Craving Redemption
Page 52
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“I didn’t tell you I was coming down there, Calliope,” he growled again, frustration evident in his tone.
“Yeah, you did. Before Gram came up—when you had your panties in a twist that I didn’t answer my phone for a few hours. Remember? You were all fired up to see me and then you just disappeared off the face of the earth,” I told him calmly, my heart racing.
“Ahhhhh FUCK! I forgot,” he groaned, “I’ll come down as soon as I can, Sugar. Okay?”
He was trying to apologize, but I was done with his bullshit. He’d left me in Sacramento, full of promises to visit, and he couldn’t even be bothered to call me very often. Fuck him.
I took a deep breath, listening to him apologize and tell me he’d visit as soon as he possibly could. He said all the right things, and I wanted to believe him—but I didn’t. I was just biding my time, and as soon as he paused to make sure I was still on the phone, I dropped my bomb.
“Don’t bother coming back,” I told him flatly and slid my phone closed as I heard his pissed off voice calling my name.
That was the reaction I’d been hoping for.
I lay awake again that night, but for once it wasn’t because I was crying. Instead, I was making a list in my head of the things I needed to do.
First on the list was to party with Farrah, and anyone else I could think of, in Grease’s apartment.
Second was to find a job and move the fuck out of there.
And third was to never stop moving or planning, so I didn’t have to notice the ache in my chest.
Chapter 34
Grease
I was at a party at the club when I got Callie’s call. Shit, every night at the club was some sort of drunken get together—but this one was different and I was thoroughly enjoying watching the women in the room. There was a clear hierarchy. It was one of the only times a year that sluts and old ladies would be anywhere near each other—the party for a new member—and it was fucking hilarious. I was waiting for a catfight to break out.
Dragon had gotten his cut earlier in the day, and he was weaving his way around as different brothers patted him on the back. Poor fucker had a massive healing tattoo on his back—but dealing with that shit was tradition. All of us had gone through it and survived—he would, too. I was looking at him when he stopped dead, staring across the room. When I followed his eyes, all I saw was Brenna and Vera—so I couldn’t figure out what the hell he was looking at. He had the stupidest fucking look on his face, almost dazed— and I wondered what the hell he was doing. As soon as he started across the room, my phone rang in my pocket and I lost sight of him as I tried to make my way through the crowd to answer Callie’s call.
By the time she hung up on me, I was in my room, and the whiskey and beer I’d downed at the party were like dead weight in my gut.
She was pissed, and I fucking knew she was going to do something stupid.
I had to get to Sacramento.
I stood up from my bed to find a bathroom and pack my shit, and the room fucking spun.
Great.
I stumbled my way to the door, trying to decide if I should just try and drive my bike down there—or wait until the morning when I knew I’d be sober enough that I wouldn’t lay down my bike somewhere and fuck up the paint job.
I started calling Callie again, but every time I did, she sent me to fucking voicemail. I made it into the hallway just in time to see Dragon leading—fuck—Brenna into his room. Did he have a death wish?
I tried to stop him. I really fucking tried.
But I was so goddamn preoccupied with Callie’s shit and just trying to stay standing that he bitched a little and I dropped it. The stubborn-as-hell look on his face told me he wasn’t listening to a goddamn word I said anyway, and Brenna didn’t even look at me as he pushed her gently into his room.
He wanted to fuck around with Poet’s daughter?
Fuck it.
And why the fuck wasn’t Callie picking up her phone?
I didn’t remember making it to the bathroom, but I must have—because when I woke up the next day, at two in the goddamn afternoon with the mother of all hangovers I hadn’t pissed myself.
Chapter 35
Callie
I looked around the apartment full of people with a small smile.
I’d set my plan into motion that morning, and so far it had worked perfectly.
I’d driven around our small neighborhood watching for ‘help wanted’ signs, and within fifteen minutes I’d found one in the window of a local fast food place. After giving them my application and doing an interview with a greasy guy not much older than I was, I had the job. I wasn’t sure how they’d chosen me so fast, but I hoped it was because I was the only one that applied and not because the skeevy manager couldn’t stop looking at my boobs. Either way, I’d walked out with a job that started the next week.
The next thing on my to-do list had been even easier to arrange. One call to Farrah and I’d been promised all the booze and weed I could handle. I left it to her to spread the word, and she hadn’t disappointed. She showed up at seven o’clock that night and by nine, the entire apartment had been filled with people.
So, by nine-thirty I was sitting on my couch with friends of Asa’s that heard about the party from Farrah’s stepdad. I couldn’t even begin to understand that type of fucked up parent-child relationship, but instead of worrying about my friend, I told myself it really wasn’t any of my business. I was enjoying being social for the first time in months, and the male appreciation for my shorts and wide-necked white shirt wasn’t anything to scoff at, either.
“Yeah, you did. Before Gram came up—when you had your panties in a twist that I didn’t answer my phone for a few hours. Remember? You were all fired up to see me and then you just disappeared off the face of the earth,” I told him calmly, my heart racing.
“Ahhhhh FUCK! I forgot,” he groaned, “I’ll come down as soon as I can, Sugar. Okay?”
He was trying to apologize, but I was done with his bullshit. He’d left me in Sacramento, full of promises to visit, and he couldn’t even be bothered to call me very often. Fuck him.
I took a deep breath, listening to him apologize and tell me he’d visit as soon as he possibly could. He said all the right things, and I wanted to believe him—but I didn’t. I was just biding my time, and as soon as he paused to make sure I was still on the phone, I dropped my bomb.
“Don’t bother coming back,” I told him flatly and slid my phone closed as I heard his pissed off voice calling my name.
That was the reaction I’d been hoping for.
I lay awake again that night, but for once it wasn’t because I was crying. Instead, I was making a list in my head of the things I needed to do.
First on the list was to party with Farrah, and anyone else I could think of, in Grease’s apartment.
Second was to find a job and move the fuck out of there.
And third was to never stop moving or planning, so I didn’t have to notice the ache in my chest.
Chapter 34
Grease
I was at a party at the club when I got Callie’s call. Shit, every night at the club was some sort of drunken get together—but this one was different and I was thoroughly enjoying watching the women in the room. There was a clear hierarchy. It was one of the only times a year that sluts and old ladies would be anywhere near each other—the party for a new member—and it was fucking hilarious. I was waiting for a catfight to break out.
Dragon had gotten his cut earlier in the day, and he was weaving his way around as different brothers patted him on the back. Poor fucker had a massive healing tattoo on his back—but dealing with that shit was tradition. All of us had gone through it and survived—he would, too. I was looking at him when he stopped dead, staring across the room. When I followed his eyes, all I saw was Brenna and Vera—so I couldn’t figure out what the hell he was looking at. He had the stupidest fucking look on his face, almost dazed— and I wondered what the hell he was doing. As soon as he started across the room, my phone rang in my pocket and I lost sight of him as I tried to make my way through the crowd to answer Callie’s call.
By the time she hung up on me, I was in my room, and the whiskey and beer I’d downed at the party were like dead weight in my gut.
She was pissed, and I fucking knew she was going to do something stupid.
I had to get to Sacramento.
I stood up from my bed to find a bathroom and pack my shit, and the room fucking spun.
Great.
I stumbled my way to the door, trying to decide if I should just try and drive my bike down there—or wait until the morning when I knew I’d be sober enough that I wouldn’t lay down my bike somewhere and fuck up the paint job.
I started calling Callie again, but every time I did, she sent me to fucking voicemail. I made it into the hallway just in time to see Dragon leading—fuck—Brenna into his room. Did he have a death wish?
I tried to stop him. I really fucking tried.
But I was so goddamn preoccupied with Callie’s shit and just trying to stay standing that he bitched a little and I dropped it. The stubborn-as-hell look on his face told me he wasn’t listening to a goddamn word I said anyway, and Brenna didn’t even look at me as he pushed her gently into his room.
He wanted to fuck around with Poet’s daughter?
Fuck it.
And why the fuck wasn’t Callie picking up her phone?
I didn’t remember making it to the bathroom, but I must have—because when I woke up the next day, at two in the goddamn afternoon with the mother of all hangovers I hadn’t pissed myself.
Chapter 35
Callie
I looked around the apartment full of people with a small smile.
I’d set my plan into motion that morning, and so far it had worked perfectly.
I’d driven around our small neighborhood watching for ‘help wanted’ signs, and within fifteen minutes I’d found one in the window of a local fast food place. After giving them my application and doing an interview with a greasy guy not much older than I was, I had the job. I wasn’t sure how they’d chosen me so fast, but I hoped it was because I was the only one that applied and not because the skeevy manager couldn’t stop looking at my boobs. Either way, I’d walked out with a job that started the next week.
The next thing on my to-do list had been even easier to arrange. One call to Farrah and I’d been promised all the booze and weed I could handle. I left it to her to spread the word, and she hadn’t disappointed. She showed up at seven o’clock that night and by nine, the entire apartment had been filled with people.
So, by nine-thirty I was sitting on my couch with friends of Asa’s that heard about the party from Farrah’s stepdad. I couldn’t even begin to understand that type of fucked up parent-child relationship, but instead of worrying about my friend, I told myself it really wasn’t any of my business. I was enjoying being social for the first time in months, and the male appreciation for my shorts and wide-necked white shirt wasn’t anything to scoff at, either.
