Page 113 of Limbo

“Oh. My. God. Catelynn Renee, stop it.”

She stomps her foot and marches inside, leaving the door wide open.

“Everything all right over there?” Jordan asks.

I groan, any momentary calm he provided vanishing. “I won’t survive an entire week here, Jordan. She’s being extra Cate-like, so I took her swimming early to let her burn off some energy. Now she’s screaming on the steps.”

“And Connor?”

I take a deep breath, not even sure how to answer. We walked in the door at six last night, and the first fight between him and Graham started at six-oh-two when he had the audacity to shut the refrigerator too hard. Forget the fact that the piece of shit only stays closed if you slam it.

They screamed back and forth until I grabbed Connor’s face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. His jaw worked under my palm as I told him to go help Cate unpack.

After he stalked down the hallway, I confronted the real problem. Graham was drunk, and given the size of his pupils, he was on something. I asked if he was going to act like this all week, and he stormed toward me, not stopping until we were chest-to-chest. When I refused to cower, he told me to fuck off and wobbled away. The three of us stayed in my room the rest of the night to avoid round two. Too bad we couldn’t stay locked in there all week.

“Graham started in on him again first thing this morning about absolutely nothing,” I say. “He went to basketball this afternoon, so hopefully, he worked off some aggression, but I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since he left.”

I close my eyes and press my lips together, needing a second. A minute. An hour.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep up with all the fires before they blaze out of fucking control,” I admit.

“Want me to come and help tomorrow?” he asks.

The idea alone is enough to take the weight away. “Yes. Please save me. I’ll love you forever.”

“Your sexy ass is already going to love me forever.”

I laugh. “You’re right. I will.”

And I truly believe it.

Cate reappears on the steps, hands on her hips. “Callista,” she shouts. “Now!”

After another groan, I start toward the house. “Cate’s screaming again. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye, beautiful,” he says.

I tuck the phone in my pocket on my way up the steps. “Okay, I’m here.”

She drags me inside by the hand. “Something’s wrong with him, Cal.”

We pass her room, Connor’s room, my room, and stop in front of Graham’s door. I look down at her, confused. Graham’s truck is gone. He’s not home. She lets go of me and pushes the door open.

My heart stops. No, myworld.

The room is torn apart. Graham’s stripped mattress is hanging halfway off the bed. His TV is lying face down on the ground, ripped from the mount that is still dangling by one side on the wall. Clothes thrown everywhere. Drawers all open. The shards from the broken mirror cover the top of the dresser.

And in the middle of it all is Connor. On the floor. Cradling his bleeding hand.

“Cal…” he chokes out, tears streaming down his face.

I drop to my knees, facing Cate. “Go to the bathroom and bring me two towels. One wet, one dry.”

She dashes out of the room, and my mind launches into overdrive, trying to decide what to confront first. I hurry to Connor’s side. He stretches his fingers out. Not broken. Cate returns with the towels, and I carefully dab the blood away with the wet one to get a better visual of his cuts.

“Shit, Con. I think you need stitches.”

“Oh-my-God. Oh-my-God. Oh-my-God.” He drops his head forward, still repeating but barely audible.

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