Madoc cruised up to the Donovan house a half hour later, and I hopped out of the car before he’d even stopped. It was late, the house was dark, and the neighborhood seemed lifeless, the deep rumble of Madoc’s GTO being the only sound.
I turned around to face him and spoke over the roof. “You need to go.”
He blinked, probably not sure if he’d heard me right.
The past month had resulted in more hell than I should’ve put him through. Sure, fighting was fun. Losing ourselves in girl after girl was moderately entertaining, too, but Madoc wouldn’t go over the cliff without me leading him there.
Would he walk to the edge?
Sure.
Peek over the side?
Definitely.
But he wouldn’t take the step. It was always me who pushed him or let him fall. One of these times, though, he wasn’t going to get up, and it would be my fault.
“No,” he said resolutely. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I gave a half smile, knowing it was next to impossible to get him to leave. “You’re a good friend, but I’m not dragging you down with me.”
I dug my cell out of my jeans pocket and dialed 911.
“Hello.” My eyes were on Madoc as I spoke to the police. “I’m at 1248 Moonstone Lane in Weston. Someone’s broken into our house, and we need the police. And an ambulance.”
And I hung up and looked at the wide-eyed expression on his face. “They’re going to be here in about eight minutes,” I told him. “Go wake up my mom. You can do that for me.”
Someone, probably a legal guardian, was going to have to bail me out.
Walking down the path leading to the tan and red brick split-level house, I could hear the T.V. going from inside. I paused before the steps, aggravated that I hadn’t heard Madoc drive off yet but also puzzled as to why my heart was still beating so slowly.
Why wasn’t I nervous? Or excited?
I may as well have been about to go into a restaurant and order a milkshake.
With Tate, I thrived on that little thrill of anticipating her. It was enough to satisfy me day in and day out. I hated to admit it, but she was always on my mind. I lived for that first glimpse of her in the morning and any interaction with her during the day.
I squinted at the vibrant light from the television screen coming from inside the house and took a deep breath.
The son of a bitch was still awake.
Good.
On the rare occasion Vince Donovan and I interacted, it was with mutual intolerance. He spoke to me like I was a punk, and he treated my brother the same.
As I climbed the porch steps, I heard Madoc drive off behind me. I stepped through the front door and walked into the living room, filling the doorway as I hovered there.
Vince didn’t even bat eyelash as he barked, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Grabbing the long, wooden stem of the lamp next to me, I yanked the cord out of the wall.
“You hurt my brother,” I spoke calmly. “I’m here to settle up.”