Page 43 of Hate Wrecked

I look away from Rowan and back to my position—a sentinel.

After a few minutes, I push away from the entrance, my eyes catching on Rowan. He’s turned over, his muscular arm hugging the pillow under his head.

Most nights, I’ve wished there was one pillow so we would be forced to huddle close, our bodies pressed together. But no, he had to go on a suicide mission to that fucking boat and get everything out of it he could.

It’s hanging by a thread by Hollow Island, more of it in the ocean than above now. One day, we are going to look for it, and it’ll be gone. Below the surface. Taunting us. Because we’ll still be able to see it in the shallow.

I grab my pillow and toss it toward the tent opening, then lie on my stomach, eyes peering out into the night. I just want the damn cat to come to me, to curl his little furry body next to me. But that feral look he had in his eyes as he ran away gives me little hope.

I turn on my side, my body angled toward Rowan, and start counting. My mother always told me to do that when I couldn’t sleep. And I couldn’t sleep often. I was always a light sleeper, and I would walk to the end of the hallway, peering through the railing. I heard everything my parents said in the living room as their marriage fell apart. I shouldered it, protected my sisters from it.

It fascinated me to hear them talk like adults. They often spoke to my sisters and me as if we were adults too, which I certainly wasn’t ready for. But, hearing them talk to each other in earnest fascinated me—until it broke my heart.

I want to be with someone someday who is my partner through and through. The way I always thought my dad was to my mom. But the reality is that sometimes he wanted a normal life. But he didn’t want to give up his stardom. Hers was expendable, though. It altered the way I viewed my father, who I love so much. He became human, less than the heroes he played on the big screen. He became human, and when I found fault in my mother, she became the enemy.

“Fucking idiot,” I whisper, embarrassed at myself all over again.

I just want to get out of here alive so I can hug my mother again. So I can tell her I love her. So I can start over with her.

Rowan rustles in his sleep, and I envy him. We do so much all day long, andhefalls asleep within mere moments of lying down. His body needs it. He needs it. And even though I often work myself to the bone, I can’t find the same relief. And I know in my heart that if I wanted to sleep in tomorrow, he would let me.

One more way to take care of me.

I turn on my stomach, resting my chin on my hands, peering into the night. This place has become my reluctant home. I can feel my breath even out as I turn my ears to the rain. “Come home, come home,” I whisper again to the cat, wherever he is out there.

After a few more minutes, I slowly zip the door of the tent, but I leave a sliver open just in case he finds his way to us. Just in case he secretly has been hoping a kind human would find their way to him. Then I move my pillow back to the head of the tent, pulling my blanket over me. I move closer to Rowan, close enough to feel his warmth but far enough away not to crowd him. And I turn my focus to his breathing, the deep, slow breaths mirroring him.

They lull me to sleep, as they do every night.

THEN

RILEY

The party was thriving,the beat of music vibrating through the house—chaos contained in the walls of the mansion. And I wanted to escape it all.

My mother was failing miserably at hiding everything from my sisters. They saw it all. The chaos. The drugs. The sex. The fast and complicated life she was forging with Asa.

I rushed down the hall to the laundry room near my bedroom, the image of Rowan’s eyes in my mind as he took in the chaos around us.

What must he think of this family? Of us?

I shut the door behind me, the thundering of music fading away. I could hear my heart beating. The drugs and alcohol warring within me.God. I hate this life. I hate it all.“I want to go home, go home,” I whispered. The walls around me no longer felt like home. I was a visitor, a play actor in their twisted facade, their simulation of a life.

I heard a knock on the door, and I knew who it was. I reached for the knob, twisting it and opening the door until I saw his face. I nodded, and Rowan came in, shutting the door behind him.

“Are you okay?” This was a phrase he had said too many times.

“Yeah.” I wiped the sweat from my brow. “Just a little loud out there.” I lied. It was a loud house, even when it was quiet. And it was still loud in the laundry room.

“Yeah. It is.” He moved across the room, leaning on the dryer.

I leaned back on the floor-to-ceiling cabinets, the scent of detergent and fabric softener a welcome reprieve from the smoke in the house.

There, things became clean. I wanted to become clean. I wanted my family to become…something else.

“Is it like this at your dad’s house?” Rowan asked.

“No.” I shook my head. “He’s remarried too, but…I don’t know. His wife is younger than him but doesn’t want to party and do everything Asa likes to do. They’re starting a family. Another family, I guess.” I looked down. New sister. I had a new sister who was young enough to be my daughter. We wouldn’t be close the way my other sisters and I were. Would I have to take care of her? Or would my stepmother stay strong? I hoped she and my father would remain together because they were good together.

---