Page 81 of Edge of Unbroken

"Why?"

“Because I told him to stop drinking and that he needs to go to rehab. This was after Wiley called me to let me know that my dad was trying to buy booze, and I tracked him down and tried to take him home with me. Can you believe he drove to the store? He was already wasted. God damn it,” she sighs.

“Did he get physical with you?”

She shakes her head. “Nah, he’s never been the physical type, but he sure has a way with words. He just started telling me what a shitty daughter I was, what a disappointment, that I’m nothing like my momma who was an angel, and blah blah blah,” she says, keeping her voice strong.

I know Miranda well enough to see right through her façade. Her dad has always been an emotionally abusive asshole, and a huge part of why Miranda is the way she is—brick wall exterior and all—is because of him.

“And then he told me to get out of his house, that I was no longer welcome there,” she says. “Rony, could you please put on a shirt?” she says out of the blue. “I’m trying to be respectful of your relationship with your feline.”

“Jesus, Randi. You came intomyroom, remember?” I climb out of bed to put on the first shirt within reach.

“Yeah, I remember. I saved you from your nightmare. I told you I’m going to save you from yourself, Rony,” she says smugly. “I didn’t think you were half-naked though, and you’re nice to look at. It’s distracting.”

“Okay, let’s talk about your dad some more, shall we?” I say, desperate to turn the subject toward something a little less sexually charged. I take a seat at the foot of my bed.

“No, thanks. Let’s talk about your bitch of a mother instead.”

I shake my head. “Actually, I think it’s time for you to go back to your own room.”

“Alright, but if you get lonely, you know where to find me,” she says as she shimmies out from under my blanket and saunters out of my bedroom giggling.

“You know, my grandma thinks you’re corrupting me,” I call after her.

I hear her laughing as she walks down the hallway back to her bedroom. “You are stubbornly uncorruptible,” she calls back, then closes her door.

Typical Miranda—always putting on a front when things get heavy. I recognize it from myself, except that Miranda’s front is promiscuous and flirty, whereas mine is acting like I have all my shit together.

Saturday, January 22nd

Cat

It’s been a while since an early morning phone call pulled me out of my sleep, especially on a weekend, and I’m wide awake the moment I become aware of my ringtone, not least because of the rules Adam has made very, very clear. Ignore him, and he will expose me on the internet; defy his demands, and he will hurt me or someone close to me.

Adam got his money bright and early Wednesday morning—the full one thousand dollars sent to his payment app. So far so good, at least on that front. But the guilt is eating me alive. All of it—the pictures, my betrayal of Ronan in more ways than just one, the fact that Istoleand not just from strangers, but from one of my best friends.

Turns out that the table I snatched the first twenty-dollar tip from was Shane’s. He had already been working all damn day. They were short waiters at Murphy’s and Shane had been busting his behind since he opened the place at eleven that morning. He wasn’t just managing that day, he was waiting tables, had been on his feet for six hours already by the time I got there. And I stole from him. I plan to make it up to him tenfold, but in the meantime I’m anointed with shame.

I reach for my phone—aware of the momentary adrenaline spike making my fingers tremble in anticipation of the “unknown” on my screen. But it’s not Adam terrorizing me first thing this morning. Shane’s calling, and although that should cause me to sigh with relief, it doesn’t. I have no idea why he’d be calling me this early, and the first and only thought I have is that he found out I stole from him. Did Jack tell him?

I don’t dare ignore Shane’s call. If he did in fact find out, I owe him an apology and some semblance of a made-up explanation.

I sit up in bed and answer the phone with a tentative, “Hey.”

“Morning,” he says, wide awake, way too energetic. I have no clue how he and Ronan always manage to be up and at ’em at the crack of dawn, but I’m beginning to understand that those two seem to require only minimal sleep to function properly. But what’s more, I don’t detect any anger or accusation in his tone. I think I’m in the clear.

“How can I help you, sir?” I ask and yawn.

Shane chuckles. “Well, I’m just on my way to the gym, and—”

“No,” I say simply, falling back against my pillow.

“No, what?”

“No, I’m not going to the gym with you at eight on a Saturday.”

He chuckles. “Okay, well, you may think you’re proficient at reading my mind, but you’re actually not. I wanted to check if you feel like going to the ice rink with Steve and me later today.”

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