“Hello. I have a collect call for you from an inmate at Stateville Prison. Will you accept?”
No.
“Yes.”
I waited for the operator to switch over, feeling like I had been pulled out of Neverland and was now surrounded by a dozen soldiers trapping me in at gunpoint.
I knew why my father was calling. He’d only called once before, and it was the same fucking reason this time.
“When you come up tomorrow…put money in my account,” he told, not asked.
I took a deep breath. “And why would I do that?”
“You know why,” he growled. “Don’t act like you have a choice.”
I didn’t have the money to give him. I may not have a choice, but I had a problem.
“Then I’ll need to earn it, and I can’t do that until tomorrow night.” It was too late to get in on a race tonight. “I’ll be up on Sunday instead.”
And he hung up.
I closed my eyes and squeezed the phone, wanting it to be his face, his heart, and his power.
The money I gave him—to stop calling Jax—was supposed to be a one-time thing. But it hadn’t been.
He’d give Jax a break, but he always called again.
And I kept paying, just so Jax could have that break.
Don’t act like you have a choice. His words pierced my ears as if I could still feel the pain of that day. They were the same words he said to me before he shoved me down the basement stairs.
Right before I’d found Jax with them.
Sitting up, I looked around my street.
Goddamn him.
Trying to bring back the calm, I focused on the neighborhood view again. The square, green lawns looked jagged around the edges now, the green less vibrant. All of the houses seemed dead, and my breathing started scaring me.
And then I looked up.
Tate’s feet, propped up on the railing outside her French doors, sat angled, and I focused on her. The rest of her was hidden, but I watched her anyway. Knowing she was there. Feeling the energy that always rolled off of her. Call it hate. Call it lust. It wasn’t love, though.
But if was enough, and I needed it.
The breath leaving my body got quieter and quieter. It started pouring in and out like water instead of syrup, and I finally stood up and headed back into the house.
Dialing up Zack Hager, who organized the races at the Loop, I clenched and unclenched my fist, trying to get the needles out.
“Hey, can I race tomorrow night?”
“Well,” he paused, “I’ve got three races going already. But Jones just backed out, so Diaz needs an opponent.”
“Put me on the roster then.” I’d need the money. After I bought the car with the money from my grandfather’s house, my mother had made good on her promise to tie up the rest of the money in a college account. The only cash I had was what I made from my job, and that wasn’t enough to keep Thomas Trent in his cigarettes and extra snacks.
After I hung up with Zack, I texted Madoc to get a party together at my house for that night and pulled my car out of the garage to double-check the oil.
Since I didn’t have anything else to distract me until the party started, I drove out to Weston to get my brother. His new foster parents were pretty cool about letting him spend time overnight at my house, so I brought him up for parties and races sometimes.
“Look at baby Jared!” Madoc shouted as we climbed out of the car. Madoc had arrived at my place early to set up, and from the looks of it, the party had already started.
Jax rammed his shoulder into Madoc’s chest, laughing. “Yeah, I hear you like young boys.”
“Only if they’re as pretty as you, princess.”
And I rolled my eyes as Madoc wrapped his arms around my brother and dry humped him from behind.
I had no idea why Madoc called Jax “baby Jared”. It had nothing to do with our looks. Our eyes were different, our hair styles were different, and we both had different personalities. Jax was wild, never afraid to smile and seize the moment.
We were almost the same height, though. He was a little leaner, but he was still only sixteen.
I’d better enjoy the female attention while I could, because, next to him, women weren’t going to even notice me in the room in a few years.
Not that I cared. I wanted Jax to have everything, because he deserved it.
I scanned the neighborhood as I walked up the driveway and took in the glow of life and noise around me. When my father had called earlier, the pulse of the street had decayed before my eyes. Everything looked sick.
But now, looking up at Tate’s window, seeing her light on, the thump in my chest carried me higher.
“Hey, think we’ll see some action tonight?” Madoc wrapped his arm around my neck and jerked his chin over to Tate’s house.
He was referring to the last time she broke up my party.
I smiled, looking up at her window. “I think she’s out of tricks.”
And we strode into the loud frenzy of underage disorder known as my house.