13. Wren
WREN
I have lived in worse places. I have slept in smaller spaces too.
The room is hardly bigger than a Harry Potter closet, but it works.
I made a makeshift bed on the floor with the promise of Evan getting me a twin mattress, which I refused.
I have my textbooks stacked beside my pillow and a small lamp placed on top, giving my new room a romantic ambiance.
My clothes are folded nicely at the bottom of my “bed,” and although there isn’t much space to do homework, I can always use the kitchen table or go to the library like I have done in the past.
Truthfully, anything is better than sleeping in Stone’s room.
This tiny room could have spiders hanging in the corners, and I’d consider them a friend over considering Stone one.
I lie and stare out the window at the moon and feel the uptick in my blood pressure. The way Stone ripped me away from Archer was completely uncalled for. I was shocked at first and then completely overtaken by a disarray of emotions.
It felt nice, for half a second, to have someone defend me.
Then came the blinding anger and betrayal. The entire reason I was shaken up was because of Stone posting that stupid picture of me.
Now, I have to watch my back even more than before.
I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and breathe out through my nose. I hate that I let my guard down.
Not with Stone. I’m not sure I would ever trust him, even if he did attempt to come to my rescue with Archer’s arms around me. I meant with myself and my father.
One month ago, I thought I was free. Content . Relaxed.
Now I’m stuck in a house with hockey players, careful of my every move, struggling to keep up with my demanding school schedule and cursing my sore feet from my extra shifts at Shadow’s.
I turn to my side after switching my phone to silent and curl up on the wood floor blanketed by a warm quilt. I ignore the stiffness of my hip and attempt to block out my father’s cold voice.
Do you want my death on your hands, Wren?
Do you want my death on your hands, Wren?
Do you want my death on your hands, Wren?
Do you want my death on your hands, Wren?
I sit up quickly and bring my knees to my chin, wrapping my arms tightly around my shins. My forehead is tacky, and my pulse is thundering behind my skin. I fling the blankets off my legs, hopeful that no one is awake in the house.
As tempting as it is to piss Stone off, the last thing my anxiety needs right now is another sparring with him—or better yet, another potential fight at his surprising need to be protective over me.
Like he has any right to do so. Dick.
The door creaks loud enough to wake each guy upstairs, but I pad on my tiptoes to the darkened kitchen and pray they all mind their own business.
Especially Stone. The glow of the fridge illuminates the room, and I think back to when I used to live at Evan’s house and his mom would already be in the kitchen with milk and cookies the night after I was thrust back into their care.
She never poked or made me talk.
She was just there.
The front door opens, and I quickly slam the fridge shut and peek down the hall. My erratic heartbeat is even faster than before, and I swallow my fear before I realize that it’s just Evan prowling down the hall in his school jacket and sweats.
“Looking for these?”
My hand flies to my heart. “You scared me, Evander. Jeez—” I pause as I look at his hands. “Are those…”
My words trail just as quickly as my fear.
He walks over to the table after turning the kitchen light on and places the Ziploc bag of chocolate chip cookies on top. Then he swishes past me and opens the fridge, pulling out the milk before grabbing two cups. He nudges my shoulder. “Sit.”
I shuffle over to the table, knowing very well that Evan isn’t going to allow me to hide behind silence. His mom knew when not to ask questions. Evan doesn’t care for my independence.
“Did you go all the way home to get these…for me?”
It feels like a chocolate chip cookie is stuck in my throat, but I refuse to cry again. I sit in silence as Evan pours us both some milk and unzips the bag. “Mom met me halfway.”
A soft laugh escapes me, and I shake my head, pulling my knees up to my chin again as I rest my back against the kitchen chair. “You did not have to do that.” I pull my gaze away from the cookies. “What did you tell her?”
“I told her your ex was being a dick, and you needed her famous pick-me-up.”
He shoves an entire cookie in his mouth as I nibble on the one in my hand.
Once he swallows, he taps the table with his knuckle and shoots me a look. “Why were you crying, Wren?”
My eyes dart to my bedroom door, also known as the hall closet, and a lie climbs from my mouth. “I was just frustrated that Stone—”
“I went four towns over to get these cookies for you, and you’re going to sit here and lie? Not a chance.”
Shit.
It isn’t that I don’t trust Evan. I trust him more than anyone. But I’m not going to pile my trauma on his shoulders. Again.
“Wren.”
“My dad called, okay?” My feet stomp to the floor in frustration, and I shove the cookie away.
When I peek back at Evan, his eyebrows are raised in worry. “Must be bad if you’re turning down Mom’s cookies. What did he want?”
I sigh. “The usual. Money.”
“But you were crying.”
Please don’t remind me.
“You never cry, Wren.”
I cried because the way my father spoke to me felt more final than before. There have been many threats over the years, but this time is different. He’s desperate, and if the past is a window to the future, I know he’ll do anything to save himself.
“I’m fine, Evan,” I lie and force myself to smile. “And I do cry. Just not in front of you.”
“Liar.” Evan flicks a crumb at me.
I roll my eyes.
“When was the last time you talked to him?”
“Right before he went to prison.”
Evan looks surprised, and I know he wants to ask more questions.
“Was it the photo? Did it push him to contact you?”
I nod and debate telling him everything, but the air around us grows tense. The skin of my exposed arms shows my chills. Evan’s gaze moves behind me, and I know without looking that Stone is lingering in the shadows.
“Go back upstairs,” Evan barks.
My chair screeches against the floor. Evan sighs loudly, knowing I’m finished with the conversation.
I refuse to look at Stone as I walk the three feet over to my room .
Stone doesn’t move. He stands just outside the kitchen, blocking me from opening the closet door.
I stare past his shoulder, knowing his eyes are pinned on me.
“Move,” I demand, leveling my shoulders and bracing myself for impact.
His mouth opens. He licks his lips, and I know he’s going to say something that’s going to drive me up a wall, but to my surprise, Stone moves just far enough away that I can slip by him.
My chest brushes his, and the way his warm breath skims my skin pisses me off.
I want to fling the door open so far that it hits him in the face, but instead, I keep my cool and open it just far enough that I can slide in.
The door clicks a moment later, and if Evan wasn’t watching us from the kitchen, I am certain that Stone would pull a chair over and push it up against the doorknob, locking me inside. Just to be an asshole.
“Lay off her.”
I grimace at Evan’s seethe. His voice lowers, but I have exceptional hearing. You don’t grow up in foster homes and not learn how to eavesdrop.
“I did,” Stone says in his normal tone. “Otherwise, I probably would have tripped her when she walked past.”
“ Stone .” Evan is angry.
“Relax. I’m kidding.”
“Well, I’m sick of the jokes. I don’t even want you to look at her. Not now.”
“Not now?”
It’s hard to hear, so I press my ear up to the crack.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Is this because she cried? How was I supposed to know that a simple photo of her on the internet was going to make her have a mental fucking breakdown? Talk about sensitive.”
“For fuck’s sake, Stone. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
There is a growl loud enough to make me pull back from the door.
“Haven’t you noticed that Wren isn’t on social media? That there are no pictures of her online? Like, anywhere?” There is a short pause before Evan continues. “Of course you didn’t notice. You’re too selfish to worry about anyone other than yourself.”
“There is nothing wrong with being focused on myself. I’ll worry about someone else when I get settled in my career.”
“No, but there is something wrong with taking down innocent people just because you’re blind to real problems that others have.”
“You want to talk about taking down innocent people?”
My eyes widen, and I glance over to my things at the bottom of my makeshift bed. I might as well pack my shit now . Stone has every right to throw me under the bus.
“What?” Evan asks. He sounds completely fed up with his best friend.
“You first. What real problems does Wren have now that she’s legally an adult and no longer the poor girl with sticks for legs who bounces around foster homes? Huh? Because from the looks of it, she’s doing just fine.”
“Just fine? She’s sleeping in a fucking closet because of you.”
“She isn’t innocent in all this, Evan. You just can’t see that because you’re blind to anything she does.”
“You’re the blind one, Stone.”
My legs shake, and I place my hand on the doorknob. Their argument is quiet, but I have heard every word, and even though I hate Stone, I don’t want to get in between them. Evan means too much to me to ruin their friendship.
“Fine, then open my eyes. Why was the photo such a big deal?”
My fingers tighten on the worn bronze of the knob.
“Her fucking dad called her. You posted that picture, and he tracked her down!”
It takes everything in me not to burst out into the kitchen to tell Evan to be quiet, but instead, I’m the one who stays quiet. I rest my head against the door, hating that my life has to be so complicated.
“Isn’t he in prison?”
I suck in a breath, trying my hardest to push away the stress that is lingering in the back of my head.
“You think just because he’s in prison that he can’t torment her? That he can’t threaten her?”
Footsteps move in front of the door, and I know they are taking their conversation upstairs.
Evan’s voice lowers to a whisper. “You have no clue what it was like for her back in high school, Stone. Did you ever wonder why I didn’t let you spend the night?”
“Yeah, I figured you just had a hard-on for her.”
I make a disgusted face.
“It was because of her nightmares. She would scream bloody murder almost every night when she first moved in. So back the fuck off, because neither of us truly knows what she has been through.”
I rest my head against the door and stay that way until their footsteps disappear. When I lie down, I stare at the moon again and think of anything but that phone call from my dad.
* * *
“She’s pretty good at this.” Gus nudges my dad with his bony elbow as they eye me from across the trailer.
Sweat is trailing my skin and curls past my collarbone, down to the dip of my tank top.
It’s eighty-nine degrees outside and feels like it’s one hundred and eight-nine degrees inside this trailer.
The fire beneath the broiler has singed all my arm hair off, and although I am exceptional at math and know the difference between acids and bases, performing “science experiments” while my drug-addict father and his right-hand man watch isn’t my idea of a fun summer.
“I know. I’ve been teaching her for years, and she’s even better than I had imagined.”
I glance at my dad and wish I could adjust the mask on my face. At least he had the audacity to give me the proper lab gear while I make one of the world’s deadliest drugs.
So much for those “science experiments” my dad and I bonded over years ago.
He’s been grooming me for ages.
“Ooh, she’s good, alright.” Gus’s voice tapers off. His pinky is covered in white dust, and when he pulls his mask down, he sniffs the latest batch up his nose.
My father does the same beside him.
They have to test the product.
Or that’s just their excuse to get high.
My dad’s phone rings, and I grit my teeth.
“Can you take that outside?” I ask. I watch my tone, but on the inside, I’m fuming. “It’s distracting.”
“Anything for my favorite little scientist, Pumpkin.”
I hold back a snort. Scientist. More like a meth cooker, but that’s just semantics at this point.
The moment the door shuts, I go back to measuring while ignoring Gus and his slow eye movements. He has always followed my every move. He calls himself my uncle, but I know for a fact that uncles don’t stare at their nieces the way he stares at me.
“Come over here, little one.”
I stay quiet. My hand shakes with the spoon in front of me.
I glance at the door and wonder when my dad is going to come back.
He doesn’t do much when the men make comments, and there have been numerous times that he has brushed off their inappropriate touching, but I can’t help but hope that he’ll come to my rescue for once.
“I said come here.”
“I can’t stop what I’m doing, or this batch will be ruined.”
It’s a lie, but he won’t know the difference.
“Fine, I’ll come to you.”
My chest hurts, and my mouth goes dry. The beaker in front of me is beginning to boil, and if I don’t focus, I’ll fuck it all up, and I’m not sure what’s worse—a punishment from my father if I waste product, or a touch from Gus.
“Don’t touch me,” I warn. I try to recall what I’ve already mixed, but I can’t focus.
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll distract me, and I’m trying to get this right.”
“I’ll distract you?” His breath is gross and warm and mixes right in with the sweat on my neck. “Like this?”
His sloppy lips touch my skin, and my eyes grow blurry.
“Please don’t touch me.”
I choke on fear from the slippery feel of his tongue, and the room grows black. Shit, shit, shit. Focus, Wren.
“Stop, please.”
I’m crying, and suddenly, I’m not in my father’s trailer. Instead, I’m in a jail cell, and my father is on the other side, smiling at me.
“Do it, Gus. She deserves to be punished.”
A gasp of air surges up my throat, and although I don’t see Gus or my father in front of me, I’m still brimming with fear and clawing to get away.