Page 14 of Ricochet

I love living alone.

My father passed away when I was twelve, leaving behind a considerable amount of money. My family’s not rich by any means, but we’re able to live comfortably. He created several software programs used by a lot of Fortune 500 companies and spent most of his life saving what he made. That money has paid for mine and my sister’s college educations—at least what my athletic scholarships don’t cover—as well as this apartment.

I might love living alone, but I don’t love living so far away from my mom and sister. However, I know that my scholarships help ease the burden on my father’s savings. When Coach Hill offered me a spot on the Lynwood Monarchs, I couldn’t turn it down. The goal was always to get my master’s as well as play one more year of hockey.

My father’s savings won’t last forever. I want to be able to help my family as much as I can. Preferably as a physical therapist, but I’ll take what I can get.

With my family on my mind, I dial my sister’s number.

“What’s up, punk?”

My mouth tilts up at the sound of Lacey’s voice. “Just wanted to check in. See how things are going.”

She sighs heavily. “Same as yesterday. Same as the day before that. And before that. And before that.”

I let out a low laugh. “I get it. Can you blame me? I’ve never been away this long before. How’s Mom doing?”

“Oh, you know her. Working too hard like usual.”

“Yeah.” I lean back into the soft cushions and run my hand over my face. “I wish she wouldn’t do that. Between you and me, we’ll always take care of her.”

“She doesn’t want her kids to have to take care of her. And I get it, Stone.” A bag rustles down the line followed by a crunch, and I can picture my sister sitting at her desk with an open bag of Funyuns. “Even when Dad was alive, she was always strong and independent.”

“But you know that’s not the only reason she overworks herself.”

Lacey sighs again. “Yeah, I know.”

Even after eleven years, our mother still uses work to distract herself from the loss of our father. She’s an ER nurse, and she spends far more time at the hospital than what’s demanded of her.

Between my father who always wanted to keep his family safe and provided for, and my mother who’s a natural caregiver, it’s no wonder where my protective instincts come from.

“How about you? How are you doing, Lace?”

This time, when she sighs, it’s long, loud, and dramatic. “Just over here wallowing in self-pity.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Lacey.”

“I’m doing great now that I have all these images in my head of me driving out to Connecticut to beat your ass.”

“Don’t you always have those images in your head?”

“Only about six times a day.”

We both laugh until she speaks again.

“Come on, Stone. You know me. I’m kicking ass and taking names.”

Lacey is an IT security analyst for some government corporation, a job she signed an NDA for and isn’t allowed to talk to us about. She knew she wanted to follow in our father’s footsteps in the tech industry from a young age. She’s two years older than I am, but I remember when we were both really little walking by our dad’s office many times and seeing her sitting in there with him. She’d be in front of one the three computers in the room, typing away like she knew what she was doing.

Now she’s the one who works out of that same office, five computers all running separate programs or whatever it is she does on them.

She still lives at home, but that’s because she and mom both need each other.

When Lacey was nineteen, she was raped by her boyfriend and two of his friends.

At the age of seventeen, I committed my first three murders.

The unfortunateaccidentwas deemed a tragedy in all the papers.

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