Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
They’d been staying at Clay’s house. I didn’t expect them here.
Liv kicks me. “Get out of our bed.”
I climb over her. “Well, I’m not taking Iron’s.”
“Why not?” She links her hands behind her head as Clay lays hers on Liv’s chest. “Dallas really is the softest guy. He just needs love.”
I shake out the wrinkles in my hoodie. “He needs a punch in the stomach.”
“God, yes,” Clay chuckles.
He still hasn’t warmed up to her, either.
I pull on the sweatshirt and sweep my hair up into a ponytail. Paisleigh better be in the house. How the hell did she get out without me hearing? Stealthy little shit.
I head for the door, doing a quick sweep of my notifications. Nothing from my father about his broken window.
Good.
“We cleaned up down there when we got in last night,” Clay tells me. “Don’t let them destroy it.”
“Yet, anyway,” Liv adds.
It’s everyone’s day off. Her brothers are definitely going to have some fun.
But I nod anyway, leaving the room.
As soon as I close the door and turn, I smell turkey. I stop, close my eyes, and inhale. Goose bumps spread up my arms. Ah, yes.
I didn’t think they’d actually cook. Not that they don’t know how. Macon and Army, especially, have taken care of their siblings for nearly a decade, but I don’t know … No one in this house seems in the mood for anything other than alcohol lately.
I check the bathroom and see that the sink has been replaced, no evidence that anything had been wrong. I pull out a new toothbrush from my toiletry bag and swipe toothpaste across the bristles.
I clean my teeth, rinse, and drop my toothbrush in the cup with the others, even though I probably shouldn’t keep my toothbrush in here. Dallas will clean the toilet with it.
I open the window before I leave to let in the sweet fall breeze and practically hop down the stairs, feeling delighted with energy. I don’t know why, and I’m not going to ask. We deserve some fun.
I look around for my sister, finally finding her in the pool with Army and Dex. She doggy-paddles, her little head bobbing side to side as she smiles.
I squint. She’s wearing her swimsuit.
I pull back, laughing. Told her to pack the necessities, and all she probably heard was “we’re going to a house that has a pool.” She hates ours because there’s no deep end and she likes to cannonball.
I check the turkey, really just to get another whiff, and start to make coffee. I pass by the second kitchen window, spotting Macon in the garage—as usual—but then I see my brother and stop. He’s sitting in one of their trucks as Macon leans in the driver’s side window, telling him something I can’t hear.
My twelve-year-old brother scoots up in the seat, fists the steering wheel in both hands, and I straighten, realizing he’s about to drive. “What?”
He shifts, the car lurches, and I hurry over to the screen door, looking down into the garage and watching him pull out.
No. I dart my gaze to Macon, but before I can shout for Mars to brake, he turns the truck, slams on the gas, and parks along the fence.
He climbs out, headphones around his neck, and looks up just enough to catch the keys Macon tosses him. Without a word, he climbs in our mom’s Rover and slowly backs it into the garage, only stopping once to pull forward again to correct himself.
I realize my mouth is hanging open, and I close it. How long have they all been up?
Macon starts to turn back toward me, and I dive back into the house before he sees me.
No one died, I guess. And Mars is doing something that’s not on his phone for a change.
I back away, leaving them to it, only sporadically checking over the next few hours to see that they’re both still in there. Mars moved on to touching up my paint, in a mask with a spray gun, with Macon watching him. Once in a while, he grabs his mug, and I see the soup container I left him in the fridge during my shift last night on the table behind him. He refills the mug with soup, and I just barely contain my smile when I see him chew. He’s eating. That’s good.
I make up some cheesy potatoes, while Clay comes down and sticks her seafood stuffing in the oven. It smells awful.
The boys come in and out, one of them sticking something on the grill outside, and Paisleigh puts on dry clothes, staying in the living room with Dex and dancing to music.
I pull on a pair of tight jean shorts and roll them up just above my knee, and then borrow a cropped white blouse from Liv, buttoning it up to my neck. I brush out my hair, put on a little makeup, but can’t stop smiling at how I could never show up to my grandmother’s looking like this on a holiday.