Chapter 23
Wren
What is with these psychos? They won’t be satisfied until they literally kill somebody.
“All right, you didn’t die.” Briggs climbs out of the pool and stands between me and everybody laughing themselves to death on the other side. “Don’t fucking cry about it.”
But that’s just it. I’m going to cry. I’m fighting it, but I’m going to lose the fight, because I almost fucking died and what is wrong with these people?
“Whoops!” Tiana calls out. I’m not a violent person. I’m really not. But the thought of smashing her face into the patio goes through my head in bright, vivid color.
Instead, I whisper, “Please, take me home. Take me back to the dorm.” He’s had his fun. I’ve been humiliated. I’ve been laughed at, and I almost drowned. What else does he want from me?
“We’ll leave when I say we leave. And I’m not ready to go yet.”
“What do you want from me?” I shoot him the filthiest look possible while wringing water out of my shirt. Everything is plastered to my skin—my hair, the leggings, my underwear. I feel absolutely disgusting.
But that’s nothing compared to everything that went through my head while I was down there.
It’s amazing how many thoughts can rush past in only a few seconds.
Even before I hit the water, my life was flashing before my eyes.
Because there was one thing I knew probably wouldn’t happen. Nobody would help me.
But then Briggs did. Of course, because he likes keeping me around. It makes him happy to hurt me. It wouldn’t help if I were a corpse.
He sneers down at me, and I can’t understand how he can look at me like that after what just happened in the pool. We had sex, and he still wants to hurt me. Then again, I hate him, and I am completely weak for his touch.
“If you don’t know yet, little bird,” he informs me with a grin.
“I haven’t been doing a good enough job getting the point across.
Thank you for letting me know.” I have never hated anyone the way I hate him right now.
Not even Tiana, who is now imitating the way I must have shrieked when she pushed me.
“Can we just go? Please?”
“You think I’m going to let you in my car, drenched like that?” He’s still laughing when his phone rings, and he goes to get it from on top of his pile of clothes.
I can’t really hear him over the other voices, but I see his face changing as he listens to whatever the person on the other end is saying. I don’t think he’s angry, really. Worried?
He moves so fast. He’s like a tornado, grabbing his clothes, pulling them on, and marching over to me. “Let’s go. We’re leaving.”
“Wait! You just said I’m not allowed in your car!”
“For fuck’s sake.” He grabs my arm tight enough to make me whimper before dragging me away from the pool, out of the backyard, and past the house. I can barely keep up—but if I fall, he would probably just drag me along the ground.
“What is happening? You’re hurting me!” Why did I think he would care? His grip only tightens. Would it be possible for him to break my arm with one hand? It’s like he’s trying to find out.
He doesn’t say another word until we’re at the truck, with him flinging the passenger door open. “That was my sister’s babysitter. Tia has a fever.”
That’s all the explanation I get, but it’s all I need. I climb in and buckle the belt while he slams the door, then jogs around the front of the truck. He practically slams himself behind the wheel and then we’re gone, with the tires squealing when he floors the gas pedal.
I would tell him we can only help his sister if we get there alive, but I’m afraid of what he would do.
I’ve seen him pissed before. Worse than pissed.
This is a whole different level. He’s so intense, and I swear I can feel heat coming off him.
It’s enough to make me move closer to the door, almost pressing myself against it.
“The babysitter doesn’t live far from here,” he grunts when we stop at a red light. His fingers tap against the wheel, and his jaw ticks. He’s dangerous right now.
“Do we need to stop and get medicine? Like Tylenol or something?”
“We have it at home.” The light hardly turns green before he stomps on the gas pedal again.
We pull up in front of a nice house—maybe not as big as Maya’s, but decent—and the front door opens as soon as we pull up to the curb.
“Wait here.” He basically barks the order before hopping out of the truck and jogging up the driveway.
Instead of yelling at the woman like I sort of expected—I mean, he’s not exactly stable, and he does seem really upset right now—he only comes back carrying his sister across his arms. Her head is on his shoulder, her eyes closed.
As they get closer, I can tell how flushed her cheeks are, even in the dark, with only the streetlights glowing.
Briggs opens the door behind me and places her gently on the back seat. “Can I lie down?” she asks in a soft voice.
“When we get home, nugget.” I barely recognize his voice, gentle and soft. “Right now, I need to buckle you in so you’ll be safe, and I can only do that if you’re sitting up. But it’s only a few minutes’ drive. Just close your eyes, and we’ll be there before you know it.”
He’s like a different person. I’ve always thought he was crazy, or at least that he has a serious personality disorder.
The way he goes from hot to cold to hot again.
This is a side I’ve never seen. The way he keeps looking back at her over his shoulder as he drives.
“Almost there, nugget,” he says after a few minutes.
Her whimper says she hears him, but she’s too out of it to care very much.
I guess I’m going home with him. I wouldn’t make Tia wait until we get to the dorm, and I know better than to ask Briggs about it.
It’s easier and probably safer to sit here silent as he makes a turn into a long driveway that leads up to a big house with columns out front and shaped topiaries. So this is where he lives.
Was Mom ever here?
Great. Like I need to think about that. It’s weird enough as we pull to a stop in the front courtyard.
I’m still wet and uncomfortable when I unbuckle my seatbelt and climb out of the truck.
Briggs is too busy worrying about Tia to pay much attention to me.
All I get is a single look before he starts for the front steps while holding her close to his chest.
This is really weird. I’m going to see where he lives.
“Briggs!” The shout rings out as we’re standing in the front hall after Briggs kicks the door shut.
“Where the fuck have you been? You know, this isn’t some flop house where you can come and go whenever the hell you want.
” The nasty sound sends a chill down my spine, and I really, really wish I wasn’t here.
“Go upstairs right now.” There’s an urgency in Briggs’s voice as he whispers to me. “My room is the second on the right. Go.”
The thing is, it’s already too late. A man who looks a lot like Briggs sort of stumbles out of what I guess is the living room from the little I can see of it. He’s got a glass in one hand, and the ice clinks when he points with the same hand. “What the fuck? Is that who I think it is?”
It takes me a second to realize he’s pointing at me.
Staring at me. His face goes red, and he takes one staggering step toward us.
“What the fuck is she doing here? What the hell is wrong with you?” he demands.
The way he blinks like he can’t quite see Briggs reminds me of Buck, how he gets when he’s drunk.
Briggs scoffs, then starts for the stairs without saying a word.
I follow close behind, almost clinging to his side.
If anybody ever told me I would be relying on Briggs to keep me safe, I would probably die laughing.
But here I am, hoping his dad doesn’t decide to attack or anything as we rush up the stairs.
Once we get to the second room on the right, I can breathe easier.
Only Briggs doesn’t stop. He slows down a little and jerks his chin toward the door.
“You can dry off in the bathroom on your left once you get inside.” He continues down the hall to the next bedroom, and I can hear him talking softly to Tia, before the sound of his dad’s angry shouts from downstairs drowns that out.
I duck into the bedroom and close the door—once again, since when is Briggs my protector?
His room is nicer than I imagined. Cleaner, neater. Wait, what am I saying? Somebody probably keeps it clean for him. There are plenty of fluffy, lavender scented towels in the linen closet. It’s a relief to peel off my wet clothes, which I drape over the shower curtain rod to dry.
I can’t figure him out. One minute, he’s abusive and cruel. The next, he’s cradling his sister and practically going out of his mind worrying about her. After seeing what happened downstairs, hearing that hateful, nasty voice. I understand why he is so protective of her.
By the time I’m dry, with my damp hair finger combed back and the towel wrapped around my chest, Briggs comes in. He doesn’t say anything at first, and I wait with my heart in my throat to see what happens next.
“Here.” He turns away from his dresser with a gray T-shirt in hand. “You can wear this. I can’t drive you back tonight. You’ll have to stay here.”
I love the way he says it. Like that’s it, that’s the way it has to be. I don’t get any say.
At the same time, leaving with me means crossing through the hall downstairs and running into his dad again. I would rather stay here than risk that. And I’m sure he doesn’t want to leave Tia alone while she’s sick.
“How is your sister?” I ask, dropping the towel and pulling the shirt over my head at the same time. He doesn’t answer, only pulling off his clothes and leaving them where they fall.
Okay. Well, I could try to call Maya, but it’s almost midnight already. It’s too late. I know she would come out here if I asked, but I can’t take advantage. And it would still mean having to go downstairs when that drunk, angry man is roaming around, looking for a fight.
It looks like I’m staying here. He pulls back the blankets and drops into bed, leaving plenty of room on the other side.
Just when I thought things couldn’t get any more awkward between us.
I crawl into bed and pull the blankets up to my shoulder, lying on my side, facing him.
I still don’t trust him enough to turn my back.
It’s dark in here, with only the streetlights coming in from between the partly open blinds. That’s a good thing. Somehow, it’s easier to deal with him when I can’t see his face. I feel a little braver.
“How is Tia, really?” I ask, curling into a ball. He’s on his back, one arm bent behind his head while he stares at the ceiling.
“Hopefully, the medicine I gave her will break the fever,” he mutters. “I’ll check on her in a couple of hours to see if it’s gone down.”
“She’s lucky to have you looking out for her.”
When he snorts, my heart sinks. I should’ve known better than to say something nice, but I’m stupid enough to want to be kind after what I witnessed downstairs.
If there’s one thing I understand, it’s what it means to have a terrible parent.
I wonder if he ever feels ashamed of his father the way I do when it comes to Mom.
“You don’t have to kiss my ass just because you’re in my bed. ”
“That’s not what I was trying to do. I’m just saying, she’s lucky to have somebody caring about her. There’s nothing worse than feeling like nobody cares.”
For a long time, I’m sure he’s not going to answer. He’ll ignore me, the way he’s good at doing when he feels like it.
Then he surprises me, something else he’s good at.
“Somebody has to protect her.” There’s something in his voice that makes me ache inside.
He’s fierce. Determined. For once, I can actually believe he feels something real.
There’s more to him than anger and bitterness.
He wants to keep her safe from the ugly things in life.
One of those things is still shouting drunkenly to himself downstairs.
“Why do you hate it when I call you little bird?” Briggs surprises me with his question.
“What makes you think I hate it?” I ask innocently.
“I can see it in your eyes, or at least I used to,” he admits. “It doesn't seem to bother you much anymore.”
“It reminded me of someone else who used to call me that once,” I say, hoping this answer will satisfy him. Of course it doesn't.
“Who was it?”
I think about lying to him, but stop myself.
I have no reason to lie to him. I’ve never talked about this with anyone other than my mom, who, of course, didn't believe me.
And no one else ever bothered to ask, so I tell him the truth.
“A guy my mom dated when I was younger,” I explain, wishing that he would stop asking about this.
“Why did you hate him?”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” I say sternly, feeling dread sneaking up as I’m forced to recall Steven and the times he touched me. Bile threatens to rise in my throat, and I shove the memories back down.
“What did he do to you?” Briggs goes tense beside me.
“Can you please drop it?” I beg, and to my surprise, he does.
“Fine, you don’t have to tell me tonight, but this conversation isn’t over.”
I sigh in relief. Only now realizing how fast my heart is beating. I lie there until my pulse returns to normal and my breathing calms down.
“Do you want me to stop calling you little bird?” Briggs whispers after a while, taking me by surprise.
I don’t have to think about my answer long. “Like you said, it used to bother me, but you kind of replaced his memory with you. I don’t think about him anymore.”
“Good,” Briggs says softly, and I let my mind drift back to what happened tonight for a while.
I probably shouldn’t do it, but he did sort of save my life tonight.
Granted, I wouldn’t have been in danger if it wasn’t for him dragging me to that bizarre party, but I’m willing to overlook that for the moment.
I finally see what’s been in front of me all this time.
He puts up a good front, but he’s hurting.
He has pain of his own. And he loves Tia with his whole heart.
Maybe that’s why it makes sense to slide over a little in the bed. To touch a hand to his shoulder and wait for him to lift his arm, making room for me to snuggle next to him. His arm drapes over me, pulling me close, neither of us saying a word.
Or maybe he does speak, but I’m too busy falling into a deep sleep to notice.