Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 120176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Gavin Miller calling.
I answered. “Hey.”
“What the fuck, Daniels?”
My heart sank. “What do you know?”
“I know Flynn is saying Cruz threw a couple punches at him, and then you made up some recording, saying that a chick was accusing him of touching her or something?”
I was not surprised that’s how Flynn was twisting it. “I can’t tell you what’s on the video because it’s not for me to tell, but yes, a girl is on it telling about what he did. And yes, the police saw it and I’m guessing that helped with him being charged.”
“He’s saying you orchestrated all of this. That you got Cruz worked up, said Flynn touched you too.”
“No. I had nothing to do with that.”
My door opened, and Cruz walked in. It took one look at me before his face got tight, real tight. He clipped out, “Who are you talking to?”
“Miller.”
He came over and took the phone from me. “I just walked in, but I heard enough that you’re getting seriously twisted information if you’re blaming Mara for any of this shit. I don’t know what your brother is saying, but he showed up and he started throwing insults as his greeting. Yes. I wasn’t having it, so we had words, but it was only words until he threw a bottle at me and threatened me. I saw the chick with them, saw the state she was in, and he and I had a different sort of exchange. Your boy’s all the way in the wrong here, and I’m telling you right now, right here, that if he doesn’t shut his fucking mouth, the entire hockey house knows what really happened. He should be a lot more scared, if you get my drift. Do you get my drift, Miller?”
I couldn’t hear what Gavin was saying, but Cruz ended the call a few seconds later.
He looked my way, bags under his eyes before he gave me my phone back.
He sat down on the couch, leaning back and closed his eyes.
My heart was aching again, for him this time. “Angela told Labrowski?”
He nodded, not looking at me. His mouth went flat. “She told him everything, and he got her permission to tell the rest of the guys. They won’t say anything, but it’s a line of defense. His story should change when he finds that out.” He looked wiped out before his eyes slid my way. “I kept thinking all week about you.”
“About me?”
“About when you said you had your thing, and your mom made it about her. What’d you mean by that?”
There was a pinching sensation in my chest. “I don’t really want to talk about it. I mean, I don’t need to. I had therapy for that, but…” God. My mom. I felt my throat starting to close up and tried to clear it. “Her and Dad had divorced by then, and the guy who touched me, he was the latest my mom moved in.”
“She didn’t believe you?”
“No, she did, but it was like she didn’t care. She made a whole dramatic thing about it, calling the police. She was sobbing when they showed up, wearing basically nothing, and they had EMS come for her. They thought she was having a heart attack or that he’d hit her. She was screeching, like hysterically screaming. Bloodcurdling screams. The guy was put in a squad car, and I was in the corner of the couch, balled up because I knew I couldn’t leave, but I wanted to just disappear. It took three hours, and a trip to the hospital before they found out the real reason the police were called. One detective asked if I felt safe in the house. I wanted to tell the truth so bad, but I couldn’t. If I did, then she’d be the victim again and it was always my fault. Everything was my fault.”
The memories were coming back.
I said, “One time she asked for forgiveness, for bringing that guy into the house, but she did it in such a way where–” I shook my head, moving down, slumping and curling in on myself. “She took a butcher knife and held it to her wrist, and said I needed to forgive her because if I didn’t, she wanted to die right then and there. That was the one time she asked for forgiveness, like she’d done something wrong, but in how she was doing it, I wished she hadn’t. The rest of the time, it was my fault. My fault for wanting food, for leaving my room, for making myself vulnerable to him, for going to the bathroom, for not having a lock on my door or–”
“Figure it out! You’re a dumb shit so much, but you can be a resourceful little brat. Move your desk in front of the door or something. And it’s not like you even really need food. You could stand to lose a few pounds.”