16. Mac
SIXTEEN
MAC
BACK THEN
I climb through the window of Sage’s trailer, knocking the textbook that holds it up onto the floor with a thud. Sage jerks awake in his bed, going from sound asleep to wide awake.
His brown eyes land on mine. “Mac?” he asks, like anyone else could be crouching through this stupid window. His mom wouldn’t care if I came in through the front door. Actually, she’s told me multiple times to do so, but I like this. I like the fact that Sage is the only one who knows where I am.
“Yeah. Oof, shit.” My foot gets caught on the window, and I tip over, landing on my hands. My whole body already hurts, and shockwaves of pain make my vision spotty.
Sage is out of bed before my vision clears, kneeling on the floor in front of me. He reaches out and tentatively touches the bruises on my face.
“Your dad?” he asks. I don’t bother answering that. Just shoot him a look that clears it up. Since I kicked Stephen Harris’ ass when we were ten, Sage and I have been inseparable. He knows me better than anyone. I don’t have to confirm his suspicion. The answer is always the same.
“Motherfucker!” he growls, sitting back on his heels. I sit back, too, pulling my legs against my chest. The panic-filled dash to the trailer is now replaced with a wave of safety.
I always feel safe here. Don’t have to listen for creaks of footsteps. I don’t have to hold my breath when the front door opens. Here, I can relax. Here, I can recover from my father’s wrath. Sage gets angry, too, but never at me.
“This because of CPS showing up?” he asks, his brown eyes flicking over my face.
Probably going through the mental collection of every injury I’ve had.
He gets all fussy with me whenever I come over like this.
He always wants to make sure every cut and scrape is cleaned.
I let him, of course. He’s the only person who cares enough about me to do it.
I grunt my response. “Yeah. Apparently it’s my fault someone called. My fault he had to flush some of his stash.” I scoff and rest my uninjured cheek on the tops of my knees, watching Sage as his fury grows. It grows to the point he can’t sit still. He stands and starts to pace his room.
“One day. I’m gonna kill that fucker,” he growls out, his threat empty. But it feels good to hear. I hate when he’s so angry, but I secretly love it when he’s this worked up over me. No one gets worked up over me.
I’m nothing