Page 103 of Deacon

I sink back into misery. My books get another reread. I paint ferns in the front and along the margins. Then, I go downstairs and make dinner and sit there like a wooden doll while the men eat.

The next morning, Aiden is already in the kitchen. He has a cup of coffee in one hand, leaning against the counter.

“You can go back to work,” he says.

I nod, eyes down.

“Good. Get you out of the fucking house,” he says, as if he didn’t just lock me in for the last week. That’s what Aiden does. He tells me one thing then does another. Sometimes, I think he likes giving me whiplash.

I take eggs out of the laundry room and start cracking them into a bowl. His eyes are on me, following my every move. I’m sure disgust is churning inside him.

“I don’t want to fucking support you anymore,” he says. “You’re not my daughter.”

He’s blowing off steam. Every day since I turned eighteen, he’s had the opportunity to kick me out, and he hasn’t done it. Something holds him back. I beat the eggs, folding them to keep them fluffy. I have no option to leave anyway. Any job that would hire me won’t pay enough for me to have an apartment and buy my own groceries.

I’m trapped in this endless cycle, and I don’t see any way out of it. Nobody thought ahead for me when I was little. I was left to grow up without a plan for my future. Now, that future is here.

Aiden’s thumb flicks the lighter, the same way Deacon does. Absently back, forth.

“You owe me rent for this month,” he says.

My lips crack. I wet them.

“I can’t pay you if you won’t let me work,” I say, keeping my voice steady.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t work,” he snaps. “But you needed some kind of punishment for whoring around with Deacon Ryder.”

I turn, trying to bite back my anger.

“Why do you care?”

It’s a daring question. Aiden’s eyes narrow. He takes a slow drag, smoking curling from his nose.

“Because Deacon Ryder is fucking us,” he says coolly. “I’m trying to set this family up for good. He’s standing between me and millions in development rights because that fucker’s got some idea about pride.”

His reaction makes a little more sense. I turn back around and pick up the spatula, turning it over in my fingers so I have something to do. It takes me a second, but I realize Aiden is talking again.

“You hearing me?”

“Sorry,” I say.

“I said, you get me that rent,” he says. “And have Bittern take you to Knifely to get the groceries this evening. Got it?”

I nod, keeping my eyes on the pan. The eggs cook slowly as I stir, scraping up from the bottom. His presence lingers, suffocating. Then, he strides from the room. The back door slams open and shut.

My shoulders sink. Hands shaky, I take out my phone and text Bittern.

Aiden wants me to go grocery shopping in Knifley this evening. Please pick me up. I don’t want Aiden to take me.

He doesn’t answer, but that’s not unusual. He’s working. Nobody bothers me for the rest of the day. I make dinner, but only Ryland and Aiden show up. That’s not unusual either, but I do walk down to the part of the driveway where I have service and send Bitternanother text. He answers back this time, saying he got another nail in his tire. He’ll be too late to drive me.

I go back inside and sit at the table.

“Bittern’s got a flat tire,” I say. “I can’t get the groceries tonight.”

Aiden wipes his hands on his napkin and sits back. “I’ll take you,” he says. “I don’t know what the fuck’s going on with his tires. Jesus Christ.”

I shrink back, glancing at Ryland. He cocks his head, smirking. He knows I don’t want to be alone with Aiden, and he thinks it’s funny. A little sick, I gather up the empty dishes and start the dishwasher.

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