Page 90 of Wanna Play A Game?
Dad shakes his head. “Do it right the first time, next time.” He grabs the mashed potatoes.
I wait for the food. I’m starving, but I don’t want to set him off. Mom passes me the broccoli, coughing deeply. She’s been sick for a while now.
“So, son,” Dad asks. “How was school today?”
I glance at him. He doesn’t look mad. He doesn’t look…anything.
“Good.” I pick at the skin around my nails. Please don’t ask about my grades. Please. Maybe Mom didn’t tell him.
“How’d your test go?”
I chew on the skin on the inside of my mouth. “Fine.”
“What score did you get?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “It was hard.”
The table goes silent. “I asked what grade you got, not if you thought it was hard. Answer me.”
“B,” I whisper.
Dad’s silverware clinks against the table, and Mom winces.
“Son, I see a major problem here. You don’t try. You don’t do your best. I’ve tried to help you over and over, and it’s not working.” He shakes his head. “We’re going to have to go to the bathroom again.”
“No.” I tense. “Please, no.”
“Honey, he did try—“ Mom tries to help, but Dad speaks over her.
“Either you’re a bad child on purpose, or you have an evil spirit in you. Your mother homeschools you to teach you the ways of God, and your heart is hardened.”
My back itches. It hasn’t fully scabbed over from the last time we went in there.
Dad yells, “Get your ass up!”
I flinch. I’m showering again. The house Sawyer was hiding in was filthy and covered in dust, lead paint, and asbestos.
I told the boys they needed to wash, too, but they shrugged me off to spend time with their little girlfriend.
The shower takes longer than normal. When I step out, I feel my cheek throbbing where Sawyer hit me. I can’t check my reflection since his woman broke my mirror.
Feisty little thing. I’ll bet she’s fun in bed.
Fuck! No, I can’t be thinking that. I need to be the strong one. Maybe after a few days, the men will get her out of their systems. They have to.
I won’t let them go to prison for a woman. No matter how beautiful she might be.
Chapter 43
Sawyer
Ibring breakfast to Ryder after his shower. He grunts in appreciation. I go to leave, but he reaches out and pats the bed beside him.
“Stay,” he demands.
I freeze. I’m not sure how mad he is about our fight.
Ryder softens his gaze. “I’ve had to sleep with one eye open for the past few days. Please. Stay.”
