Page 8 of The Golden Boys

They see money.

What they miss is that there’s a woman standing beside him. A woman who’s been there through everything—the good, the bad, and the ugly. My mother’s a hopeless romantic when it comes to his sorry ass. Emphasis on the‘hopeless’part. Problem is, he knows she’ll never leave. So, in turn, he never changes.

Now, here comes this new distraction, primed to suck up the tiny fragments of time he doesn’t spend at the office. Another reason for him to stay gone for days on end. Another gold digger to leech off his bank account.

Perfect.

Instead of taking the phone and hoping my father doesn’t notice, I pull out my own and snap a pic of the image.

Whoever she is, whatever she thinks she’s going to take from this family that other women before her haven’t already stolen, she has another thing coming.

When I find her—and Iwillfind her—I swear I won’t stop until I tear her whole fuckin’ world to shreds.

Eye for an eye, bitch.

* * *

@QweenPandora: Spotted—a speed demon by the name of Vin Golden, barreling through the streets of downtown Cypress Pointe in his Tahoe. Tsk, tsk, tsk, boys. What on Earth could you three have done to bring down BigDaddy’s wrath?

KingMidas, MrSilver, PrettyBoyD, I don’t extend invites like this often, but … the floor is all yours if you care to explain. Inquiring minds definitely want answers.

Later, Peeps.

—P

* * *

Chapter 3

—Late August, seven weeks later—

BLUE

Mike’s door will be nothing but rubble when I’m finished with it. He’s got this long-standing rule about not being disturbed before noon, but screw that, and screw him. Screw the slurred lecture I’ll have to sit through once he’s finally conscious again, too.

Just thinking about it, I can practically smell the day-old whiskey on his breath, feel the moist heat hitting my skin when he gets in my face. A sign he’sreallyangry.

He’s always angry.

Still, even knowing what’s to come, all that matters is the shut-off notice crumpled in my fist. If I hadn’t been digging through the junk drawer for a pen to forge his signature on papers for Scarlett, I never would’ve found it.

The sound of my palm slamming his door fills the house again.

“One Week, Mike! That’s when the electricity will be turned off. Thank youso muchfor the heads up!”

Who am I kidding? This is pointless, and as I sink to the floor, I’m reminded that the only thing the man has ever loved besides Mom—dysfunctional as they are—is his booze. And with her gone, he seems to care about everything else even less than before.

Including us, his kids. Father of the year he is not.

The rustling inside his bedroom has me pressing my ear to the door, but then a loud thud and a groan are the last thing I hear before he goes quiet again. Reality sets in and there’s no doubt it’s onmeto fix this.

Like always.

Furious tears flood my eyes and I only quench them at the sight of a wobbly, messy-haired girl Frankensteining her way down the hall. Feeling a bit guilty for waking her with my tirade, I force a smile. It’s the best I can do to shield her from the truth of our life here under Mike’s roof.

Mom used to say Scarlett was as muchmykid as she was hers. It’s true, even if Idowant to throat-punch the girl right out of her flip-flops sometimes. Sure, she’s grown to match my height now, but she’ll always be my little sister.

Always.