Page 60 of Running from Drac
Eddie takes two steps toward the door, but I stop him, making sure he can see me through his angry haze.
“Eddie, wait. What were you going to tell me earlier?”
He shakes me off, his anger only intensifying. “Amber, can’t you see there’s more important things to worry about right now? What I was going to say can wait. It doesn’t fucking matter. Not anymore.”
But I know better.
Something has Eddie spiraling, and it’s not his friend getting arrested. Whatever it is, it’s big… and I’m not sure what scares me more, the fact that he didn’t say anything, or the fact he’s perfectly okay with keeping it hidden?
Chapter Twenty
Eddie
The amount of adrenaline pumping through my veins is no match for the fucking frustration and rage I’m feeling towards Poppy. This shit is her fault. Why can’t she just see how much Wesley adores her? The man would literally do anything for her, and she couldn’t care less. Now he’s on his way to jail, three weeks before my wedding.
After dropping the girls off at their house, I race home, ready to bail Wesley out with every dime I have. A few phone calls later, and following a serious talk with my dad, I quickly realize that he’s going to have to sit there for the weekend. That’s the shitty part of living in Reno; our local jail has a specific visitation schedule, and it’s already past nine thirty at night, so there’s no way in fuck I can get in to see him tonight. What’s even shittier is having to get on his approved list for visitation. That’s going to take at least twenty-four hours, and their onsite visitationis only on the weekdays. So, getting to see him isn’t going to happen until at least Monday, even with their phone call services available on the weekends. The man is like a brother to me, and now my brother is sitting in jail, probably already wasting away.
The phone takes three rings before Rich picks up. “Hey, what’s up?” he asks over a yawn. “How was the club? Wesley isn’t home yet, so I’m guessing things went well with Poppy this time?”
“No, things are seriously fucked up, Rich. Wesley’s in jail.”
“What? Are you serious?”
My hand drags over my face, everything from tonight hitting me at once. “Yeah, I’m fucking pissed.”
“What the fuck happened?” Rich questions, his frustration bleeding through the phone line. It’s the same animosity I feel pumping through my veins. The hot, bitter bite of resentment is a poison forged from betrayal and helpless fury. It surges with every heartbeat, daring me to lose control.
“The Hurricane Kiplinger sisters have struck again. This time it’s Tornado Poppy that’s wreaking havoc.”
“Explain,” Rich demands, his voice sharp with passion. He and Wesley have been living together for months now, and as much as I love Wesley, I know Rich does too. Maybe even more. People act like blood makes a family, but that’s bullshit. You don’t need DNA to be brothers. What I feel for those two runs deeper than genetics.
They're my chosen family.
My ride-or-die.
“Wesley, being Wesley, was doing his best to change her mind about him. She, of course, fucking blew him off. This red-headed chick came slinking up to him asking for a dance, and he went off with her, and I guess Poppy got jealous, so she went to the bathroom. Next thing I know, some dude was thrown across the club, landing right underneath our table, and Wesleyjust starts wailing on him. According to Poppy, Wesley saw the guy touch her, and he just went crazy. You should’ve seen the murderous look in his eyes. It was like he was feral. I’ve never seen anyone get that kind of beat down before. Pretty sure he has a broken nose and a concussion after what Wesley did to his face. You could barely recognize him afterwards. Blood was everywhere, and his face was an ugly purple.”
“Fuck, this is bad, Eddie. This is his third strike.”
“I know.”
“He’s gonna go to prison.”
“I fucking know.”
“For God knows how long.”
“Damn it! I know, Rich! Stop fucking reminding me.”
He remains silent for a few seconds, then sighs. “Fuck, what about your wedding?”
“Rich, I swear to God, if you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to make it so you never speak again.”
He finally listens, changing the subject to something else I don’t want to talk about. “What happened with the Amber conversation?”
“It got broken up by my best friend being sent to jail.”
A stretch of silence extinguishes the anger starting to fester and brew beneath my skin.
