Page 89 of Fire Fight

They were horrible thoughts to think, and it’s blissful to find out I’m wrong. She didn’t put the bottle in her hand.

And, feeling judged by her, Mum would never share how she got hold of them. Not when the disclosure would put her supply at risk.

“Nothing like that.” I give her a broad smile. “It’s just weird that we’re both from the same neighbourhood and ended living in the same house.”

“You say weird, I say fortunate.” She slumps in her chair, passing across my cup and cradling one of her own. “Guess it’s just our time in the sun.”

We sit in companionable silence as we eat, then move into the lounge together. After ten minutes watching the news, Mum gives in to her yawns.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she mutters. “Lately, I can’t keep my eyes open, and I’ve already had a nap today.”

After kissing her goodnight, I head back upstairs, checking in on Drake. He’s still sleeping peacefully, and a mischievous thought occurs—that I could pull down his bedclothes and help myself to whatever part of that glorious body seems the most delectable to attack first.

Give him a taste of his own medicine.

Then the front door slams and Arnold bellows for his son. Drake startles awake, frowning at me like he doesn’t understand what I’m doing there.

When his father yells again, even louder, he scrambles out of bed, moving me aside as he rushes to the balcony.

“Did you think I wouldn’t care that you skipped class? You know the smug git of a school secretary called me to report yourabsence. Do you understand how belittling it is that my son can’t obey the simplest instructions?”

“He was sick,” I yell, unable to keep quiet while Drake sways back and forth at the top of the staircase, looking like he might slip and fall at any second.

I rush up to stand beside him, leading him a few steps away from the precipice.

“All he did was leave school during a free period to see a doctor and pick up a pain prescription. The last thing he needs is someone yelling when he’s got a headache.”

“What pain prescription?” Arnold says, hands bunching into fists. “If you want me to believe this bullshit, show me.”

I rush along the hall, pretending to enter Drake’s room while I pull the codeine Mum gave me from my pocket. “Here they are.”

I expect him to retreat but he comes upstairs to take them from my hand. When he reads the label, his face drains of colour. He looks utterly confounded.

A second later, he regroups. “This isn’t made out to him.”

“What?” I snatch them back, purposely keeping my face hidden so Arnold won’t see I’m fibbing. “It’s the same prescription. He must’ve handed him the wrong one.”

The pause that follows stretches until my nerves tighten to breaking point. A memory floats up from the deep. My second foster home when the father came home, absolutely raging, and the other kids warned me to stay in my room until the next day.

All of us had huddled behind closed doors, waiting to see if his temper would recede or progress beyond yelling.

I thought rich people would be better, but here I am. A different home. A different sibling. My mother standing downstairs, wringing her hands.

All of us fearing the same blaze of bad temper.

Then Arnold relaxes.

A mask slips into place, hiding his rage.

“Fine.” He clears his throat, voice sounding close to normal as he adds, “You’d better take tomorrow off sick, too. I don’t need another call from school, accusing me of being a negligent parent.”

“But that’s my only chance to say goodbye.”

His father’s eyes blaze, then he tilts his head, scanning Drake’s bruises. “Fine. You can attend another week, that’ll take us to the end of the month. Hopefully by then, you’ll look more presentable.”

He turns and walks downstairs while the three of us shake with the aftereffects of his explosive rage.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

---