Page 65 of Lost Boy
CHAPTERNINETEEN
RYDER
Ipull Fallon into my room, shutting the door and locking it behind us. I don’t trust her not to barge in without knocking.
“God. I hate when she does this. Just shows up unannounced. Throws the whole house into chaos. Sofie gets depressed for like a month afterward. I can’t see her like that. It’s not who she is. And I hate that our ownmotheris the cause.” I take my hat off again, tossing it to the desk and scrubbing a hand through my curls.
Fallon calmly walks over and reaches up, grabbing my wrist to stop the nervous gesture. He threads our fingers together and tugs me toward my bed. We both sit on the end, and he doesn’t let go.
“Ry. I’m so sorry. For you and especially for Sofie. She doesn’t deserve that.”
“She doesn’t,” I agree. “I’m just glad she has Georgie around. And that she’s nothing like my mom.” I can’t help but snicker, remembering the burnt end of the shepherd’s pie that she served my mom the last time she was here. Georgie said it was worth every second of the verbal scolding she got for it when Dad wasn’t around.
“Georgie’s cool. I need more ice cream cookie cake. Whose birthday is next?”
I chuckle, letting him know that Sofie turns fifteen next month. We’re going all out with a party at the skating rink and keeping tradition, so a giant ice cream cookie of Sofie’s choice will be on the menu. Which probably means a peanut butter cookie with double chocolate chunk ice cream. Not my favorite of the usual combos we’ve circulated over the years. Sofie calls it a reverse Reece’s cup.
“I can skate,” Fallon says.
“Oh, really? Rollerblades? Skateboards?”
“Both.”
“Nice. I can rollerblade too. We’ll rent those at her party and run the entire rink. Show the freshmen what’s up. It’ll be cool.” My smile is forced. We both know I’m avoiding the subject of crazy mothers.
“Well, I guess I need to explain that.” I motion toward the door and my horrible mother beyond.
“You don’t need to explain anything you don’t want to, Ryder.” His eyes search mine with an intensity that pours from his core, offering only support and a calm acceptance.
I close my eyes for a moment and appreciate the serene silence of being around Fallon.
I take a deep breath and slowly open my eyes, needing to explain things. “Iwantto tell you. Want you to know.” I clear my throat, having trouble getting the words out. It’s not easy talking about one of the worst things to happen to our family, leaving scars on everyone, especially Sofie and maybe even me.
Fallon speaks up. “I’ll go first.” His voice is a little off. Void of emotion, like he’s preparing to recite boring, factual information detachedly.
“My mom became a different person after my dad died. She turned to alcohol, drugs, men, anything really. I was twelve when it started, and I had to learn to fend for myself. She slowly lost everything. We barely had food in the house. I usually just ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with maybe milk and cheese on the weekends if she had a good Friday night at the club. Eggs if I was really lucky.”
I swallow thickly at his confession. No wonder he scarfs everything down; he’s been starving for five freaking years! I’m shocked into silence, and maybe it’s a good thing because Fallon continues undisturbed. I know it’s hard for him as he continues in a flat tone, eyes focused on the black nail polish he’s chipping away at.
“Her boyfriends used to come and go, changing so often I couldn’t even remember their names. They were never nice, though. So it didn’t matter. They liked to insist I was all sorts of things I’m not, aiming a barb at whatever color my hair was at the time. Her last boyfriend’s name was Johnny. I only remember his name because he was probably the worst. Greasy, slicked-back hair, never showered. His BO used to linger in the trailer for hours after he was gone. My mom was always too high to realize it. She was running low on money about two months ago, and Johnny was there. He stormed into my room and started tearing my stuff apart for anything of value so they could get their next fix. He found my guitar case under my bed and took it to the pawn shop. Probably sold it for a day’s worth of crack or heroin. I’m honestly not sure. It could be both. I tried to stay away after that, and I guess I shut down even more. She did nothing to stop him, probably doesn’t even remember, and that’s why I give no fucks that she’s in prison now. For how long, I don’t know and don’t care.”
“Where is he?” I growl out. I’m not a violent person, but I’d like to get my hands on that fucking scumbag.
“Prison,” Fallon answers swiftly, and I visibly relax.
“Good.”
Fallon nods once sharply, and I think he’s done talking about it, but there’s one more question I need to ask.
“He never hurt you, did he?”
Fallon tenses up, and so do I, holding my breath and waiting for his answer.
“No.”
“None of them? In any way?” I need to know how deep his trauma goes. His well-being is important to me.
“Not physically or anything like that,” he murmurs, ducking his head further. I know they fucked him up emotionally, and I’m beyond pissed about that.
