Page 13 of Risking it All

“Dad said he wasn’t selling for Eric before, and then he went to prison for it.”

“Dad’s doing the best he can.”

“Dad hangs out at the bar, kneels at Eric’s feet, and does nothing other than sleep. I’m not leaving her with him.”

She sighed heavily. “What can he do to prove he’s changing?”

“He can start with changing. Daily drug testing would possibly help.”

“You’re being unreasonable.”

“You’rebeing unreasonable,” I echoed. “Let him take care of a plant first. If he doesn’t screw that up, we’ll move onto a fish. We don’t start with our sister. It’s not like he’s around much other than to sleep anyway.”

“Could be because I’m the only one who lets him in.”

Because I refused him a key and I didn’t answer when he knocked.

“Or maybe he stays away because you’re a bear when he’s around,” she challenged.

“Maybe he stays away because he’s drinking and drugging again.”

Lyra’s phone vibrated with a call, and I memorized the number in case I did have to contact the police. “Gotta go,” Lyra said. “I’d hug you, but you’re disgusting, so I’m going to pass.”

I edged back enough to let her by and watched from the hallway as she hugged Camila.

“Make sure my little brother takes Camila to Alma’s and then acts seventeen for once,” she said to Marsh. “Which means he doesn’t leave a party to figure out how to make more money. Force him to relax and have some fun.”

“Easier said than done,” Mash muttered.

Here was the thing about seventeen—I didn’t know what that meant. Not by a long shot.

Chapter six

Macie

The first hive on my arm formed as Gianna pulled out of my driveway. The second one formed as we entered Brayden’s house. The third one formed when my friends from the volleyball team, who were happy and shocked to see me, tackled me in a hug, one after the other. The fourth one formed when Brayden brought out a case of beer and a few bottles of wine. Eventually, a whole family of hives consumed my arms as my friends drank.

In January, a party with my group of friends involved hanging out in Gianna’s basement, eating pizza and cookie dough, watching a movie and dishing on who we found attractive at school. Now, a party meant no parents, boys from school I had never spent time with, and a whole lot more alcohol. Like a hundred percent more. I had no idea that half of my friends ever wanted to drink, but now they were all there with red solo cups in hand.

A few minutes in, Gianna gave me a cup full of wine and encouraged me to hang out with a big group in the living room. I leaned a shoulder against the wall, being a part of the group but definitely on the outskirts. Gianna sat at the coffee table in the mix, drinking, laughing, and being a much bigger personality than I remembered.

The drink warmed in my grip as I listened to the multiple conversations, but I couldn’t care less about who recently hooked up with whom or who currently had beef with one another. Then they began playing drinking games I wanted no part of—especially Never Have I Ever. I couldn’t even speak my one emotion or challenge for the week in therapy. I sure as hell didn’t want anything to do with, “Never have I ever thrown a punch.”

I had, in February, and I didn’t want to think about it.

The group roared as Gianna drank, and she told the story with flare. The one about how she punched Chris Newman in eighth grade after he grabbed her butt in the lunch line. I had been there when it happened, held her when she cried. So weird how she laughed about it now.

There was this abnormal undercurrent of anger within me I didn’t quite understand. Gianna’s cheeks were a blustery red and her eyes glassy. I had never seen Gianna drunk before. In fact, I had never seen her drink period, and it made me very crabby.

Did I have some moral issue and think drinking was the end of civilization? No. Not at all. But there was this strange, unexpected disappointment. Why did everything after February have to change? Why couldn’tsomethingin my life stay the same?

“You actually showed,” came a smooth deep voice from behind me, and every cell within me sparked to life with nervous and excited energy.Relic.

I turned and my breath caught with how gorgeous he was: blond hair that had a messy sexy style to it, muscled arms that peeked out from the sleeves of his T-shirt, and a face that rivaled any runway model’s. What caused a quake in my body was how unexpectedly close he stood to me, leaving just enough space that if I wanted, I could take a step back for respectable. Just enough space that if I wanted, I could lean in and kiss him.

“You didn’t think I would show?” I asked.

He gave me an adorable, crooked grin. “No.”

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