11. Cassidy
ELEVEN
CASSIDY
The old springs sag under me and my foster siblings as the three of us spraw across the beat-up couch in the living room.
The TV is playing some dumb cartoons, but I’m only half paying attention.
I’m listening to Bindi’s footsteps on the stairs.
As soon as I hear the creak of the bottom step, I straighten up.
Bindi walks in, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail, and she pauses in the doorway.
She’s wearing pink sleep shorts and my hoodie that’s slipping off one shoulder, and I hate how Cole’s eyes track her every step.
Talia is curled up at the end of the couch, half-asleep while Nate’s got his knees pulled to his chest on the floor.
I’m spread out across the right side of the couch, legs splayed.
I shift just enough to make room for her, patting the cushion next to me to put her beside the arm of the couch and away from Cole.
She looks at me for a second, then at the empty spot to the left side of me where Cole’s camped out like a goddamn king, one arm draped along the backrest. He lifts his chin and grins. “C’mon, sis , plenty of room right here,” Cole says, smirking.
She hesitates, probably weighing which kind of attention she wants to deal with tonight. And then, she does the thing that makes my chest cave in.
She sits right in the middle. Right between me and that fuck.
My jaw tightens so hard it pops. I lean away, drape my arm over the back of the couch too, behind her, like I’m claiming her, even if she didn’t pick the right side.
She opens her novel in her lap and pretends not to notice the way Cole’s looking at her.
He leans forward, like he’s trying to see what she’s reading and then lets his eyes slide away from the words and straight to her chest. Probably wishing he had fucking X-ray vision.
Cole stretches his arm across the back of the couch and gives Bindi this sleazy grin. Cole’s seventeen and thinks he owns the place just because he’s the oldest. He’s been eyeing Bindi for months, and I hate it.
Bindi’s entire posture changes and she shifts the book high on her thighs to try and shield herself.
“Damn, you’re fillin’ out nice, B. My friends were asking if I could bring you to the next bonfire, but I told ‘em I don’t share my toys.”
Every muscle in my body locks up.
“You’re disgusting,” Talia mutters from her spot at the end.
“The hell did you just say?” I growl toward Cole as I shoot up from my seat. My knee slams into the coffee table and it screeches across the floor.
“Chill out, Cass?—”
My fist slams against his jaw. Pain jolts up my arm from my tightened knuckles.
Cole’s head snaps back against the couch.
A burst of breath leaves him, but I don’t give him a second to recover.
I swing again, a wild hook that catches his cheekbone.
There’s a satisfying crack and a yelp from Cole. Blood blooms from a split on his lip.
Dimly, I hear Nate yelling, “Cassidy, stop!” But it’s muffled, like my ears are underwater. All I can hear clearly is the thunder of my own pulse and Cole’s grunt as I hit him again, harder. My vision blurs with rage. That bastard. How dare he? How dare he talk about her like that?
Cole tries to shove me off, panic flashing in his eyes now that he realizes I’m not holding back.
His forearm comes up to block, but I grab the front of his shirt with my left hand and cock my right fist back, ready to smash it into his stupid face over and over until he understands.
Until he’ll never even think of Bindi like that again.
My fist drives forward again, but suddenly, two strong arms yank me backward.
I’m hauled off my feet, my punch whistling uselessly through air.
Nate’s got me in a bear hug from behind, pinning my arms to my sides.
“Cool it, man!” he’s shouting in my ear, but I’m thrashing, still trying to lunge at Cole.
Cole sputters and scrambles off the couch.
His eyes are wild and furious now. “You psycho!” he spits at me, touching his split lip and checking his hand for blood.
I’m still kicking at the air, my sneakers scuffing the floor as I struggle against Nate’s grip.
I swear I’d leap on Cole again if I could break free.
I hurl a string of curses at Cole. “You ever go near her, I’ll fucking kill you!”
“ENOUGH!”
Randall’s roar crashes through the house, and all of us freeze.
Nate’s grip on me slackens in surprise and I wrench free, stumbling a step before catching myself.
My chest heaves. I turn to see Randall, our so-called foster father, looming in the archway to the living room.
He must’ve heard the commotion. His face is thunderous red, eyes practically bulging out of his skull .
“What the hell is going on in here?” Randall snarls. His gaze snaps from Cole, who’s cowering on the couch, then to me, standing in the middle of the room with my hands shaking from adrenaline, but I keep them balled at my sides.
“He started it!” Cole blurts, pointing at me. “He just went crazy!”
The coward conveniently leaves out why.
I open my mouth. “Bullshit! He was saying disgusting crap to Bindi?—”
Randall crosses the room in two big strides and grabs the front of my shirt.
The next thing I know, I’m slammed against the nearest wall.
My head thuds against the plaster, knocking the breath out of me.
“You think I care?” Randall hisses inches from my face.
His breath reeks of beer and stale tobacco.
“You don’t ever raise a hand in my house. You hear me, boy?”
Bindi stands a few feet away, shielding a half-hidden Talia. Poor thing is only nine; she doesn’t need to see this. Bindi’s eyes are huge and shiny with worry.
“He was touching her. Saying he’d?—”
A sharp crack explodes across my cheek. For a split second, everything goes white. Randall just slapped me hard enough to blur my vision. My face burns, the metallic taste of blood seeping into my mouth where my cheek got cut on my own teeth.
“Shut your damn mouth,” Randall growls as he drags me toward the front door.
I’m still dazed, struggling to keep my feet under me as he pulls me along. The screen door squeals open and the next thing I know, I’m flung out onto the front porch. I stumble and hit the wooden porch railing.
“You wanna act like an animal? You can sleep outside like one. Out here. All night. And if I catch you sneakin’ back in, Cassidy, I swear to God I’ll send you away for good.”
The door slams in my face, cutting off the rectangle of light and the brief chaotic glimpse I had of the others behind him—Bindi, pushing forward with that defiant set in her jaw, Talia holding her arm, Nate hovering uncertainty, and Cole scowling and wiping his lip.
Then they’re gone and I hear the scrape of the deadbolt, locking me out.
My cheek throbs where Randall struck me, and my lip stings.
I press the back of my hand to my mouth and it comes away with a smear of blood.
Fuck . . . that’ll swell and I’m sure my counselor at school will want to hear what happened.
I’ll have to make up some sort of lie, like I stole some kid’s lunch money and let him get a good one in.
I sink down to sit on the rough wooden porch, back against the wall of the house. Through the door, I can hear a muffled voice. Randall barks something, herding everyone upstairs. Feet shuffle, a thump, then nothing. They’re probably all going to bed.
The cool air raises goosebumps on my arms; I’m just in a thin T-shirt and jeans, and the night isn’t exactly warm. Summer’s gone, and nights are getting chilly. Of course, Randall doesn’t give a damn if I freeze out here.
If Randall hadn’t busted in, I might’ve really messed up Cole’s face. The thought is half satisfying and half terrifying. I’ve never lost it like that before. But even now, part of me snarls at the idea of Cole so much as breathing near Bindi.
I know Bindi thinks she can handle guys like Cole, but she shouldn’t have to.
She’s been through enough without creeps hitting on her in what’s supposed to be her home.
My jaw tightens. Randall probably didn’t do crap to Cole after I got tossed out.
Knowing Randall, he maybe slapped the back of Cole’s head and then went straight to blaming Bindi somehow, or just didn’t care because “boys will be boys.” Fucker.
He always sides with whoever causes him less trouble.
And I’m trouble . . . he’s made that clear.
A car rumbles somewhere down the street, its headlights briefly illuminating the yard before darkness settles again.
I rub my arms, trying to warm up a little.
The porch isn’t comfortable—just an old doormat and a couple of splintery boards under my ass.
I think about grabbing the tarp that’s covering the firewood stack, but it’s probably filthy.
Guess I’ll tough it out. Wouldn’t be the first time.
I wonder if Bindi is okay. She was angry at what Cole said; I know it. And maybe angry at me for exploding like that.
I never wanted to scare her. The idea that she might be afraid of me hurts worse than any punch. I was just . . . I had to shut him up. I had to protect her. If I hadn’t jumped in, would she think I didn’t care? Or worse, would Cole think he could keep pushing? I couldn’t risk that.
I sigh and drop my head into my hands. Maybe I should have handled it differently—told Cole off without swinging, or at least waited till Bindi left the room. But the image of her standing there, frozen like a deer in headlights as he basically drooled over her . . . I saw red.
No, I saw blood.
His blood, preferably.
A few hours later, I hear the rattling of a chain and Bindi’s slender form slips out through the barely open door. My heart does a weird flip in my chest. I’m both relieved and alarmed to see her. She gently eases the door shut behind her with a click , then tiptoes across the porch.