Brooke, her sister, and their mom, Elliott, all look like real life Barbie dolls, but this guy dotes on all of them. His protectiveness is fierce. I’m praying she hasn’t told him about the street racing because he’ll never forgive me if he thinks I've been putting her in danger.
It doesn’t matter that she’s never in the car with me when I race. Or that I barely break the speed limit when she’s with me any other time. He won’t see it like that. Just her being at something like an illegal race would be enough for him to murder me in my sleep.
“Can I see her?” I usually walk on into the house, but I don’t get the feeling that Duke is going to be okay with that today.
“Not gonna happen,” he mutters, not looking up from under the hood of the car. I hang around for as long as I can, hoping like hell she’ll come out here so I can see her, but she must know I'm here, and she doesn’t show her face.
The same happens every day that I go to her house.
It's not until two weeks pass that Duke tells me it’s time to give up.
She’s gone, and she doesn’t plan on coming back anytime soon.
CHAPTER SIX
BROOKE
“Shit.” I hiss as the scalding hot coffee splashes over the rim off my travel mug, covering my hand and the hem of the pale blue summer dress I stupidly wore today. The dark stain spreads across the fabric, and it’s almost enough to spark frustrated tears in my eyes. My gut screams at me to turn the car around and go back home. I’m ready to crawl out of my own skin with the thought of seeing Rylee today. I’m mortified at letting her see my reaction to Tucker. It’s been almost two weeks since that night, and I’ve been lucky enough to avoid seeing her any of the times I’ve been at the house, but my luck has to run out sometime soon.
I have no idea how I’m supposed to explain to her what happened that night, when I honestly don’t even know myself. One minute I was having a great time, finally letting my hair down and feeling comfortable around new people, and the next the walls were closing in on me as memories consumed me. I had to get out of there. On top of that, there he was. The last person I thought I’d see again, Tucker.
It’s been years since I last saw him. Years since I watched him walk away from me, climb into his car, and drive away. Leaving me all alone.
Memories upon memories have assaulted me since that night. I’m not sleeping, and my stomach is constantly twisted in anxiety. I’m a mess by the time I pull into a parking space in front of the house, and I have to take a minute to try to get ahold of myself. I need to push this unwelcome rush of feelings back into the box they’ve been successfully held in for the last few years.
***
“I think the brush is clean, Ms, Brooke.” The soft voice from beside me snaps me out of my thoughts, and I look down at the very clean brush I’ve been holding under the running water for way too long. Looks like I’m doing a terrible job of keeping my thoughts off Tucker. Dropping the brush on the side of the sink, I turn to find Jared looking up at me with a tiny smile at the edge of his lips. He’s much more at ease with me after the last few sessions we’ve had together.
Kids like Jared are the reason I do this. Growing up, I couldn’t express my feelings well with words. My parents divorcing and the subsequent abandonment from my biological father left me confused and scared at times. As much as I loved my mom and Duke, it wasn’t easy to tell them how I was feeling. Mom never trash talked our dad, not once, but it was obvious to us even as little kids that they didn’t interact. There was a divide between my parents, and no matter how they tried to hide it, Bailey and I felt it. It wasn’t until I was around eight-years-old that my mom decided we should see a therapist. The first few sessions were pure torture for me as I struggled to put my feelings into words. Seeing how hard it was for me, the therapist asked me to draw how I was feeling. Once that pencil was in my hand, it was like a whole new world opened up for me. One where my thoughts and feelings were no longer trapped inside. It was a no-brainer for me when it came to deciding what to do with my life when I was old enough to make those kinds of decisions.
“He’s been like a different kid, since he started his sessions with you,” Tony, one of the house counselors, tells me once the boys are cleaned up and leaving the room.
“I can see.” I smile, watching as Jared starts a conversation with one of the older kids. “He’s really coming out of his shell.”
“He told me he spoke to his mom earlier this week?” I ask Tony something that Jared brought up while we were working together today.
“Yeah, I wasn’t convinced it was good to let them talk, but I think it actually helped him.”
“She’s still in rehab?”
“Six months now.” Tony nods as he answers. “She asked to extend the program, so I’m hopeful that means she’s taking it seriously this time.”
“I hope so.” I’ve read Jared’s file. I know his mother is addicted to meth and a variety of other drugs. I know he’s been left alone while she went out to bars and other places looking for a fix.
I know he had to feed himself
