Caveman (Wild Men 1)

“Are you out of your mind?” Dad snaps, just as Mom mutters, “This isn’t going to end well.”

“This is what I want! There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There’s lots wrong with that. Lots!” Dad gets up and looms over me. “This isn’t what your mom and I worked our asses off for, so you could have a nice house, and nice clothes, and a chance to go to college. You’re throwing away all our effor

ts, all these years lost—”

“I’m not throwing anything away.” I inch back in my seat, but anger pushes down my fear. “I just want to do what makes me happy. I’m not going to feel guilty about that.”

“You listen to me now, young lady…” Dad bends over me and jabs a finger at my chest. I flinch and fear returns. He’s a big man, and I’m tiny, like Mom. I’ve never been afraid of him before, but he’s so angry spit flies out of his mouth, and my blood runs cold.

Dad won’t hit me, I tell myself. He never has. But when he grabs my arm, gripping me painfully tight, I can’t help but think that Blake also never hit me, and yet he’s held me like this, bruising me, forcing me to stay when all I want is to leave.

“John, stop it,” Mom says, and I think I hear fear in her voice, as well.

“Dad, let her go right now,” a male voice says.

Dad jerks and releases me so that I fall back in the seat, my breath leaving my lungs.

Joel is standing there, a hand gripping Dad’s arm. His blue eyes glitter with anger. “Don’t you touch her again.”

“You don’t get to order me around, Joey,” Dad mutters, but he walks away from me and shoves his hands into the pockets of his black pants. “I wasn’t going to hurt her.”

“You already have,” Joel says and glances at me uncertainly.

“I’m okay,” I say, my voice small, but the truth is, I’m not. Not because of the ache in my arm, but a deeper one.

I can’t stay here a moment longer. But when I try to get up, my legs refuse to take my weight, and I sink back down.

Joel holds out his hand. “Come on, Evie.”

He helps me up, and I stand by his side. Dad is giving me his back, and Mom is staring at me with tears in her eyes as if I’m dying or something.

“I’ll visit you,” I say, mostly because I can’t stand to see her so sad. “I’m not going far, Mom.”

She says nothing.

“She’ll be fine,” Joel says. And with that, he pulls me out of the room and into the cold night air.

Joel doesn’t say much else that night. He drives me to his apartment, which he shares with his ever-absent friend Jethro, and throws some folded sheets on the couch.

“You take my bed,” he says, “I’ll take the sofa.”

He must be kidding me. I don’t even want to know what action his bed has seen since he moved out of our parent’s house three years ago. “I’ll be fine on the couch, Joey.” I see a new frown forming on his face and grab the sheets to forestall an argument. “Honest. Thanks for standing up for me and taking me in. I wanted…”

He’s staring at me, and suddenly I don’t know what I want to say. The reality of it all hits me. I’ve left home. I’m on my own for the first time ever.

“You can stay for a while,” Joel says. “Jethro won’t mind.”

Since Jethro is never here, he probably won’t even notice. I clutch the sheets to my chest. I’ll have to return home at some point and grab my things—clothes, shoes, books, knickknacks.

Oh my God, I’ve left home. I sink heavily on the sofa, my knees knocking together. Which is ridiculous. I’m nineteen, for chrissakes, not twelve. Others leave the nest much earlier.

Deep breaths now, Ev.

“You okay?” Joel asks, sitting by my side.

“Yeah.”