Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Painter scowled at him. “Way to scare her, fuckwad.”
Puck didn’t say anything, just crossed his arms over his chest, making it clear he was here to stay. Okay. This was getting weird fast.
“You know, why don’t you just come in?” I said quickly. I hated it when people fought. Mom and Dad fought all the time, at least until she stopped giving a shit and started smoking pot constantly. “I think there’s some pork chops in the fridge. I’ll make them for dinner, does that sound good?”
Painter smiled at me again, and this time there was something strained about the expression. “Sounds perfect, babe. Can’t wait.”
• • •
Dinner was weird. For one thing, we didn’t talk. None of us. We just sat and ate in the same room together, the clicking of our knives and forks almost painfully loud. Painter was nothing like he’d been before . . . He was still nice to me, but distant. No little knee touches, no lingering glances.
Nothing whispered in my ear.
The situation with Puck was strange, too. I’d assumed they were friends, but soon realized they hardly knew each other. Not that it mattered—they’d been sent to the house with orders to watch over me, and that’s what they planned to do. This burst my bubble in a big way, because I’d been secretly hoping that Painter had wanted to see me again. In reality, I was an assignment. I didn’t know why Reese thought I needed a babysitter, but he obviously did.
I’d just finished my pork chop when Painter suggested we watch a movie.
“It’ll help pass the time,” Puck agreed, anything but friendly. “I’ll see what’s available. Good food—thanks.”
He stood and carried his plate into the kitchen, then passed by us again on his way to the living room. Painter leaned back in his own seat, looking me over.
“How are you doing?” he asked, and it sounded like he was actually interested in the answer. I shrugged.
“Good,” I said. “Although it’s a little weird . . . I don’t feel safe going home. Loni’s place is gone. I’m not quite sure what I’m still doing out here, but I don’t have anywhere else to go, either. I can’t even get to my job, because I don’t have a car. Loni and Reese are never here. It’s hard to wrap my head around what comes next, you know?”
Huh. That was a lot more than I’d planned on sharing. I stared down at my plate, wondering if I sounded like a whiny little girl. Painter didn’t respond, so I shot him a look under my lashes. He was studying me intently, although I couldn’t read his expression.
“Wish I had an answer for you,” he finally said. “It’s a fucked up situation and I got no idea what happens next.”
That caught me off guard, because it was so honest. Whenever I managed to corner Loni, she’d just tell me that everything would be okay, and that she’d take care of me. Reese said to calm down, that it would all work out.
Hearing the truth was scary, but refreshing, too.
“Thanks,” I blurted out.
“For what?” he asked.
“For being honest. Everyone is telling me that things are fine, but they aren’t. I’ve got no home, no family to help me, no transportation and if I don’t find a way to get to work soon, I’ll lose my job. Not that I’d even know if I got fired, because my phone blew up with the rest of the house. And I’ve probably got a bazillion dollars in medical bills, too. It is a fucked up situation, so why is everyone pretending it’s not?”
He seemed startled by my sudden burst of speech, which I could understand. I’d startled me, too.
“You know, the house probably wasn’t your fault,” he said slowly. I shook my head, wishing it were true.
“I think I left the gas burner turned on after I made my macaroni and cheese,” I admitted. “What else could’ve caused it?”
“Melanie, leaving on a burner for a couple hours doesn’t blow up a house,” he told me, the words gentle. “I mean, it’s not something you want to go around doing, but whatever happened, it was because of something bigger than you cooking macaroni. It’s not your fault. And Loni’s insurance will probably cover your medical bills, too.”
“I really hope that’s true about the house,” I said, although I knew in my gut it wasn’t. I’d caught a whiff of gas earlier that evening and had meant to investigate. Instead I’d gotten distracted thinking about my mom. “And I guess the medical bills don’t really matter anyway. Not like they can collect.”
He nodded, reaching for the beer he’d grabbed from the fridge earlier. Taking a long drink, he glanced toward the living room, where I could hear Puck rummaging around.
“You don’t have to watch a movie with us if you don’t want to,” he said quietly. “You can go upstairs and rest.”