Ryder lifts a single dark brow. “In more ways than you could ever imagine, especially since you can dish it but can’t handle when it’s tossed back at ya.” He rises, a triumphant smile cushioning his lips as he yanks off his headband. “And you were a snail, by the way.”
I blink, wondering how the hell I went from wanting to kill him, to playing a board game with him, right down to mind-raping him in the span of thirty minutes.
“Cheaters!” Casey jumps up, beaming. “I win! What’s my prize, Ryder?”
“You, my beautiful sister, win a visit to Toys-R-Us.”
Casey squeals in delight and runs across the room to grab her sneaks.
Ryder plucks a T-shirt from the top of a subwoofer, a smirk reaching his eyes. “You ready, peach?”
“I can’t.” I feel disturbingly bereft as he tosses the T-shirt over his head and shoves on a pair of Vans. “I have to study.”
“Surely you’re not gonna miss out on her going toy shopping, are you?”
“Uh-uh, Ashcroft, you’re not using her again to make me feel guilty,” I whisper, firm on not letting him win. “I’m sorry, guys, but I have some things I have to finish.”
“Please, Amber?” Casey begs, her face turning all kinds of desperate. “You can help me pick out a new Barbie.”
“Looks like I don’t have to make ya feel guilty.” Ryder ducks his head to conceal his smirk-gone-wild as he undoubtedly notices my willpower blow to shit.
“I do love me some Barbie,” I concede with a smile, knowing that’s a complete lie. Since I never owned one—well, one that wasn’t a disheveled hand-me-down that closely resembled our neighborhood hooker—I grew to hate the very fact that the bitch was ever invented. Hate or not, the joy in Casey’s eyes has me temporarily abandoning both studying and my childhood issues. “Let’s go make your brother spend insane amounts of money on some Barbies.”
Casey wraps her arms around my waist, buries her cheek against my stomach, and gives me a hug, a small sigh of contentment pushing from her mouth as she squeezes me tighter. I freeze, my mind locking up against her affection. Against what’s supposed to come naturally to a child. Love, trust, and security are pure emotions, a child’s God-given right before adulthood swallows them up into a stomach churning with nothing but evil shit. Once we get to a certain age, the devil is around every corner we turn, silently waiting to make us a part of his exclusive club.
For me—at Casey’s age—he was hiding under my bed, stripping me bare of feeling any of the emotions I was entitled to.
I catch Ryder watching us, his expression a mixture of pain and understanding. On a shaky breath, I rest my palms on either side of Casey’s head, tilting her tiny face up to mine. She smiles, and so do I, my heart falling in what I’m sure is the closest thing to love.
“Casey,” Ryder says, struggle thickening his voice. “You have to take your medicine before we leave, kiddo.”
Still staring into my eyes, Casey nods and crooks her finger at me.
I hunch over, my face inches from hers as she cups my jaw and whispers, “I like you, and I think my brother does too,” she singsongs, but sobers quickly, fear dotting her innocent features. “Do you ever have to take medicine?”
“Sometimes,” I answer, feigning a calming tone. Unease coats my stomach as I touch her cheek, hoping to settle her some. “Your brother told me you’re the best medicine-taker in the whole wide world.”
“He did?” she questions, her smile resurfacing.
“Yes, he did. Are you gonna show me how good you take it?”
She nods and reaches for my hand, leading me toward the kitchen. My own fear blisters along my skin as she hops up onto the kitchen table and snaps open the top two buttons of her blouse, exposing a small portion of her chest just below her collarbone.
Casey points at a paper-thin scar on her chest, the delicate skin slightly raised as though a small stack of quarters is beneath it. “This is called a port. There’s tubes under here that helps the medicine go into my body. The doctor said this was the best thing so I don’t always have to get stuck with needles in my arms.”
I drop into a chair next to her, completely disturbed that she knows any of this. My pulse ping-pongs as Ryder pulls a medical kit from the cabinet, sets it on the table, and opens it, a calming smile on his face with each movement he makes.
“That’s a tropical antisep—” Casey’s nose scrunches in confusion. “How do I say that, Ry?”
Ryder grins, popping a soft kiss onto her forehead. “Topical anesthetic.”
Casey tries the word again, failing to pronounce it correctly. She giggles. “Whatever that is, it helps numb my skin so when Ryder puts the needle in my chest, it doesn’t hurt as much.”
As much . . .
My breath snags. Her statement—the bravery in her tone—seeps dawning through my gut.
Though death stared me in the face when I was Casey’s age, it wasn’t aimed at me. I spent my days alone while my parents slept, and my nights as equally alone and scared while they ran around town doing whatever they had to do to get their next fix. Concerned neighbors eventually called the authorities. I think the day they died was the morning they were supposed to go to court to prove they were fit enough to take care of me, because it was the first time I’d seen my father in a suit and tie.
I remember staring at him, not sure who he was. His hair wasn’t a mess, and his eyes didn’t look tired. I remember smiling at him. He smiled back and walked into his bedroom. For a minute I felt calm, like maybe things were about to change for the better. That they were about to change. I swallow, knowing I couldn’t have been more wrong. He came out of the bedroom, his eyes soulless, empty, and cold. He shook when he told me he loved me. It was then I felt confused. He’d never once said those words to me. Come to think about it, neither did my mother.