Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
But what if I’m wrong?
I’m not worried about me—I can take care of myself, always have and always will, but I couldn’t live with myself if there were a child being hurt by Austin. I mean, beyond the obvious borderline neglect, but sad to say, that’s not all that bad considering some of the other homes I was in and out of. Neglect is manageable. Neglect is safe, even though it’s tragic. And there’s probably an older kid assigned to do the caretaking, like I was.
That’s not necessarily ideal, either. If it’s a kid like me, it can be fine. I gave a shit and took good care of the others. But it could be someone decidedly not like me. Foster kids aren’t always the best caregivers because they’ve likely not had any role models for it, or they wouldn’t be in the situation they’re in.
This is the game Austin plays. He knows my buttons, some of which he installed personally, and takes joy in pushing them. He’s all too aware of how much I care about the kids, so if he makes it sound like they need me, I’m more likely to come running. It’s a ploy, simple as that.
Before I can talk myself out of that, I swallow hard and snarl, “Leave me alone.” Except it’s not as aggressive as I wish it was and is closer to a plea, especially when my voice cracks.
“Or what?” he sneers, cutting me off. “You’re not gonna do nothing.”
He sounds convinced of that. He’s wrong.
I don’t say as much—waste of oxygen, really—but I do hang up on him. I stare at the screen, my heart pounding in my ears as I gasp for breath. As soon as it returns to the home screen filled with apps, I dial the number I memorized while staring at Cole’s business card.
When it rings, I almost hang up, but I don’t. There might be kids in danger. Or it might be nothing. I won’t know unless I have someone check, and I’m not going near Austin or his house. If I did, I’d end up trapped there again, with kids who need someone and my overwhelming urge to be that someone for everyone.
Suddenly, a surly voice on the other end of the line growls, “This’d better be damn important because you woke up my son.”
“Oh, sorry… sorry.” I go to hang up on Cole too, already regretting my decision to call him because I do hear a baby’s sharp cry in the background. Unable to help myself, at the last second, I rush out, “If you’ve done the usual—feeding and diaper change—it’s usually gas. Bicycle his legs a few times, pull them out straight, and then fold them up into his belly and push-push-push. Otherwise, burp him again. Set him on your knee, support his head under his chin, and run the pinky side of your hand up his spine. He should sit up straight, which will let the gas out. Might take a few tries either way. And again, sorry!”
I hit the End button as quick as I can, deeply regretting that I made the call, and throw my phone into the passenger seat like it might morph into a snake and bite me. My heart is racing even faster now, because of Cole’s grumpiness, but also because now I don’t know what to do about Austin. I force a slow breath in as I slink down in the seat and stare at the blue, cloudless sky on the other side of the car’s glass roof, and then breathe out as I close my eyes. I repeat it three more times, getting my heart under control.
Beep-beep-beep!
“Shit!” I jerk upright and stare at the screen beside the steering wheel that says Incoming Call. There’s no number, but I have a sinking suspicion about who it is. Instead of answering on the car’s screen, I pick up my phone again, looking at it like it might tell me I’m wrong. I lick my lips as I answer, “Hello?”
“That worked. My wife says thanks.” I hear a smacking sound in the background and he grunts apologetically. “I mean, we say thanks. And sorry for jumping down your throat. What do you want?”
For a minute there, Cole almost sounded… human, before he went grumpy again.
“Oh, never mind. I’ll uh… I’ll figure it out myself. Sorry again.”
I’m about to hang up because exactly how terrifying Cole Harrington can be is coming back to me quickly and I’m not sure how I could’ve forgotten or downplayed it in my memories.
“Riley, I haven’t slept in days and don’t have time to fuck around. Shit… I mean, fudge around. Shit, I mean… shoot.” He sighs heavily, sounding exhausted, and something about the way he’s correcting his language because of a baby who can’t understand a word makes me smile.