Still Waters (Greenstone Security 1)

I shook my head. “Because,” I said.

“That’s not an answer,” she snapped. “I’m not the first to judge anyone on stupid behavior. I’m the one who found herself on a boat in international waters doing some very shady shit with some Columbians,” she continued. “But I see it. The twinkle in your eye. Something different. And even if it weren’t for that, the little fire in my ice queen that makes me happier than a Black Friday sale, he’s hot. You don’t make the same mistake twice unless he’s hot. And he’s got it going on.” She waggled her brows. “And I know what a well-fucked woman looks like, trust me. I’ve done the legwork.” Another brow waggle. “And all the other kind of body part work. So, he has it going on. ‘Because’ is not an answer at this juncture.”

I regarded my friend seriously. “‘Because’ is the perfect answer at this juncture.”

She blinked at me, catching the change in the air but not fully grasping the why.

“Because Gray,” I said, my voice flat, even unfeeling to the outsider.

Rosie was not an outsider.

Her eyes instantly turned a soft and hard that was reminiscent of her brother. Revenge and sorrow.

It didn’t matter that revenge had already been dealt. That only ghosts remained. Ghosts could do the same damage as corporeal beings. Perhaps more.

Rosie’s black-painted fingers squeezed around the hand that wasn’t holding the coffee cup.

“Okay, babe. I’ll roll with you on this one. Despite what I think he might offer. Because Gray,” she said softly. “But you can’t let this haunt you forever. Can’t stave off the storm forever.”

I stared at her. “Can’t I?”

She didn’t answer.

Mainly because she knew I wasn’t asking her.

I was asking myself.

Eighteen years ago

“You’ll wake the girls.” Mom’s voice was that loud whisper she used to get Polly and me quiet when Daddy was napping on the sofa after one of his soda beers.

She was trying to be quiet, but our house wasn’t big and when you were awake you could hear lots and lots.

I’d heard Daddy call Mommy a lot of bad words that kids at my school used sometimes when they were trying to be cool.

I didn’t think they were cool. I thought they were ugly and mean. I didn’t like the way Daddy’s voice sounded when he said them. He made Mom cry.

But I loved Daddy too. He never told on me for staying up past curfew and reading another few chapters.

It was The Secret Garden right then. I didn’t want to leave it just yet. Especially when the yelling got louder.

I jumped under the covers, my flashlight that was meant to be for Girl Scouts—but I used to see my book after light’s out—almost flying from my hand when I heard a loud bang.

I didn’t know what it was, but something hard and heavy broke with it. “I don’t give a fuck about the girls waking up right now!” Daddy yelled too loud in the soda voice.

I glanced over to Polly’s crib, worried that my little sister might wake up and cry from the loud noise. Then scary Daddy might come in here. I wanted him to stop being mean to Mom, but Polly was only two, and I didn’t want him getting mad at her.

Sometimes he did. Got mad when Polly cried too much. Once I saw him pinch her little arm when she knocked over his soda beer on accident.

I’d made sure I always kept her away from it after that.

Mom said it was my job to take care of Polly. I was her big sister. I didn’t like doing my chores, like making my bed or dishes or the rest. But I liked looking after my Polly.

That’s why I got out of bed and padded over to her crib to stand in front of it. She was all tangled in her blankets, her little cheeks red because it was hot in the trailer, and we didn’t have the fancy fan in here like Mommy usually brought us in the nighttime. There was only one, and she said her princesses needed it the most.

Until Daddy drank the soda beer, which was almost every night now. That meant that he got the fan.

Polly’s eyes stayed squeezed tightly shut, her thumb shoved in her mouth and still sleeping.

“You just need to go to sleep.” Mom’s voice filtered through the walls, even though she was still speaking quietlike.

The slapping sound, like a high five but different in a way that made my belly feel sick, came next.

“You don’t tell me what to do, bitch!” Daddy yelled.

I squeezed my eyes shut and put my fingers in my ears like I liked to do when Daddy got mean like this.

It didn’t work. He was too loud and he was saying bad words, and there were a lot of weird noises I didn’t understand.