Against the Rules (Even The Score #4)

25. king

CHAPTER 25

KING

WHAT ABOUT THE GIRL?

When my mom told me she was getting rid of her truck but didn’t want to, I volunteered to keep it going, and that felt good for exactly fifteen minutes. It couldn’t push beyond seventy miles an hour without a miracle.

Driving to my mom’s place was one eternal regret of taking it on.

The one-story ranch house finally came into view. One of my first big royalty payments went to that. Her crystals dotted the walkway and I accidentally swiped one with my sneaker. I knelt to put it back in place before she saw it, but I already had an audience. A little face poked out from the window. Not to mention, Boxer, barking to tell me that if I was an intruder, he’d fuck me up.

Good boy.

My little sister opened the door, and Boxer barreled forward, coming to a sudden halt when he recognized who I was.

He transformed from a ninety-pound mutt to his pretend pitiful puppy show, shimmying his shoulders to show how excited he was. He only pulled out that card for family.

But I didn’t drive at nine o’clock to hang out with my mom’s dog.

I reached for the phone in my little sister’s hand.

She yanked it away from me. "It’s not good."

"I need the numbers, Jazz."

"Mom’s in the bathroom."

Some days, Jasmine was upset about it, and others she let her anger take center stage. I understood. She was too young to be going through this. I grabbed the phone from her hand anyway and headed to the closet, digging out a washcloth.

"Are we going to the doctor? I don’t want to go to the doctor. I have a human right."

Her new favorite saying. I have a human right .

I checked the app that flashed my mom’s numbers. The graph wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great. Not hospital worthy but if Jasmine was calling me, that meant it didn’t matter.

"King, King, King?—"

"I don’t know, Jasmine," I threw over my shoulder and opened the door to my mom’s room to the familiar sound of her throwing up. "Mom?"

"You didn’t need to come!"

Yeah, okay.

I turned back. "Jasmine, go get your bag."

"We have to go?"

I nodded.

Jasmine pressed her lips together. "It’s not ready."

I dropped to my knees and motioned Boxer away when he tried to join the conversation, whining again. "You know you’re not supposed to touch your go-bag."

"I don’t want to go."

"You have to go."

"I have a human right."

Taking a deep breath, I counted from five. Five seconds I didn’t have. I kept the bag at the top of her closet for a reason, and if she was getting up there and pulling stuff out, I didn’t have time to get my mom in the car, her go-bag, and Jasmine’s stuff together.

"I don’t care what’s in it. Go get your bag. Now. "

Muttering under her breath, Jasmine stomped down the hallway while Boxer trailed after her.

I pushed open the bathroom door. My mom sat next to the toilet, in the middle of a crash. Sure, she didn’t need to go to the hospital.

"You didn’t need to come," she repeated, her voice weak.

"When Jasmine calls, you have to go. We agreed."

It was the same look of irritation I was sure I had, but she finally nodded. I looped my arm around her waist, scooping her off the floor. At least her bag was prepared. I had to bite back a curse when I spotted Jasmine’s. Only a handful of coloring books left.

There went all the snacks, the toys, and the careful planning I put together. Gone to shit.

"I don’t want to go to the doctor," Jasmine whined while I strapped her into her car seat.

I grunted.

"King, I don’t?—"

"I’m not leaving you behind, Jazz."

" Asshole. "

Where the hell did the six-year-old learn that? I stopped closing her door and stared at her, hard.

"Adam," she admitted reluctantly.

If there was anything Adam was shit at, it was hanging out with kids. Actually, besides Piper, all of them were. Last time they spent time together, Jasmine snuck into Kassie’s sketchbook full of ‘interesting poses’ for Ryan and we needed to have a thirty-minute discussion about inappropriate drawings.

I took the familiar route to the hospital and tried not to think about how close the last visit was.

"Can I go to Marrs, please?" Jasmine asked.

I glanced at the rearview mirror and kept silent, taking a right.

"Can I see June?"

My mom took a deep breath. "How was paintball?"

I made a noise at the back of my throat, indicating it was a good time. Because it was. Actually, it went better than I thought.

For a couple of seconds, I thought about telling my mom what happened. Willow, agreeing to the card games, opening up to the group. The way her breath quickened when I helped her over the hills. How she won the game.

Or when I messed up and hugged her.

I could still feel her body, pressed to mine.

"Can I go to Marrs? " Jasmine pleaded. "Can I see June? "

"How’s the Marrs family?" My mom added another question while we ignored Jasmine. "Are they doing good?"

I nodded.

"CAN I GO TO MARRS? CAN I SEE JUNE?"

"When are they coming over next?"

"Jazz’s birthday."

"They’re coming for my birthday?" Jasmine said, momentarily distracted. "Everybody? Is June going?"

I nodded. She promised she’d come.

"What’s the news about the girl?" my mom asked.

I shifted uncomfortably. When I took my mom to the hospital last time, I told her everything in the waiting room, all about the special girl I met at the bar. But I never told her what happened after. Coach’s daughter, storage closet, vaginismus. The combination that ended everything between us.

Or, going to her shows, our classes together. Coach Lawson’s request to keep an eye on her. The weekly reports I made in his office. All the things that tied us back together.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. Silent.

My eyes flickered to the mirror, to Jasmine in her seat, finally quiet, listening with rapt attention. Of course the only thing that got her to behave was my personal stuff she didn't need to know about.

I shook my head. "We’ll talk about it later."

Carrying the bags, I helped my mom out of the car but there was a long look on her face. "If this is that kind of stay, I don’t want her here."

"I’ll take her to MU," I promised.