37. Indie
Chapter 37
Indie
“ H ow long has it been since he remembered who you are?” Tripp asks, his voice hard.
She has the same eyes as Tripp. Apparently, those cruel blues pass on through the Savage family. “It’s been a few weeks now. I’ve just started saying I’m the nurse. It’s easier.”
Her words are matter-of-fact, and in them, there’s no care, no love. What burden she carries taking care of that man. One who treats his own daughter like garbage. Why don’t they use an actual nursing service? Aren’t there dementia care facilities? Darla and Tripp both don’t seem like they have any desire to take care of that awful man inside.
I slip my hand into Ram’s, stealing some of his warmth. I feel like I need it after standing inside that brutal house, after hearing him be referred to in such an awful way. I’m no stranger to racism. I’m the daughter of Chinese immigrants, so I’ve met my fair share of bigots, but Ram? This is where he grew up. At least I’d been able to escape it.
Tripp crosses his arms and bares his teeth at his sister. “And when did you decide it was a good idea to try and sell the ranch?”
The tension in the air is as thick as the fog out in the fields. You could cut that shit with a knife. I watch as the color in Darla’s face drains completely, making her look almost strange with the makeup painted there. Her hands twist together nervously.
“I. . .” No other words come out of her lips, as if they fail her in the face of her brother’s anger.
“Spit it out,” Tripp growls. “Explain yourself before I force it out of you.”
This time, my tension isn’t because I’m witnessing something I shouldn’t. It’s because in his anger, in this feral tone, Tripp Savage sounds exactly like the man inside this house. Anger passed down as anger.
“I. . . can’t,” Darla whispers.
“You can’t? Or you won’t?” Tripp asks. “You have a lot of nerve?—”
Darla shoots up from her seat, her anxiety forgotten in the face of her own anger. “I have a lot of nerve? Me? If anyone has the nerve here, it’s you, brother ,” she hisses. “You don’t know what it’s like spending every day with him, every waking moment?—”
“I know exactly what it’s like!” Tripp snarls, taking a step closer to his sister. “I was under his thumb from birth! When you were off playing dress up with your friends, I was trapped in this fucking house, trapped with that monster!”
“And now it’s my turn?” she yells back. “Now it’s my turn to suffer? Is that what you’re saying?” She crosses her arms. “Say it, Tripp. Come on. Tell me that I deserve every bit of this. Tell me that I deserve everything my mother got.” When Tripp doesn’t respond, she shakes her head. “What’s the matter? Now you can’t be so cruel?”
“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it,” Tripp says, and his anger is a little diminished. “You know there’s no one else?—”
“Yeah, so I must shoulder the burden while you spend three quarters of the year hiding out in the circuits. I get it,” she spits. She points at the front door. “This house is a fucking prison of his making, you won’t lend me the fucking key! So yes, I tried to sell it. Anything to escape this hellhole!”
“There are other people who rely on this place,” Tripp declares. “It isn’t always about you!”
“It’s never about me!” she shouts. “Not once in my life. Not when Mom brought me here. Not when I had the nerve to be born a girl rather than another precious bull rider like you. You have the nerve to stand here and tell me to suck it up. The absolute fucking audacity, Tripp Savage.” She tips up her chin. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re no better than he is.” She looks at me. “I hope you know what you’re getting into hanging out with the Crimson Three. They’ll rip your heart out and call it legacy.” She shoots them all a look. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a mess to clean up.”
She storms inside the house, the door slamming shut behind her. I stare after her, after the woman that Tripp called his half-sister, and. . . I don’t blame her. I don’t blame her one bit. That woman is trapped in a cage with the monster who made her, and Tripp is unconsciously making her pay for his time in her place. I get it, but that doesn’t make it right.
None of this seems right.
Tripp jerks his baseball cap off his head and runs a hand down his face. “I need a fucking drink.” He leaps down the stairs and climbs in his truck. We don’t even have time to move before he’s got it started and in gear. He guns it, leaving black marks on the concrete as he speeds away.