Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 62737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
The minute the door opens, my past catches up to my future.
“Son of a bitch.” The person in front of me blanches, olive skin turning ghostly white, eyes blinking rapidly, arm being held to her chest with the other, and I’m pretty sure there’s a bruise forming along a cheek.
“I’m sorry. I had no place to go.” The voice is meek, scared, and it looks like talking is taking everything they’ve got.
“Jude, is everything okay?” Ronnie comes around the corner. Her raspy voice settles my racing heart, and while I’ve yet to open up to her about my childhood, she’s about to learn more than I wanted.
“Yeah, well, no. It will be, though.” I open the door further and move out of the way.
“Oh my god, please come in. Jude, I’m going to get the first aid kit and ice.” Ronnie took one look and surmised the same thing I did.
“How long?” I ask. A sluggish hesitant stride is taken, enough to clear the foyer and allow me to close the front door.
“How long what?” We walk through the house with slow and subtle steps. I can hear each sharp intake of breath, labored and fucking choppy. Goddamn, I know it all too well—fractured or broken ribs, which could mean a collapsed lung. I’m more than likely going to have to drag my friends into this mess.
“How long has this been going on?” I’ve kept track from the very beginning, watching my father’s moves, and he steered clear.
“Staying there.” A pause. “Few days.” We make it into the kitchen. Sure enough, Ronnie has the med kit on the counter, a bag of ice, and a towel.
“Can you sit down, or will that hurt too much?” Ronnie greets us, ready to dive in.
“Yeah, I mean no. I’m good to sit down.” I pull the barstool out, watching the entire scene play out.
“Take your time. There’s no hurry, and we can always move to another area if it’s too much.” Ronnie is doing more than I am right now. Then again, I’m battling with memories of my past and blaming myself.
“Thanks.” A nod of a head. Watching the person in front of me struggle to sit while trying to find a comfortable position isn’t helping matters. Right as Ronnie is about to clean up a scrape, I pull myself together.
“Foxy.” The tone in my voice captures her attention, and her hand hovers above a busted lip, a piece of gauze at the ready. I run my hand down my face, wondering how this is going to go and hoping things don’t get worse.
“Yes?” she replies, looking at me with a quizzical expression.
“This is Rory,” I state, looking from my woman to Rory.
“Hi, Rory. I’m Ronnie, short for Veronica. Only Jude calls me Foxy.” Ronnie starts to go about the task I interrupted.
“She’s my sister.”
“Yeah, I can tell. You two are the spitting image of one another, minus the hair.” I place the palm of my hand on the counter, trying to ground myself and figure out where to go from here.
“Technically, he’s my half-brother. Same dad, unfortunately, different moms. Though, I’m thinking we both ended up with the short end of the stick,” Rory says with a hint of laughter, causing her to wince.
“We can agree on that. Fuck, I’m sorry.” I’d like to say I knew about my sister from the very beginning, but I didn’t. Nearly seventeen years ago, I was still starting out on my own. I didn’t have the technology I do now and definitely not the knowledge I do now.
“It’s not your fault, Jude. The only person to blame is the one who did it.” Rory might be sixteen years old, but she’s older beyond her years.
“Are you okay with me being here for this conversation?” Ronnie asks, taking one of Rory’s hands, abandoning her lip and working on her hands instead.
“Yes,” my sister says with no hesitation. I remain quiet. Rory’s story isn’t mine to tell, and while ours are similar, I’m not living through it like she currently is.
“It might not be my fault, but I could have prevented it. The last time we talked, everything was good, and I gave you a phone to use, Rory. I’m here, no matter what.” Ronnie sends me a sharp look, basically telling me my tone of voice needs to go down a notch.
“I think you need a shower, but I have to ask, Rory, anything we need to go to the hospital for?” My sister vehemently shakes her head, tears tumbling from her eyes and cascading down her cheeks, chin trembling. Not for one moment since Rory landed on my doorstep did I think something more might have happened.
“It didn’t get that far.” My blood boils at Rory’s response. Her head goes down, shoulders start quaking, and thank fuck for Ronnie in this moment. “Everything was going well enough, or I thought it was. This was the longest time we’ve been in one place, and while I know my life wasn’t unicorns and rainbows, we were fine.” Rory swallows the lump lodging in her throat. “Then he showed up. I’m not sure how he found our address or knew anything about our whereabouts. Then again, it’s not like we moved states when we should have, but hindsight is twenty-twenty, because I would have had a hell of a time getting to you without transportation.” Through Rory’s recounting of events, she’s somewhat able to compose herself even though I’m sure she’s in so much damn pain. But Ronnie’s right we need to go to the hospital. We’ll do that too, no questions asked. We’ll just get in the car, be there for my sister, and find the best therapist or whatever she needs.