Page 28 of Halfway to Hell
“Monday, what do you mean you’re leaving for work?”
A pause.
“Ican’tnot go. The money’s too good to pass up, Texas.”
“We’ll be there tomorrow.”
Another pause, shorter this time.
“Listen, Sunday understands. I’m leaving the key to the apartment at the bar, along with some cash so she can grab groceries. I’ll be back by the end of the month. Six weeks tops.”
Texas didn’t understand how Monday could just up and leave before he got Sunday to Montreal. Had he misread her feelings towards her younger sister? “Fine. I’ll let her know when we arrive.” Hanging up Texas was more than frustrated with a woman he’d yet lay eyes on.
“How long have you and Monday been an item?” Sunday asked from her perch on the opposite bed.
Texas blinked, caught off guard. “Where the hell did you get that idea?”
He immediately regretted the sharpness. She’d been through enough. Now her family was falling apart around her.
Sunday shrugged, trying to keep her voice light. “The way you said her name… sounded… intimate. And the tone when you were talking to her. More than acquaintances, right?”
Texas shook his head, a rough smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Little girl, you’ve got a lot to learn about men and relationships. Look at the situation you just got out of. You’re clueless.”
He saw the hurt flicker across her face, and it twisted something deep inside him. God, he hated himself for that.
Unable to face his own tangled emotions, Texas walked out, leaving Sunday sitting alone on the bed. He tried not to slam the door, but to him, it sounded just like that.
Staring out at the pothole-riddled parking lot, he wanted nothing more than to throttle Monday for leaving, and for putting him in this damn mood.
He wouldn’t blame Sunday. She’d simply made an observation. A bad observation, sure. But an observation all the same.
Chapter Eleven
Texas satat the bar inside the diner attached to the motel, a cold beer sweating in front of him. His phone lay just out of reach, silent and still. His mood was dark, thick with frustration as his thoughts circled around both Mornin girls.
Finally, he reached for the phone and unlocked it. His thumb hovered over Monday’s number before he pressed call. The line rang once, twice… then her raspy voice cracked through the speaker.
“Why,” Texas demanded, voice low and sharp, “is money more important to you than being there for Sunday?”
He gripped the phone so tight his knuckles blanched white.
There was a pause. Her voice returned, colder this time, stripped of the emotion it once held. “I love my sister,” she said flatly, “but if she needs more than a couch to crash on and a few hundred bucks for groceries, she’s shit out of luck.”
Texas stared down at the beer in front of him, disbelief crashing in. “Are you fucking kidding me? She’s been through hell. She needs you.”
“Listen, Texas,” Monday said, her voice steadier now, but still cold, “I appreciate you grabbing her and getting her safely to Montreal. But we aren’t like most families. I don’t know how to be that for Sunday. In our family, it’s always been every person for themselves.”
“Unbelievable.”
“She’ll heal—mentally, emotionally, physically. We’ve all had our shit, and we’ve all gotten over it.”
“So, what you’re really saying is you don’t fucking care.”
“I care. In my own way. Is my heart breaking for her? Yeah. Was I terrified she’d end up dead in some ditch or worse sold to some damn sex trafficker? Hell, yes. But now I know she’s safe. And she’ll stay that way in Montreal.”
“Don’t spend all that money in one place, Monday,” Texas muttered through gritted teeth.
“Dude, if I’d known you’d be such a bitch about this, I’d have asked for someone else’s damn number.”
