Page 41 of Pretty Broken Things

Shane doesn’t miss the look of defeat I must be wearing. He grabs my arm, and pulls me out of the room. Before he even says a word a tear slides down my face.

“Shit,” he mutters. “How bad is it?”

I don’t know what prompts me to tell Shane, but I know I’m going to need his help to pull this off.

“He said that if I break up with Ford he’ll let him live with us, give him money, and pay for college. The details are fuzzy, but I think he even mentioned a new vehicle.”

“He won’t want any of that,” Shane argues.

I’m already nodding my head agreeing with him. “I know that. I wouldn’t have agreed if that was all.”

“Okay.” He swallows hard enough I can see his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat. “Tell me the rest.”

“If I don’t do as he says, he will have Ford blamed for his mother’s assault, and take the blame off his father. Ford did hit his father to save his mom, and I have no doubt he can coerce Camille into telling whatever story he wants.”

Shane kicks over a decorative table with a potted plant sitting on it. “She’s fucking weak too, so there’s no doubt she’d say whatever he wants her to. I can’t tell you how many times she’s made Ford apologize to his piece of shit father for some imaginary infraction.”

He pulls at his hair. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you have to do it.”

I nod, and start crying harder. “I know. Like I said earlier, whatever we have to do to protect Ford. But you have to promise me something.”

“If you do this, I promise you anything,” he swears.

“When the time comes, you have to help me get him back.”

He nods, but I don’t think either of us believe it will be that easy. Ford is slow to love someone, and even slower to forgive. And I won’t even blame him. My father is the one who will be fucking him over, but he’ll always see me as weak when I do what I have to do to push him away.

ChapterNineteen

Ford

It’s beenfour days since my near showdown with Wendell James outside my mother’s hospital room. That’s four long days I’ve felt Tessa pulling away from me and there’s fuck all I can do about it. When I’m not at school or practice, I’m at the hospital visiting my mom. I’m couch surfing right now, because it was made very clear that Wendell doesn’t want me staying at their house, but it isn’t like I can go back to our trailer either.

Unsurprisingly, my father has spent exactly zero hours in jail for assaulting my mom. The first night he spent in the hospital, considering my punch landed on his temple and knocked his ass out for several minutes. Despite a rap sheet the length of my arm, the police seem determined to give him the benefit of the doubt. Really I think the county just doesn’t give a shit about those of us who live there. If we kill each other off, that’s less money in benefits and police calls they’ll have to shell out.

So, I’ve spent most of my time crashing in the clubhouse. George and Gloria would let me stay there indefinitely, but I don’t want to put them out like that. Not without money to give them for room and board, and I can’t earn that without quitting football.

Tracy has let me crash at her place a couple times, but her house is nearly as dysfunctional as mine. Lydia hasn’t offered, and I know better to ask her. She’s never told us about her home life, never let us come over even to pick her up, and I suspect whatever goes on there is pretty bad. I might sound like a shitty friend for thinking that and doing nothing to protect her, but in the Park we have a code. You mind your own damn business unless someone makes their business yours.

I’ve tried to pin Tessa down at school the last couple of days, but each time I get near her she practically sprints away with an excuse of having to study, or needing to speak to a teacher. I might have believed her if the look in her eyes wasn’t so bleak.

I try to speak to her in English class, but as cool as Miss Phillipa is, she’s still not talk-through-class-cool. By the end of the school week I’m fed up. On the way out of class on Friday, I grab her arm and drag her down the hallway. There’s an empty classroom at the end near the staircase. It’s isolated enough for us to hash this out, and probably the best chance I’m going to get to speak to her alone.

Tessa tries to yank her arm free, but I swing her into the room and wedge a chair under the doorknob. She stands a few feet away from me rubbing her elbow. “What the fuck,” she snaps at me.

This feels like we’re back where we started, at each other’s throats. “You won’t talk to me, what the fuck do you expect me to do?”

Her eyes turn glassy, and I can see her trying to blink back tears. I rush over to her and take her into my arms. This only makes her break out into full on tears. I rock her back and forth and just hold her tight. “Baby, you have to talk to me. I can’t handle your tears, they make me want to commit violence.”

“You…won’t…feel…that…way…soon,” she sputters out through hiccupping sobs.

I take a step back and frame her face in my hands. Tracks of tears mar her otherwise perfect make-up. I hadn’t noticed before now that she’s gone back to trying to look perfect. I feel like shit that I’ve been so absorbed in my problems I haven’t for a second stopped to see what her dad being back was doing to her.

“Tess,” I plead.

Her eyes shift down, and her voice is so soft I have to strain to hear her. “Please don’t hate me. Hold tight to who you know I am right now.”

“What are you talking about?” I’m confused, and a little sick. I didn’t have much before I met her, but there’s a gnawing ache in my chest that tells me I’m about to lose everything.

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