Page 35 of Pretty Broken Wings
The money. Just think about the money.
“I’m good.” I sneak back over to where I was on the couch while still giving the dog some space.
The fridge door slams and I jump.
“I didn’t ask if you were good; I asked if you packed lunch.” Gage sounds pissed, and for a second, I freeze.
I drop my hand to the knife in my purse, and I flip out the blade.
I will not let any man bully me. Not anymore. If Gage tries anything, I’ll turn him into a pincushion for Halloween.
There’s the sound of plates clattering, then silence. I don’t like the silence. Dad was never silent before stomping up the stairs. So what is Gage doing?
Suddenly, there’s a warm tongue on my hand, and I jump, looking down. The dog has moved over to me with its back to the couch. It licks me again, tail thumping slightly.
Poor thing’s just as scared as I am.
Wait, why is it scared?
I have a horrifying thought. If I find out Gage is abusing it, I’ll slit his throat right here and now. I pull my knife hand back so I don’t cut the dog, and pet it with my other hand.
Then, Gage rounds the corner, and I stand up. Only, instead of squaring up with me, he has two plates of food in his hands.
I’m gripping the knife so firmly that the handle is pressing into my hand, and the dog just backs into my legs, pressing against me.
Gage maneuvers around the couch and then drops the food in front of me. It’s spaghetti. Then, he moves to the end of the couch, sits down, and starts eating.
I’m stuck there, staring at him. For a second, he doesn’t do anything. Then, he freezes, looking up.
“Buddy?”
The dog’s tail thumps, but it doesn’t move from my side.
“You let Buddy in?” The anger rises in Gage’s voice, and I tense, readying my knife.
But Gage doesn’t come after me. He just runs his hand through his white hair. “She didn’t bite you, did she?” He sounds stressed.
“What?” I look down at the dog, who looks just as scared as I feel. It’s a she?
“Did she bite you?” Gage asks, his eyes moving from me to the dog. “Buddy, come here.”
Her tail thumps more, but she still doesn’t move.
“Are you holding her?” The anger is back.
“No!” I glare at him. “She seems scared ofyou.”
Gage laughs, and it’s bitter. He laughs and laughs, slapping his knee like it’s the funniest thing in the world. I just stare at him like he’s crazy. Because I think he is.
Finally, he wipes his eyes. “Buddy is scared of women. Always has been.”
I stare at the dog, then back up at Gage, still skeptical.
He squints like he’s trying to see. “Did you feed her something?”
“No.”
Gage doesn’t look mad anymore, and slowly, I release my death grip on the knife. It’s then that Buddy perks up, staring at the extra plate of food on the coffee table.
