Page 30 of Saving the Rain
Because that’s how little I matter, how insignificant I am to my own goddamn stepbrother.
How little I mean to anyone.
Instead of focusing like I know I need to, my brain is a NASCAR racetrack. Thoughts are whizzing and flying and threatening to flip in a fiery explosion as they collide with one another.
Someone calls my name. My limbs are numb as I shake them out. Every movement, each little step that I could just about do in my sleep, is done by routine, rather than conscious decision.
I’m vaguely aware that my head isn’t in it. But thoughts of money, debts, thugs banging down my mother’s door at three a.m. with baseball bats, all of that forms a frenzy driving me to climb onto the back of that bronc.
Being in the chute, I hardly hear the chatter going on around me. My ass settles onto the horse, with tension and anticipation rolling off the animal in powerful waves.
I’ve gotta do this.
I’ve gotta take out that top placing.
All I know is that as soon as the gate busts open... everything is infinitely, abhorrently wrong.
Chapter 12
Trudging myway up to the front door, I can already hear her shrill voice. Incessant screeching makes my ears bleed before I’ve even laid a hand on the doorknob.
Standing outside in the damp night air, I take a couple of deep breaths. I’m not high anymore, my head is clear. All I had was a few tokes earlier to take the edge off, and it’s been hours since then. It’s a shit load more responsible than any of the other almost-nineteen-year-olds I’ve been hanging out with this afternoon, who were on a one-way train to getting so fucked up they won’t remember a thing tomorrow.
My old man isn’t even here at the moment, and shit is rough. The prick won’t return for another few weeks, if he bothers coming back from the oil rig at all. Knowing him, he'll hit the mainland, walk straight to the nearest bar for the twenty-odd days he gets off, and stay shacked up in some shitty motel rather than fly out here.
It’s a blessing in disguise for all of us if he stays away.
Something slams inside the apartment, and I steel myself for what I’m about to find.
When I get through the door, it’s dark... so much so, it takes a second for my eyes to adjust. Probably because she hasn’t paid the electric bill again.
“So fucking help me, Kayce.” His mom is going mental. Threatening the kid like she always does when she’s high. “Where the fuck are they?”
Theirraised voices come from the direction of the kitchen as I stride down the hall.
“I already told you. Not my fault you don’t listen.” He sasses back, without any sense of self-preservation.
Smart-mouthed little shit he is. My stepbrother is forever tempting fate where their altercations are concerned. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have a parent who will actually follow through on verbal threats with the physical result.
But I can handle this woman. Even with a belly full of pills, she doesn’t dare try anything with me.
I round the corner only to find them both in the middle of a fucking bomb site. Every drawer and cupboard has been ransacked, with shit spilling out onto the floor. There’s a wild, unhinged look in her eyes as her attention sluggishly turns my way. Yeah, she’s off her head tonight.
Kayce’s eyes are red. He stands there in a threadbare t-shirt and pajama pants, shuffling on bare feet against cold linoleum even though it’s nearly winter. His fists are balled by his sides as she shoves a finger right in his face. Her makeup is a mess. Mascara has run everywhere, black rings surrounding her eyes, along with smudged lipstick—the rest of it smeared on the wine glass sitting on the counter beside her.
“Go to bed, Kayce.” I scowl. His blue eyes flare when he looks up at me, but fortunately for my sanity, he storms off without a fight.
“He stole them again. A whole packet.Unopened.” His mom whines, picking up her glass and downing it so fast it dribbles over her chin.
“For Christ's sake, Shawn. Go sleep it off. I’ll clean this shit up.” Jabbing my fingers through my hair, I temporarily leave the disaster of a kitchen and stalk down the hall to Kayce’s room.
“I didn’t do it.” The kid is already snarling before I set foot inside his bedroom. Pushing the door closed behind me, I glance around. It’s all fucking horsey posters and shit in here. Ribbons pinned to a cork board. Trophies he’s won sit lined up on the mantle. Above his bed is a poster of a rodeo bronc arching in a horseshoe shape, with all four hooves airborne, flying high above a cloud of dirt.
Holding out my palm, I snap my fingers. “I know you fucking took them.”
His red-rimmed eyes glare stubbornly in return as he sits with folded arms on the edge of his bed.
“What the hell am I supposed to do?”