’t help it. We’re talking about Sarah, the little sister who Preston and I have protected since we were kids, and he throws some empty words around. He’s the one who used to make a big deal of us taking care of her back when he wanted us to bond or whatever; then he turns around and pulls this meaningless shit out of thin air?
“So your heart wasn’t in the right place?” Before I can say a word, Dad makes a slashing motion with his hand. “Enough. I am trying like hell to keep it together. I just found out my seventeen-year-old daughter is being abused by her boyfriend, and I can’t press charges against the bastard unless I want my sons spending time behind bars.”