Page 59 of The Bitter Words

I drag myself into the house, wanting to die. My ma’s sitting on the couch when I enter.

She takes one glance in my direction and jumps to her feet. “Bubba, what’s wrong?”

I hang my head and she takes me into a nurturing hug. I fold into her and cry like I’m four years old.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say a word. I already know, Bubba.” She caresses the back of my head. “Your popswarned us this would happen, but don’t worry. Do what I tell you to do and he won’t hurt you.”

“Ma—”

“Shh. I know exactly what you need.”

“How did Pops know?” My life is over if this ever gets out. “How will I get through this?”

Chapter Thirteen

LIVIANNA/LILY

Then

Splintered Hours & Hollow Rooms

Every second drags crooked, like the clock’s still ticking but the numbers don’t add up anymore.

“Why won’t Callum go see a doctor?” I toss my phone on the oversized chair in Bren’s room. “It’s been a week since he got this bug.”

Bren wanders over to me with a joint hanging loosely between his lips. “You know what a stubborn asshole Cash is. Why bother fighting with him about it? If it gets bad enough, he’ll go get it checked out.”

“Yeah, but I go back to work next week. If he doesn’t get better soon, I’ll hardly get to see him.”

“Quit being dramatic, Livianna. This is the life you two live. It’s always been this way and you’ve been fine.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” I gesture for the weed. “I haven’t seen him since we dropped him off. He won’t even let me stop by to give him a bowl of soup.”

Bren hands me the joint and plops down beside me. “Maybe he’s afraid you’ll get the same thing and that will screw up your work schedule.”

“I don’t know. I feel like it’s more than that.” My mind spins for an answer about what could be causing Callum to want me to stay away from him.

I take a drag from the pot, hold it in, and let the effect carry me away. Bren and I settle into a night of relaxation since our parents are at a charity function.

He picks up a guitar that’s in his room, starts plucking away at the strings, and sings random songs he’s made up. He’s really good even without the other guys.

“Bren, do you think you would ever want a band of your own?”

He stops strumming. “I’ve thought about it, but it’s not my thing.”

“Why?”

“I don’t get the same high as Cash does while I sing. I don’t need that spotlight on me at all times. What I love to do is to showcase the creation of all of us together.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like when I start out with a slow picking of the strings because it lets the drum fill be more pronounced. Or when I’m shredding because Cash is screaming his heart out. When all that comes together, I feel like I’m the backbone of the band. It’s fucking awesome.”

I fiddle with the red throw blanket I’m using to keep warm. “So you like to be the support person?”

“No.” He faces me head-on. “You couldn’t live without a spine.”

“What’s the connection?”