Page 81 of Raise Me Up
I might be able to pencil that in.
I go to set my phone down, and it rings again, this time with a call.
“Twophone calls from Liam Beckner in one lifetime? I’m starting to believe you actually enjoy talking,” I tease.
“Mmm. I enjoy conversations with the right people.”
“So only me, my brother, and Beau?”
“There are a few others, but you three are definitely my favorite.”
A soft laugh slips free.
“We’ll see you tonight, then.”
Like I would say no to anything that man offered. “I’ll be there.”
“And angel?” His voice drops into a huskier tone that speeds up my pulse.
“Yeah?”
“You had better be naked in my bed by the time we get home.”
Hot blood rushes through me. I check around me, answering in a whisper. “What will you do if I'm not?”
“Punish you.”
I’ve got my keys in my hand the second the clock signals the end of my shift.
To say I rush out of work would be an understatement. I don’t bother stopping by my apartment. I kind of hate the place. I thought I’d feel better about it after shoving those unpacked boxes into closets to hide them. Turns out the empty space just makes me feel worse about the fact that I’m nowhere near being able to afford a house.
Hopping out of my car at Liam’s townhouse, a loud bark startles me. Brown eyes stare up at me from a fluffy black body standing on Liam’s grass. He looks like some kind of golden retriever mix, but I’m no expert. I’ve never owned a pet. My parents said they were too messy, and messes weren’t permitted in the Koval home.
Seems my brother has been included in that category now.
Save a spot for me, big bro.
Truth is, I’m the messiest of my two siblings. And when I finally summon up the words I need to say to my parents, I fear it will be a twenty-year hurricane of emotions I’ve bottled up because I knew other kids had it worse.
Liam had it worse.
My fucked up idea of family revolved around that core thought. I had a roof over my head. I had food in the fridge. I had clean clothes and school supplies. I had parents who didn’t raise their fists at me.
But now I understand that their support is conditional. It doesn’t matter how many smiling family portraits hang on their walls. Ugliness can still fester under the surface.
The dog sits down next to my shoes, his thick black tail wagging at an impressive rate. Dried mud clings to its fur like it’s spent some time rolling around in mud puddles.
I lower myself down to his level. “Hi, buddy. Where’s your home?”
The dog enthusiastically pushes its head into my hand, and I laugh. “You attention-starved, too?”
I’m not sure how long I sat there petting the dog. Enough time to decide to clean him up and take him to a vet to see if he has a chip. Surely someone’s missing this friendly guy. He’s too sweetnotto have a home.
When I open up the door to my SUV, the dog backs up and whines.
“It’s okay. I’m just going to take you to my place so we can wash you.”
He lies down in the grass, wedging his head between his front legs.
