Home Random Page


CATEGORIES:

BiologyChemistryConstructionCultureEcologyEconomyElectronicsFinanceGeographyHistoryInformaticsLawMathematicsMechanicsMedicineOtherPedagogyPhilosophyPhysicsPolicyPsychologySociologySportTourism






And I let myself be a part of it for a few moments.

I loved our street and always would. Every little house had its secrets and that’s what made it so perfect. I could laugh at Mr. Vanderloo across the street, because he snuck out to his garage every night and smoked pot after his family went to sleep. Mrs. Watson, three houses down, liked her husband to dress up as a UPS man and deliver things to her door. And then he’d deliver her to the bedroom.

Even Tate’s dad had a secret.

Over the time we spent together while she was gone, I discovered that he still ate at Mario’s every Thursday night by himself. I remembered Tate saying that the Italian restaurant was where her parents had had their first date. I didn’t know if she knew that he still did that.

My leg vibrated, interrupting my musings, and I reached into my pocket to grab my phone. Narrowing my eyes in irritation, I touched the screen and answered.

“Yes?” No need to be polite. I knew who it was.

“Hello. I have a collect call for you from an inmate at Stateville Prison. Will you accept?”

No.

“Yes.”

I waited for the operator to switch over, feeling like I had been pulled out of Neverland and was now surrounded by a dozen soldiers trapping me in at gunpoint.

I knew why my father was calling. He’d only called once before, and it was the same fucking reason this time.

“When you come up tomorrow…put money in my account,” he told, not asked. I took a deep breath. “And why would I do that?”

“You know why,” he growled. “Don’t act like you have a choice.”

I didn’t have the money to give him. I may not have a choice, but I had a problem.

“Then I’ll need to earn it, and I can’t do that until tomorrow night.” It was too late to get in on a race tonight. “I’ll be up on Sunday instead.”

And he hung up.


I closed my eyes and squeezed the phone, wanting it to be his face, his heart, and his power.

The money I gave him—to stop calling Jax—was supposed to be a one-time thing. But it hadn’t been. He’d give Jax a break, but he always called again.


Date: 2015-02-16; view: 628


<== previous page | next page ==>
I clenched my fists. | But if was enough, and I needed it.
doclecture.net - lectures - 2014-2024 year. Copyright infringement or personal data (0.007 sec.)