Page 19 of Charger

“You saw that?” His head turns to where I have my palm pressed against my window.

“Yeah, I did. You need to call the police.” He paces back and forth, fumbling with his hair.

“Can you let me up?” He starts walking toward my larger bedroom window, not the one facing his house.

“Zach, I think you need to call the cops.” The man is still holding his nose in Zach’s driveway. It looks like he broke it. Good.

“Please, Jules.”

“Fine, okay.” I hang up, unlatching the lock.

He climbs (like Tarzan) up my siding and into my unlocked window. I step back as he throws his leg in first with a struggle.

He hasn’t been in my room, just me and him, since we were younger. I start checking boxes off in my head as I run through a list of any potentially embarrassing items lying around. He smirks devilishly while holding my bra up by its strap, using only his finger. Heat immediately hits my face and I quickly snatch it away. “Give me that.” I throw it in my drawer and slam it closed. When I look back at Zach, he isn’t smiling anymore and a bruise is already starting to form around his eye.

Running to my bedroom door, I look to see if anyone is in the hallway before I lock it. I know my brother can sleep like a rock but I’m not sure about my parents.

After locking it, I go into my bathroom and run a washcloth under the cold water. The defeat is written all over his face. “Here.” I sit next to him and hold the washcloth to his battered eye. He winces from the pain, but then draws me in with his eyes.

“Thanks.” He holds my hand with his, sending waves of electricity through me.

Every time.

“Zach, who was that?”

“No one.” He lets go of my hand. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Don’t worry about it? A grown-ass man just sucker punched you while your mother watched and you’re telling me not to worry about it?”

“I can handle myself.”

I search his eyes, sorrow filling them. “Clearly, but you shouldn’t have to. You’re eighteen years old.” He stands up and paces to the other side of my room, running his fingers along the books on my shelf—pretending to be interested in them.

“He’s my mom’s drug dealer.”

My heart sinks. Like, just hit an iceberg, sinks. “Your mom does drugs? I thought she was an alcoholic?”

“She does both.” He stills, then turns around to me again. “He’s been showing up more than he used to. Staying the night at our house. Apparently, he’s been more than just her dope supplier.”

“What about your dad?”

“My dad?” He laughs. “My dad hasn’t come back from his little business trip in two months.” I gasp. I can’t believe I didn’t notice that. Why didn’t I notice that? We live next door to each other. No wonder he’s always spending so much time at our house.

“Yeah, that was my reaction. Only, I knew it was coming. He got tired of my mom’s shit. But whatever—it’s not like he and I had any sort of relationship.”

“Zach, I’m so sorry.” I was sorry. But what else could I say? It makes my heart hurt for him.

“Don’t, don’t you dare feel sorry for me, Jules. Not you. I don’t need anyone’s sympathy.” I study my lap while picking at an invisible hangnail.

“Does Garrett know?”

“No, he doesn’t. And I can’t tell anyone because they’ll make me go to the cops and if I do that, my mother will go to jail.”

“But you told me.” He scans my eyes, my face, then grazes over my breasts. I forgot that I’m wearing a tank top and night shorts. My hair is pulled up in a bun and my glasses are on. It’s not my finest moment. But he doesn’t seem to mind.

“I did tell you. Not sure why…” He lets out a huff. “Maybe because you’re the first person I think of anymore.” My stomach does a dance of excitement. He thinks about me all the time?

I quickly change the subject as he grabs my sketchpad.

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