Page 56 of Released from the Sin Bin

“Oh!” We both shout as the first face to show is Coach Higgins with his shit-eating grin.

We hit our cups together and each take another drink of many more to come.

“I’m almost empty,” I whine at the contents of my second cup. Carter only filled these halfway and the second period just ended.

“I think we’ve had enough.” He takes my cup and places it far enough away that I can’t reach it.

“Rub my feet again.” I plop my legs back onto his lap.

“You don’t have to be so demanding.” He takes my foot and rubs the knots out with his thumb. “Are you this bossy in bed?”

“Ew.” I kick Carter and take my legs off him.

He laughs and gets up to clean away our cups and the rest of our mess.

“This night didn’t turn out so bad. Maybe I’ll take up drinking.” He sits back down and rubs his eyes.

“Why? What’s so bad in your life?” I nudge him with my foot to massage it again. “You still get to play hockey.”

“Hockey isn’t everything.” He glares at me, but I just roll my eyes. That’s too easy for him to say. “I hate my dad.” He stares off at the commercial on the screen.

“He can’t be that bad,” I say while trying to reach for his arm, but he’s too far away, and I end up flapping it against the air.

Carter looks at me before lifting his shirt to show off a bruise forming on his side. “Got that one today from him.”

“What’d you do?” I gasp and sit up.

It looks terrible. Worse than what a single punch or slap could do.

“I wasn’t supposed to be home, but I forgot something and he was in a pissed off mood.” He shrugs it off as if it’s an everyday thing. Is it normal to get beaten by your father in his world?

“I meant,” I sigh and take a deep breath, “after. Did you hit him back?”

That is where my mind went. My first thought was if that’s what Carter got, how bad off is the guy that hit him?

“Not worth it anymore.” He pushes my legs off his and stretches out. “I’m too drunk, otherwise I’d go out to find myself a good fuck to take my mind off it.”

“I’m sorry—”

“I don’t want your pity,” he cuts me off. “It’s been like this for years and pity doesn’t change anything. At least he’s not hurting my mom. That’s all I care about. I’ll help you get up to your room.”

He cleaned everything up and turned the TV off before lifting me into his arms.

“I don’t need you to carry me,” I say, grabbing my crutches before we go.

“I know, but you’re drunk, and I’d rather you not fall down the stairs tonight and break your other ankle.” He grunts at the steps, but doesn’t seem to struggle after the first one.

“Do you have sex with women to keep yourself from fighting him back?” I ask, registering something he said.

“I fuck women to release tension and stress.” His mouth turns up, but it doesn’t reach his sad eyes.

“You’re really strong.” I grab his arm and give it a good squeeze to distract myself from staring at his sorrowful russet eyes. I get a whiff of his shampoo as I clutch tighter. “And you smell good.”

“You’re really light.” He gives me a bounce in his arms to prove it. “And you smell like tacos.”

“Jerk.” I slap his shoulder, making him grunt.

“I didn’t say it was bad. I like tacos.” He places me on the bed once I direct him to my room. Running his nose up my neck, he dramatically breathes in. “Mmm, beefy. Almost good enough to eat.”

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