Page 12 of Unearthed Dreams
These Evertons came with a lot of fuckin’ drama, and I’d had enough of that to last me two lifetimes.
Guess that’s what happened when you married the life of the party with a helluva temper and wandering eye.
Chapter Five
CHARLIE
Four daysback in Sable Point and I was suffocating.
The TV downstairs blasted another episode ofJudge Judy; Dad’s preferred volume somewhere between “shake the windows” and “wake the dead.” Every word traveled straight through these paper-thin walls, along with the dying wheeze of our ancient AC unit.
I loved my family—they were just…a lot.
I pulled my pillow over my head, trying to block it all out. The scratchy cotton case still smelled like the lavender detergent Mom insisted on using, the same brand she’d bought since I was kid. Even my bed felt wrong after four years away.
The best part about living with Shelby had been her very active social life. She was barely ever home, which meant our apartment had been a sanctuary of blessed silence—broken only by the occasional thump of bass from the party house across the street.
Here? There was always something. If someone wasn’t yelling, the TV was blasting. If the TV wasn’t blasting, the pipeswere groaning. If the pipes weren’t groaning, Chase was stumbling in at odd hours, or Dad was snoring loud enough to register on the Richter scale.
I missed the quiet.
From my prone position, I stared at stack of manuscript pages on my nightstand. The ancient Disney princess alarm clock—still here from middle school—showed 8:47 AM in cheerful pink numbers. The same pink that covered my walls, what had once been my dream shade of bubblegum but now looked more like industrial-strength Pepto-Bismol. Even the remainingNSYNCposter in the corner—Justin’s face slightly water-damaged from that time the roof leaked—seemed to judge my life choices.
“MOM!”
Chase’s booming voice vibrated my bedroom walls.
I had to squeeze my eyes shut and remind myself for the umpteenth time that this was all temporary. I just needed to find a job, get an apartment, and get back my peace.
“MOM!” he yelled again.
I leaped out of my bed and yanked open my door, glaring down at Chase from the second floor. “Would you shut up?”
My older brother spun around, palms raised in mock surrender. His usual disheveled appearance looked even more chaotic this morning, dark hair sticking up in all directions. “Woah, sorry, Charlie girl.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I didn’t think you’d still be in bed. Hell, even I’m awake.”
I rubbed my bleary eyes. “I didn’t sleep well.”
I wouldn’t be sharing either of the reasons for my sleepless nights—one six-hundred pages long and the other six-foot-something of hot as hell.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” Chase’s brow furrowed as he patted his jeans pockets with increasing urgency. “Have you seen Mom?”
The distant sound of running water echoed through the old house’s pipes. “Sounds like the shower’s running.”
Chase cursed under his breath. “I can’t find my keys.”
My gaze drifted to his beat-up running shoes by the front door, a familiar storage spot from his teenage years. “Did you check your shoes by the door?”
The floorboards creaked under his feet as he crossed to the entryway. Crouching down, he plunged his hand into one shoe, metal jingling as he retrieved his keys.
A triumphant grin spread across his face as he looked up at me. “Well, whaddya know? Thanks, little sis.”
I rolled my eyes and retreated to my room, but not before catching the slight tremor in his hands as he gripped his keys. There was a story there, but asking Chase about his problems was like trying to catch smoke—the harder you grabbed, the faster it slipped away.
Back in my pink prison, I flopped onto my bed. The stack of manuscript pages stared at me again, all 439 of them, like they were waiting to be better. Waiting to begood enough.
Editing my book in this house had been impossible.
I’d no sooner gotten comfy again than my phone began to buzz.
