Saturday morning dawned with Micah in need of figuring out his car situation, a problem which Mama Rosie quickly remedied. “Follow me, mi amigo.” Mama Rosie motioned Micah to hurry behind her as she wound through her small house, packed tight with furniture, bric-a-brac, and photos. Photos everywhere. Black and white photos dated back to her childhood. Current photos of families, teenagers, and kids decorated every wall and surface. Micah halted in front of a framed photo on the wall. Casey hung suspended mid-jump, yelling from the sidelines as a group of kids engaged in an intense game of basketball.
“They had a neighborhood tournament last year. It was the first time Casey tested the waters to see how a league might work through Ellie’s Place. The kids practiced for months. I was on the sidelines for every game. I am neighborhood mama. They are all my kids.” Pride rang loud and clear. “Casey sent me that after the game as a souvenir. That,” she pointed at the photo, “was a good day. It changed lives.”
“How did it change lives?” Micah studied the small woman next to him. She’d dressed in some sort of pink dress overlaid with an apron today. Her loafers were built for work and comfort.
“These kids, mijo, their parents don’t care. That’s why Casey provides them with other opportunities. She wants them to know they belong, that they are more than they have heard and seen. That day, some of the kids played as a team for the first time and liked it. Some learned that they were winners. Some learned what it looks like to cheer for the kid from the rival family. The game. It brought the kids together. It changed perceptions, emotions, hearts. So, it changed lives that day.” She kissed her fingers and brushed them across the glass. “And that is why it is my favorite.”
The way she talked about Ellie’s Place, Casey, the community they were trying to build, it was something he longed to be part of again. But he feared he would only mess it up.
She started toward the door at the end of the hall. “Now hurry. We don’t have all day.”
He shook off his melancholy. A car. That was a problem in his control to solve. One step at a time. Micah followed her into the garage. A tarp covered something in the center of the cracked cement floor. Boxes and a tool bench lined the sides covered in layers of dust. Mama Rosie tossed the tarp into a corner, revealing an old, beat-up, red Chevy truck. “Meet your new ride.”
Micah just stared. This piece of junk probably ran worse than the car he’d laid to rest in the mountains of Colorado. “Does it run?”
“I don’t know. That’s for you to figure out. It belonged to mi amor.”
“Is he . . .”
“He went to be with the good Lord ten years ago.” She popped her hands on her plump hips and gave him a look that even his mother would have been proud of. “You need a way to get around. This is it. Dallas isn’t a small city. We don’t just walk or ride our bikes. We’re commuters down here, and you need a car, or you’ll have to ride the bus.”
“Mrs. Rosie . . .”
Her eyes could have shot him dead. Micah shuffled back a step, his hands raised. “Mama Rosie,” he corrected, “I’m not planning to stay that long. I’ll just hop a ride with Shawn or call Uber.”
She marched across the garage and stood toe-to-toe with him, her tiny frame even shorter than Casey’s five-foot-two, yet somehow more intimidating. “Then consider fixing this truck as rent.”
She pointed to the corner as she stalked out of the garage. “Tools are over there. Skill is in your hands and in that thick head of yours. And any questions . . .” she cast a look over her shoulder. “Young TJ usually stops by around dinner time. I’m sure he can show you a thing or two. That boy is a good mechanic and he’s not even sixteen yet. He’s gonna go places with his skills. I just know it.”
Micah heard her mumbling as she exited the garage. He stood in front of the truck. It was the beat-up, old, red pickup of all his country, non-childhood fantasies. And now he was the proud owner. Renter? He didn’t really know. He wished he’d paid attention when his dad and older brother, David, had tried to show him the ropes of fixing up a car. For them, it had been therapeutic. For him, it had been next to torture. He felt around the hood of the car until a latch clicked and he could pop the top. The metal groaned in protest. Micah empathized.
“Well, you big ole rust bucket.” He patted the dinged, dusty car door as he circled the hunk of steel. “Looks like it’s just you and me. Let’s figure out how to bring you back to life.” He winced, glancing at the tool box. “And maybe forgive me if I break something before you get better.”
He rolled up his sleeves and slipped his watch from his wrist, dropping it into his pocket. He heard the slight scrape as the watch slipped over something. His fingers brushed over plastic. Holding it up to the light, he caught a glimpse of Casey’s faint smile, warm brown eyes, and dark hair falling around her shoulders. Her license. She’d asked him to put it in his pocket in the rush of shuffling bags and removing layers when they arrived at the airport in Colorado. Before she’d told him to get lost.
“Well, Casey Stewart. Looks like you aren’t quite rid of me yet.” Armed with his excuse, Micah abandoned his new wheels and went in search of Mama Rosie for an address and a game plan. Maybe he could convince Casey to talk to him again. Something about her sparked his interest. And that hadn’t happened in a long time.
After agreeing to chauffeur Mama Rosie on all her errands, Micah borrowed her car and followed the directions to Ellie’s Place later that afternoon. He pulled up to a small building. The center’s name identified the building in red letters just over the entrance. Teenagers hung near the doors. Around back, he heard shouting, cheering, the faint scuff of shoes on concrete, and the slap of a rubber ball greeting the ground. He shifted his trajectory, aiming for a chain-link fence peeking around the corner.
One of the most competitive shirts-versus-skins basketball games he’d ever seen raged in the cordoned court. And, with her toes edging onto the court from the sidelines, was Casey, yelling and jumping as she kept pace with the ball. The kids played rough and seemed to range from ninth to twelfth grade. An older man sat in the middle of the bleachers, teens surrounding him on all sides. The hint of a smile was just visible beneath the shadow of his fedora.
Micah paced the fence, looking for a gate. Casey hadn’t noticed him yet, her attention firmly fixed on the court. “Pass it TJ. Nice steal, Coleman.”
He choked on a laugh. She was coaching both teams. Skins went in for a basket and the stands erupted. Before Micah could take a step in Casey’s direction, a scuffle broke out on the court. The kid, TJ he assumed, swung at Coleman. In one quick move, his neck was trapped in Coleman’s much stronger arms, his back bowed and arms flailing.
Micah hopped the fence in one move, his body groaning from his lack of exercise. But years of training put grace and power in his movement. He made it halfway across the pavement but Casey was already there.
In one move, she ripped the boys apart and stood with her arms stretched between them. “That’s enough, you two.” If Micah wasn’t so worried one of them would punch her he might have laughed—a tiny mouse caught between two angry jungle cats. Micah stalked closer, Casey still oblivious to his presence. TJ swerved trying to punch Coleman, but Casey was in his face. “Cool it, bud. You know that’s not how we do things here.”
“Nah, bro. Not at all. You gonna let this tiny woman fight your battles for you?” Coleman egged him on.
“Coleman, that’s enough,” Casey spat without ever turning to look at him.
His slow grin made Micah’s skin crawl. He was about ready to throw a punch. Micah took another step, but the older man in the stands caught Micah’s eye and gave one subtle shake of his head. Micah clenched his fist and stood his ground, watching the stare down.
“C’mon, TJ. You always going to let Casey fight your battles for you? I thought you were a man now. The only man left in your house because your brother went and got himself . . .”
With an angry cry, TJ launched himself past Casey and into Coleman, knocking Casey backwards onto the asphalt. He heard a crack as her head connected with the concrete. Micah’s temper slipped. With a yank he pulled Coleman from TJ. The older man appeared, grabbing the other wiry teen around the waist and holding him fast.
“C’mon, Al. Let me go!” Anger radiated from TJ but Al held fast.
A dark chuckle tore through the kid knotted in Micah’s arms. The sound grated. With a firm squeeze from Micah, Coleman stopped chuckling and wheezed for air. Micah released him and patted him on the back. His voice slipped to a deadly calm as he whispered in the teen’s ear, “Disrespect Casey or any guys on this court again, and you’ll have me to deal with.”
“What are you going to do about it, old man? I ain’t scared of you.” Coleman’s smirk lit a fire in Micah.
With a quick snap, Micah had Coleman’s wrist twisted and his arm folded awkwardly behind his back. “Where I come from, a man treats others with respect,” he whispered. The court was deathly quiet. “A man knows how to fight for others instead of picking a fight.” He tugged harder and the boy winced. Kids around him shifted, but he could tell they were listening. He raised his voice so they could hear. “You want street cred, you’ll be fighting your whole life to earn respect. You want warrior cred?” He shoved Coleman away. “Learn how to earn respect that lasts.”
Coleman backed away from him and spat, his eyes reminding Micah of a jungle cat. Crisis averted. For now. The crowd slowly disbanded, and the thunk of the ball slapping the court signified a truce. No one would be fighting again today. The adrenaline rushed out of Micah, leaving behind the echo of the man he’d once been.
The label of a warrior—honor, courage, respect. He no longer felt he measured up. His life felt like a lie. He turned slowly and came toe-to-toe with Casey.
“What do you think you’re doing, Hotshot?”
“Whoa.” Micah held up his hands and took a step back. “Now you’re mad?”
She grabbed his shirt and yanked him after her, beating a quick line to the building. Micah choked back a chuckle. “If you wanted me to go with you, all you had to do was ask.”
“It’s more satisfying for me to drag you around.” She shoved his chest as soon as they walked inside. She had some muscle. And more than a little fight.
“You undermined me.”
“Excuse me?”
She stood on tiptoe to get close to his face, her finger poking his chest. “You heard me.”
He stood his ground. “You were flat on your back with some angry, strong teenagers going at it right next to you.” He crossed his arms, forcing her back a step. She needed some serious awareness training. Maybe a dose of reality while she was at it. “Where I come from, you stand up for those you care about, and you don’t let a man mistreat a woman.”
“I am not a damsel in distress. I can take care of myself. And you barely know me. Don’t pretend you care.”
Something in him snapped. He took slow steps toward her, forcing her to back against the wall. He stopped when they were toe-to-toe. Her only option was to stare at his chest or meet his eyes. And Micah knew she wasn’t a coward. His voice lowered to a whisper. “Who hurt you so bad that even the prospect of someone defending you forces you behind your walls?”
Her brown eyes practically glowed. She tried to shove his chest, but he anchored his arms on the wall, closing her in. “I will not ask your permission to protect you or anyone else if the situation calls for it, nor will I smother you if I see you have it handled. But you need a serious reality check if you think you can handle things on your own all the time.” He took one step closer, a breath from touching her. “As for the caring part, I spent several days with you and your friends. How much time do you need to spend with someone before you know you enjoy their company? Who dictates that standard?” He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “But if you’re too scared, I understand.” He took a step back, watching her exhale. Her wary eyes fixed on him.
“I’m not scared. Nor am I stupid.”
Adrenaline pumped through him. Something about her beauty, her strength, the care she radiated to those kids as he watched her coach from the sideline—it had every protective bone in his body wanting to stand between her and the world. That small taste of his old self—the protector no matter the personal cost—it unnerved him. The last time he had been the protector, he’d gotten his friends killed.
He took a deep breath and backed up a few paces, finding the opposite wall and allowing it to bear his weight. She held his gaze. Slowly, he watched her body unwind, her knuckles return to their tan color, her breathing even. “We’ll agree to disagree on one of those statements.”
This time, she advanced but stopped in the middle of the hall. A door slammed nearby, but her eyes didn’t leave his.
“You’re leaving, Micah. I don’t know when, but you’re drifting through. You’ve made that clear. And I know you’re tough. I know you can handle those kids. But they don’t need someone who can handle them. They need someone who will care about them, someone who will stay.” Her voice lowered, a challenge leaking through her words. “Let’s not pretend I’m the only one who’s scared. I may hide behind a wall, as you put it, but you hide behind your charm and calm and this journey you are on.”
His jaw popped as he ground his teeth.
“You say you care? Maybe.” She cast him one last glance, but this time he saw an echo of his own brokenness in her eyes. “But those are just words. If it’s true, you’ll have to prove it.” With a quick pivot, she was gone. Back to the kids she loved and the job she hid behind. Back to the remnants of tension she shouldn’t referee alone. Back to a local battlefield. The kind of field he never wanted to enter again.
The kind of minefield she had just called him to tread if he wanted to prove his feelings. His feelings. He had them, and he didn’t know what to do with them. Micah slapped the wall, his palm tingling against the cinder blocks. Casey was cute and sassy and fun and a fighter—everything he was attracted to. Everything he secretly always wanted. But he was a mess. He had nothing to give her
He touched his forehead to the porous cement blocks, their cool texture absorbing his anger, his confusion. He cared. But . . .
People around him wound up hurt or dead. And he couldn’t let Casey be a casualty.
“Lord, you’ve been quiet lately, but a little help here would be great,” he whispered, feeling a wave of calm ease his racing thoughts. Though the Lord seemed silent, Micah constantly felt his presence. A little direction now would be nice.
A door slammed, jarring him from his thoughts. A heated basketball game brewed on the court just outside the window. Casey cheered right in the middle of her kids again, so small in the midst of so much attitude. These kids were angry. And she was fighting for them. She needed a champion, too. Someone to step in when her back was on the ground.
But was Micah the guy for the job?
“You must be Micah.” The soft sound of loafers paused behind him, and he turned, stepping away from the wall.
“And you must be Al.” He extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Shawn, Teagan, and Casey have spoken highly of you.”
He chuckled. “Well, I can’t say the same for Casey, but the other two mentioned you this morning when I saw them. You’re from California?”
“Alabama, originally.”
“Ah, just passing through?”
“Probably.” Micah ran a hand through his dark hair. “Not really sure what I’m doing right now to be honest with you.”
His eyes twinkled, reminding Micah of his Pap back home. “You don’t exactly strike me as a man without a plan.”
Micah chuckled. “Well that used to be true.”
Al tipped the rim of his fedora up, his cool blue eyes piercing. “And why not anymore?”
Micah shuffled. “Let’s just say my original plan came to an unexpected end, and now I need a new plan.”
“Or someone to plan for.” A smile hovered on his face.
Micah grimaced. “I’m not too sure Casey wants me to plan on her. Or even plan on staying for that matter.”
“Mmmhmm. Well, I’ve known Casey for a few years now, and I can tell you that Ellie’s Place is all about second chances. And future chances and dreams. Maybe you being here isn’t a coincidence.”
Micah stared at the man. Was it even possible to replace what he had lost? To start over? Find a new dream? Another team? A purpose? He wasn’t sure. But the thought tugged at him.
He shoved his hand in his pocket, producing Casey’s license. “Would you give this to her for me? She was a little too riled up.”
Al took the license from his outstretched hand. “Casey is riled because you fought hard enough to get into her space. And that scares her. Few of us have survived the climb behind her walls.” He rested a hand on Micah’s shoulder. “But something about you says you may have what it takes. We could use a guy like you around here. Think about it.” He squeezed and exited through the glass door to the court.
The Tried and True Trio had a strong Sunday brunch game. Over the past few years, it had become the thing to do on a Dallas morning, and the lines stretched for hours. But Casey had a strategy. While Shawn drove from church and Teagan came from wherever she’d been, Casey drove down to the Bishop Arts district, parked her Toyota on a neighborhood street, and walked a couple blocks to Oddfellows, one of their favorite brunch places in the city.
The people watching only enhanced the experience. An old, seventies-style van sat in front of Oddfellows, boasting outdated and gently used clothes. A thin sheet in the very back allowed people to browse the tight space with a couple of clothing racks and then try on their finds. The space was too claustrophobic and heated for Casey’s taste, but some days she would order a coffee, sit on a stool at the outdoor bar counter, and watch people stumble from the tie-dye, painted van with new treasures from decades past.
A woman wearing a fedora and a blue, crushed velvet vest strolled past Casey walking her cat on a leash. A guy with tight jeans and gigantic ear gauges swerved down the street on a longboard, dodging cars and morning brunchers.
Casey asked for a to-go mug at the coffee bar, double-checked her phone number on the list, then wandered down the block, popping in shops selling trendy t-shirts, knick-knacks for homes, and an assortment of jewelry and art. Sundays were sacred—her mornings to breathe, think, and enjoy.
But this morning, she had only one thing on her mind: Micah Richards. The handsome guy whom she had literally almost run over with her car. They’d only spent a few short days skiing and enjoying the small Colorado town with her friends, and then he’d panicked and mentioned God on a flight to Dallas. It made her curious. And wary. Now, she couldn’t seem to get rid of him. In fact, he had even tried to protect her this week. What was he thinking?
Her phone buzzed with an incoming text: Your table is ready.
Casey hurried back to the white restaurant front, the picnic tables gracing the sidewalk now packed with people waiting their turn to move inside. Casey greeted Shawn and Teagan at the front door with a hug.
“Y’all ready for another tasty and successful Sunday brunch experience?” Teagan rubbed her hands together as she scooted into a booth.
“I’m always ready for brunch with you ladies.” Shawn picked up his menu and quickly rattled off their coffee and drink orders to the waitress.
Teagan perused the menu, even though she knew it by heart. “How goes the coach hunt, Casey?”
Casey steepled her fingers over her menu and leaned forward. “Well, I had two phone interviews on Friday afternoon when we got back from Colorado. One with a guy named Marco in Memphis, Tennessee. He’s coached baseball there at a middle school and is looking for a change, but it’s a big move. I put the ball in his court to let me know if he is still interested. He was going to talk with his wife and get back to me.
“The other candidate is this local guy named Brad. He graduated from SMU about a year ago, great athlete. Played on their basketball team. But he’s really young, and I’m not sure how he will handle our kids. He’s coming for an in-person interview on Tuesday, and then I may see if he can help with the upcoming fundraiser. Test him out with the kids a bit.”
“Sounds like some promising leads,” Shawn said.
“I’m content for now. But we can talk work later. Teag, you ready to order yet?”
“I think I’m feeling pancakes. No, an omelette. No, the special. Shoot, I can’t decide.”
Shawn and Casey grinned at Teagan. The hippy redhead could eat an entire pig and not gain weight. Casey despised her friend’s metabolism.
“Come on, Teag. Just order all of it. We know you won’t gain an ounce.”
Teagan let her menu fall and pointed a finger at her friends across from her. “Hey, I work out.”
“It’s okay, Teagan. We all know you hate to sweat.”
“Well, true. But I do work out.”
“Since when?” Casey took a sip of her coffee, smirking at Teagan.
“Since I found this new boxing gym.”
Casey could have sworn Shawn’s eyebrows had just permanently buried themselves in his hairline.
“You? Miss Flower Child? Boxing?”
“Listen here, Muscle Man.” Teagan leaned across the table.
“Oh no,” Casey muttered.
“One, I resent that name. Just because I like nature-y things does not mean I’m a flower child. And two, I can box. And I’m actually pretty good at it.”
Casey had been wrong. His eyebrows could go higher.
“I somehow can’t picture that.”
“Well why don’t I show you?” Teagan stood, a challenge in her eyes and a wicked grin gracing her pixy features. “Outside, now.”
A waitress with a full tray skirted around Teagan as Shawn grabbed her wrist and tugged her back into the booth. “How about you show me later, killer. And since you are actually working out and I’ve been trying to get you to do that for forever, I salute you.”
“Thank you.” Satisfied, Teagan returned to her menu.
“Speaking of new things. What’s with this Micah guy sticking around even longer? I heard maybe Christmas?” Casey complained.
This time Shawn’s raised eyebrows turned her way. She would have to help him rearrange his face later if he kept doing that.
“Don’t call him ‘that Micah guy.’ We all know y’all have some ridiculously crazy chemistry going on,” Shawn said.
Casey had to pick her jaw off the floor. “I’m sorry, what?”
Teagan closed her menu. “Pancakes, I’ve decided. And maybe a side of bacon. And eggs. And seriously, Case, don’t pretend like you don’t feel the chemistry. Everyone sees it. I heard he totally defended your honor yesterday.”
“Whoa.” Casey held up her hands in the all stop sign. “I think y’all have confused chemistry with supreme aggravation and annoyance.”
Both of her friends sank back into their chairs, arms crossed, smirks firmly intact.
Wrong move.
“Uh uh. No way. There is not chemistry.” Her voice raised an octave. The guy sitting a few feet from her turned and winked. Weird. A bar hung through his nose. Nope. Definitely not interested.
She turned back to her friends. No way did she and Micah have chemistry. Except . . . that one time. And maybe. No. No way.
Teagan reached for her hand over the plastic, sticky menus. “Hon, it’s okay if you do have chemistry. It’s okay if you like him.” The tease lighting her eyes quickly turned to understanding. “And frankly if you do, it’s about time.”
“Messed up, running from something he won’t talk about, occasionally freaks out for no reason. Yep, he’s a keeper. He won’t hurt me at all.” Sarcasm dripped.
“Hold that thought.” Shawn held up a hand as the waitress returned. Teagan complimented the bright blue highlights in her chestnut hair before rattling off all their orders. Casey sat there, quiet. It wasn’t okay to like Micah. She didn’t even know what to do if she did like him. The last guy who had liked her had taken everything from her and then painted her in a bad light. So had every guy who had paraded through her home as a kid. She’d never dreamed about the white picket fence, two point five kids, and a golden retriever. That was a fairy tale. Prince Charming didn’t exist. Animals didn’t talk. And romantic love only brought pain.
But dreams . . . those she believed in. Dreams bred hope for something better. For her. For her sister. For Shawn and Teagan. Maybe even Micah. Maybe that’s really why she’d invited him back. Dallas had been the place she’d rediscovered hope. Maybe he would, too.
She chewed on her lip. If she were truly honest, her deepest, most secret hope was that a guy, any guy besides Shawn, would prove her wrong someday. But as she approached thirty, those embers had begun to burn out.
“Okay,” Shawn shifted in his seat and threw an arm over the back of her chair. “Let’s look at Micah in a different light, shall we?”
Casey didn’t respond, wasn’t sure she could.
“He’s the guy who has stepped in to protect you not once, but twice in the last few weeks. He liked you enough to come to Dallas, even if he had a broken-down car and other reasons, as well. Mama Rosie likes him, which should say everything right there. He has treated you with consideration. He served our country as a SEAL. Those guys aren’t playing around. I don’t know many guys who serve in the capacity he did and don’t come back battling personal demons. Does he have things to work through?” He narrowed his eyes on her. “Don’t we all? But I don’t think he is quite the mess you are painting, and I don’t think you truly believe that either.”
“More coffee?” Blue streaks was back. Perfect timing.
“Yes, please.” Casey practically threw her white ceramic mug at the waitress. Shawn just grinned.
“I think our girl has a crush.”
Teagan smiled a dopey grin. “Yeah. We’ll get her to admit it one of these days.”
“Not likely,” Casey protested. But she hated that her friends could climb right over her walls. Heck, she’d made a door for them and given them both keys long ago. She wouldn’t trade that for the world, but sometimes . . . sometimes the view they had scared her. They mined the truth she couldn’t hide. But this, this felt too deep.
Despite all the Micah talk, brunch was as delicious as ever. Casey felt herself unwind from her coach hunt, plans for the center, and her now churning emotions over Micah Richards.
And then. The peace was shattered with a three-letter word on her phone screen.
Mom.
They exited Oddfellows right as the ringing began. Casey answered as Shawn steered them past waiting brunchers to their cars.
“Casey Stewart, you need to come get your sister or, so help me God, I’m going to kill her.”
Casey jerked the phone from her ear at her mother’s shouting and slurring. It was noon but it sounded like her mom had already consumed a few Bloody Mary’s.
“Mom, slow down. What’s wrong with Emery?”
“I’m tired of teenage girls who don’t know how to handle their liquor or their men. And I don’t have time to deal with the cops bringing her home for underage drinking!” Casey stopped in the middle of the parking lot. Her heart pounding and memories racing.
Her bedroom.
A guy laughing.
And her mom telling her to suck it up while mocking Casey’s tears.
Teagan and Shawn stood on either side of her. Casey put the phone on speaker. Just like every other moment of her life, she needed her friends to help her handle her mom.
“Mom, slow down. Where’s Emery?”
“I mean,” Mona slurred, “you’d think both of you would have inherited a little something from me, learn to handle your alcohol. Or at least not get caught. But, oh no.”
“Mom, where’s my sister?” Panic tore through Casey. She wanted to wrap her fourteen-year-old sister in bubble wrap. No one should experience what she had.
Please God, no.
The knee-jerk, silent prayer shocked Casey. She hadn’t prayed in . . . she didn’t even remember how long.
“Your brat sister is crying in her room. The day after the police brought her home, I caught her kissing some high school guy on the couch. Both of them were as drunk as a skunk and on their way to second base. I don’t have time for police, but I really don’t have time for a fourteen-year-old pregnant girl living in my house.”
Casey’s heart sank. She knew her mother was exaggerating . . . a little. She also knew Emery was on a path headed to nowhere good. Teagan squeezed her free hand, both she and Shawn feeling the relief with Casey. They’d both been next to Casey in her darkest season—had experienced pretty rough seasons themselves. None of them wanted that for sweet Emery.
“It’s time for you to take her. You fix teenagers for a living. Time for you to take a crack at this. And if she gets arrested or pregnant on your watch, maybe you’ll get a taste of how hard it was to raise you and have some sympathy for your mother instead of blaming me for everything. I’ll be in Waco with her at eleven tomorrow morning. Be there,” Mona droned, her sentences slurring more with every moment. “Enroll her in school. Send her to church camp. Just deal with it before she comes back home.”
Casey froze. Shawn tightened his fists, his jaw twitching, signaling his silent rage. Color fled from Teagan’s already pale cheeks, but her pinched lips told Casey she was about to explode.
“I’ve had it, Casey. Lord knows I don’t need two slutty daughters who require so much attention.”
That word. It boomed through the speaker. Two guys walking to their car stopped and looked at their small circle. Casey hunched her shoulders, ignoring their stares. That word wasn’t true. It never should have hurt that much. But it did. In her fairy tale, she would have had a dad to protect her. A mother to love her. A sister who knew she was worth more than a drunk one-night stand at the age of fourteen. Instead, they had a drunk mother. Revolving stepdads. And terrible self-worth, reinforced by their mom.
A stinging sensation on her palms let her know her fingernails had dug too deep in her palms. She fought for control, for calm. “I’ll be there to get my sister in the morning, Mom. I’ll keep her as long she wants to stay.” She ended the call before her mother could respond. She needed to figure out what was going on with Emery. Maybe convince her mom to let Emery live with her until graduation. But she needed to do something fast.
Tremors tore through her. Tears burned. She blinked them back. Not here. Not now. Nearby people laughed. Someone road a bike down the street. A horn honked. The scent of coffee clung to the air, along with syrup and the faintest, mouth-watering hint of bacon. Casey felt and saw all of it and none of it. Because the only thing that resounded in her head was the word that had once bled red on her high school locker, painted by the guy who’d promised her the world. The word that had been echoed in every conversation with the school staff and even her mother since that event: slut.
Her sister was better than this. Worth more. Casey. Casey had been worth more. And Casey wouldn’t let her sister experience what she had. She’d take her, raise her, teach her, and make her strong so no guy would ever treat her like less than the girl she was and the woman she would be. No more.
Never again.