Page 9 of When Wrecked Meets Ruined
Having delivered her message, she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and walked away. So proud. So fierce. So defiant.
We were so much alike it was scary. And yet she treated me like the enemy. It had been like that from day one. Hate at first sight on her part. For me, it was the opposite. I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted anyone.
I wanted to brand every inch of her with my lips. Sink my teeth into her ripe, juicy lips until I drew blood. Bury myself deep inside her and make her come so hard that the only word on her lips would be my name.
A beater pulled up, tires squealing, and Evie hopped in. She’d barely closed the door when the woman behind the wheel hit the gas and rocketed across the parking lot.
When they were gone, I stowed the bags in the back of Brody’s truck, climbed into the passenger seat, and slammed the door shut with so much force the entire truck rattled.
“The fuck was that back there?” I seethed. “How could you have thought that was a good idea?”
Brody let out a weary sigh and shook his head as he pulled out of the parking lot. “I don’t know. Sometimes I’m a dumb shit.”
If he was expecting an argument, he wouldn’t get it from me.
I was guilty by association and by the time we returned to school on Monday, Evie’s already frosty demeanor had become glacial.
Hot as hell, cold as ice. That was Evie.
The only consolation? She treated the majority of the male population at Cypress Springs High with the same cold disdain.
Who did you wrong, girl? And who do I need to beat up?
CHAPTERTHREE
Evie
I wokeup to a fever pitch screaming and a foul smell. Sharing a bedroom with a sixteen-month-old was no picnic. By the time I changed her diaper, fed her, and cleaned up her mess, I was already running late.
I hoisted Wren onto my hip and knocked on my mom’s bedroom door. “Mom, can you watch Wren?”
No answer. How pathetic that I had to beg my mother to take care of her own daughter.
I looked down at Wren. Dark, sweaty ringlets framed her flushed face. It was only May, but the sweltering heat was already unbearable in this house.
She grabbed a handful of my hair in her chubby little fist and yanked it. Hard. Tears stung my eyes, and she threw back her head with a laugh. I hiked her higher on my hip and gave her an Eskimo kiss. Wren giggled and slapped her sticky hands against my cheeks.
“Watch it, little monster,” I growled.
She burrowed her face in the crook of my neck, a show of remorse, and I smoothed my hand over her head to let her know it was okay. I could never stay mad at Wren, and she knew it.
But I had to get to school, so I pounded on my mom’s door before easing it open. The scent of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume assaulted my nostrils. Black sheets, cheap polyester masquerading as silk, were twisted around her ankles, and she wore a thin white tank top and a red thong.
At least she wasn’t naked.
“Mom. I have to go.”
“What are you doing?” she huffed. “It’s the middle of the night.”
I rolled my eyes. In her line of work, I guess it was. Veronica Bellamy was a stripper. You would have thought at thirty-four she’d have given it up by now, but nope. She’d downgraded to an even seedier strip joint and kept working that pole. My mother loved the attention and she loved the money. Too bad we never saw any of it. She spent it all on blow.
“It’s morning. And I have to go.” I tossed Wren onto the bed. She crawled up to my mom’s face and peered down at it. Mom’s thick winged eyeliner was smudged, giving her raccoon eyes.
I paused at the door, my hand on the knob, prepared to leave.
“Mama! Mama!” Wren shrieked, tugging at my mom’s shirt in a desperate bid to get her attention.
Mom smacked Wren’s hand away with so much force Wren froze and her big brown eyes welled up with tears. Her bottom lip was trembling, and I knew it was coming before she burst into tears that quickly escalated to full-blown wailing.
