Page 3 of Rival
“She’s in her room where she belongs,” I huff out, then stomp over to my chair and drop my body into it. “Wanna watch the game?”
The bag of chips crinkles in his lap as he digs out a few of them. I cringe when he chomps on them. “Sure,” he says through a mouthful.
Picking up the remote, I unmute the TV and lean back into my chair. My eyes slide up to the ceiling when I hear a thump, then over to Griffin to see if he heard it, too. He must not have noticed because he keeps digging his hand into the bag and sipping his beer as the players fly around the screen.
The two of us don’t chat while we watch the game. Every little sound that echoes from upstairs catches my attention, and each time, I flick my eyes over to Griffin. This guy is oblivious.How can he not hear all that racket?
I never wanted a kid. Not when I was a teen, and especially not as an adult. But her fucking mother ruined all of that for me. She was some drugged up bitch who showed up at a high school party. Said she was eighteen, but you never can tell when someone has been using for a bit. Figured she was a bit older than what she said. I was drunk as hell and fucked her up against my truck before I went home.
When she turned up again with a baby in tow, I figured there was no way the kid was mine. My parents were pissed as hell at me as well. Before we’d allow her to leave the baby, my dad insisted on a paternity test. Turns out, you can get results in under a week if they aren’t backed up. Took four days to find out the kid was mine. Never saw the whore again after that.
Bump… scrape…
“I’ll be right back,” I mutter, setting my now seventh beer on the side table.
Griffin drags his eyes from the TV when I stand. “Wanna do a shot or somethin’ quick?”
“Yeah, I’ll take one.” Maybe it’ll help quell this annoyance that’s eating away at me. Her incessant moving around is the reason I moved my bedroom to the opposite side of the house.Always fucking moving around.
Griffin pops off the couch and follows me into the kitchen where I pull out the chilled vodka. “Only got one shot glass. You care?” I ask him, rummaging around my cupboard for a glass.
“I don’t want to do more than one since I have to drive home. Been nursing that last beer. Not plannin’ on getting totally drunk, just needed the quiet for a bit.” Nodding in understanding, I fill the single shot glass and push it toward him across the counter. Then, filling what I’m sure is a few shots into my glass, I raise it in salute. We both toss back the cheap liquor.
My eyes fly to the stairs when I hear a soft creak. “Go on back to the living room. I’ll be in there in a minute,” I tell him without looking away from the base of the stairs.
I wait until the door thumps shut behind him, then climb the creaking steps slowly. It makes no sense howIcan walk silently, but this little girl who weighs maybe a hundred pounds can sound like a fucking elephant stampeding through the house.
Laying my ear against her door, I make out her rustling around before something falls to the floor. Gritting my teeth, I turn the knob and push her door; the hinges groaning as it swings open. Taking a step into her room, I keep my voice low so my guest won’t overhear.
“I told you… I fuckin’toldyou to stay fuckin’ quiet!”
Chapter One
Edith
~ Present Day ~
“Don’t touch him.”
My father’s voice snaps out into the quiet just as I’m reaching up to brush my fingertips over the neck of his horse, Raleigh. I curl them until my nails dig into my palm and let my arm fall to my side.
Raleigh snorts out a soft breath and shakes his head, his mane a bit matted with briars and hay.
“Can I brush his hair? Clean it up a bit?” I’ve learned to keep my voice low and even-tempered when asking anything of Clayborn Hughes. Any hint of what he could view as an attitude is cause for a tongue lashing, sometimes his fist.
My father pushes past me to grab an empty bucket we use to fill Raleigh’s water trough, shaking his head once he’s in front of me. “He don’t need his hair tugged on. I’m gonna saddle him and take him out for a ride later today. His hair is just gonna get more shit stuck in it.”
I step out of his way when he heads out of the small stall we keep for Raleigh in the back of the yard. The little building has enough space for the horse and his equipment. It’s insulated enough for the winters, but I do worry about the draft when it gets cold. I find myself slipping out of the house after my father has gone to sleep to lay an extra blanket over him on those extra cold nights.
My fingers twist together in front of me as I follow behind, leaving the stall. I’m not sure what I want to ask, but I’m itching todosomething. As he fills the pail from the hose, I decide to say screw it and ask. “Is there anything I can do? I’d love to help out with him.”
I wait as he ignores my question, the rushing water into the metal pail loud in the small space. Once it’s full, he turns the faucet off, only the metal squeaking in the silence. Without answering me, he heads back into the stall and refills the trough. I wait for a few minutes, but when I get no answer, I ask again. “Father? Can I help with any—”
“Would you just shut the fuck up?”
My jaw snaps shut, and I look away. Pushing him is only going to make things worse, so I slip out of the shed and head out toward the back of the property. If I stay away long enough, he’ll forget I’ve annoyed him. Dinner is already prepped, and all the chores have been done inside the house.
As I pick my way through the old, rusted out appliances in the yard, I peek toward the edge of the property where our neighbors have their fence standing tall and solid. I’m not sure what happened with the Cooper family and ours, but for as long as I can remember, my father has told me to stay as far away as possible and to not create waves.
