His jaw tightens as he contemplates, those paralyzing eyes sweeping over me, his expression curious.
I take a step back, his gaze practically burning my skin.
“Have a good day,Piggy,” he finally says, then disappears into his room.
He hasn’t even been here long, and I already feel like I’m bracing for the next moment he’ll make me feelsmall.
Tool.
The rest of the day starts normal. I walk Atticus to the school bus, then go to work atNautical Treasures, a tourist trap on the boardwalk, and pretend my life is quirky and coastal... and not soul sucking.
On the way home, I grab a brownie. Itismy birthday, after all.
By the time I’m home, the place is quiet.
Victory.
Grayson’s bedroom door is open. I hesitate but peek inside.
Bed made. Room dark.
No sign of him.
Relief. Also disappointing. Not that I care... Okay, maybe I do.
I jog upstairs and find Atticus in his room. Good. He got home from school okay.
“You alright, bud?” I ask as he watchesHarry Potterfor the 1000th time. He sure looks like Brax if he wasn’t so skinny... and different.
He nods and I hand him his dinner. It’s just a chicken alfredo TV dinner I heated up, but I’m tired.
He thanks me and I ruffle his frizzy, blond hair.
“Don’t!” he whines, but smiles before I close the door.
It’s Monday — Brax’s friends probably won’t be here tonight.
I turn on my music, do the dishes, take out the trash, and slip into my favorite pajamas. Soft cotton. Slightly ripped.Comfy.
Time to celebrate!
I flop down in front of the TV, cue upThe Notebook, and get a little fluttery just from the opening soundtrack. I sink into the couch with my brownie. Alone. Undisturbed. Peaceful.
And for a second, it almost feels okay.
Then the front door opens — and my stomach drops.
I freeze.
Please don’t be Brax. Please don’t be all of them.
I just want one night — my night — to be quiet. To not have to hide in my room while they treat the place like a frat house. To not feel like the outsider in my own damn place.
On my birthday.
And still, I brace for impact.
“Hey, Piggy,” says Grayson.
