I gulped as my mother climbed out of the rusty, old truck. “I lied.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Christian
Fear provoked our worst behaviors.
That was why I was acting so unlike myself. I was flustered, angry, baffled, and downright desperate to get Hayley to admit that she needed someone to lean on. I’d never acted so idiotic before—not over a girl, at least.
And then, when she hit me with those blue eyes full of straight, unending fear, I knew I was a goner. It killed me. The thought of Hayley being afraid or hurt sent me straight to the red. It felt like an open wound in my chest, a burn only she could soothe.
“What are you afraid of?” I asked as her hand clenched onto my forearm. She was staring at something behind me, and I craned my neck in that direction, but before I could get a good look, she squeezed my arm and stole my attention.
“My mom.”
For fuck’s sake.
“Your mom?” I spun around. Hayley’s hand stayed glued to my arm, and we watched a woman who I’d seen many years ago—but definitely couldn’t have pointed her out in her current state—climb out of an older, beat-up Chevy.
“Christian.” The breakage of Hayley’s voice had me grinding my teeth. She looked up at me, and suddenly, I was taken back several years ago, looking my best friend in the face after she told me her parents were fighting every night. “I need you to keep your mouth shut but stay beside me at all times.”
“Why? Has she hurt you before?” My heartbeat was in my ears.
She shook her head, the pink color of her cheeks fading. “Not physically, but the man she is with?” I locked eyes with the man in the driver's seat. The distance between us was far, but even so, I could tell he was a fucking scumbag. “He’s bad news. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Can’t promise that.
Her soft hand squeezed my arm again and brought me back down to earth. “Christian. Please. Promise me.” The pleading in her voice almost broke me in half. “I’ll do anything. You can stay in my room every night. You can even take the other half of the bed. I don’t care. Just don’t say a word. I can handle it.”
“Fine,” I finally answered. As soon as her hand left my arm, I grabbed it and clasped our palms together, interlocking our fingers. She paused, looked down at our hands, and let out a shaky breath.
Then, I let her lead the way.
Her mother looked like shit. Complete and utter shit. If you were to look up the word death in the dictionary, Hayley’s mother's photo would be beside it. She reeked of stale cigarette smoke, her face was wrinkled, and a too-dark shade of makeup coated every deep crevice on her cheeks. Big bags hung underneath her eyes, and if you lifted her shirt, I was certain you’d be able to count every rib in her body. She wore a pink top that went around her neck and shorts that looked as if they belonged to Daisy Duke herself, except Hayley’s mom’s spaghetti-noodle legs stuck out from below.
We were only a few yards away from the truck, tucked away on the side of English Prep. Hayley’s hand was still clasped in mine, but I could still feel the nerves rolling off her body.
“How did you find me?” She stopped just a few feet away from her mother. I peered around her body and looked at the man in the driver’s side of the truck again. His dark gaze was dead set on us. He looked just as ragged as Hayley’s mom with a cut-off flannel shirt and a bandana wrapped around his head.
“That doesn’t matter,” her mother answered, reaching out to touch the bow around Hayley’s neck. Hayley jerked backward, clenching down on my hand. I squeezed it back, reassuring her that I was still here.
Hayley leveled her mom with a stare. “What do you want? Money? I don’t have any.”
Her mom smiled with her yellowing teeth. Her painted-on pink lipstick made my stomach turn. Desperate much? She looked like a hooker on meth. “Maybe not, but I bet he does.” Her eyes flicked over to me, and I hoped she could read what I was thinking. Not a fucking chance, you piece of shit.
I didn’t know the entire story of how Hayley had landed in foster care, but I knew it had to have been something extreme if CPS took her on the first call, and judging by the looks of her mom, it was rightfully done.
“Are you that desperate to come begging me and my…”—Hayley looked at me for one second before the word flew out of her mouth—“friend for money after abandoning me? I haven’t seen you for three years, and do you remember what I said the last time you came around asking for money?” Hayley’s mom sighed as she wrung her hands together. “I told you to fuck off and to never contact me again.”
Thatta girl.
It was almost as if her mom didn’t hear a word she said. She reached out again and tried to touch Hayley’s uniform—with no success—then she glanced at the school behind our heads. “Look at you. All grown up and at this fancy school. You always were smart.”
Yeah, no thanks to you.
The more I stared at Hayley’s mom, the angrier I grew. How? How did this happen? One day, Hayley was a normal seventh-grade girl, and the next, her dad was murdered, and her mom dragged her away to some trailer park.
Then, she ended up in shitty foster homes for the next five years?