In Your Dreams (Falling #4)(70)

I would have let her shine.

I glance up when nobody responds and notice the strange way everyone is looking at one another, talking without words. Lane is the only other person into his breakfast like me, so at least two of us are left out of the secret. I stuff my final bite in and twist in my chair, running a napkin over my mouth while I look up at Murphy. She’s rubbing a hand behind her neck and staring at me.

“I’m…I’m taking the day off to come with you,” she says. My brow bunches. Come where? Like choreographed thunder, my phone buzzes against my hip, and I swallow as my eyes fall shut.

“You don’t have to, Murphy. I’m a big boy. I can handle this,” I say.

I’m not sure I want to expose her to that house again. The last time I went there, I was afraid and I just needed reinforcement. I’m not sure what I am this time, though. The messages from my sisters don’t explain a very happy environment. My mom is not dealing well, and I guess my dad won’t let anyone in the house to help that isn’t family. When she sets up assistance, he calls and cancels it. It’s become this enormous battle, and my sisters are like adding a peanut gallery to the gladiator ring of a very unfair fight.

I’m pissed off. That’s what I am.

“Jim Beam would beg to differ,” her father says in a wry tone while crunching on a piece of toast. I glare at him, but he isn’t looking at me. He continues to eat, slow bites breaking off and crumbs falling into his beard that he dusts away. My bitterness capitulates to this man quickly, because he’s right. And I showed up like that on his doorstep looking for his daughter, so…game, set, match to him.

“Really,” Murphy says, bringing a small plate of fruit to the table and sitting next to me. “I don’t mind. I…I want to help,” she stutters. I catch it now. And suddenly the rest of last night pops into my brain—I apologized for * deeds of the past. I don’t need to drag her down again.

“You have work; you’ll miss the paycheck,” I grimace.

She laughs once hard.

“It’s sixty-five dollars. Forty-seven after taxes for the day. I think I’ll be all right,” she giggles, standing and clearing her half-eaten plate.

I stare at my own empty dish in front of me and reflect on how nobody leapt to their feet, up-in-arms that Murphy wasn’t doing enough to prepare for her future. Perhaps I could use more of her spirit around today.

“Okay,” I nod, glancing up with very weary eyes and a tired body. She bows her head once in return—it’s agreed—and she helps clear the rest of the table while nibbling at her fruit plate until it’s gone. When breakfast is done, she begins gathering her things for the day. I hope she’s packing armor.

I miss floating through life—coasting without a care. I need to get back to that feeling, to card nights with Eli and the boys, to video games, and days spent in my pajamas with nothing to do but jam out in a small club later that night and mix my music—my music under my direction. Maybe I alter my dream—simplify it to something that hurts less when it doesn’t happen like I think it should. Murphy’s in good hands, so bailing wouldn’t get in her way.

I can’t really do much about anything until my mom is no longer locking herself in the bathroom and my sisters quit calling me for solutions I don’t have, though, so I’ll take this one last thing from Murphy. I’ll take her help. And then I’ll just be her biggest fan.

Murphy gathers her things, and we make plans to meet outside of my parents’ house, giving me enough time to race home and shower and her time to get Lane to his summer classes. Fate gives me a break, and I pull up to my family home before her. I park at the end of the driveway behind Christina’s car, which is dead-center, leaving no room for anyone else. I smirk at it, because of course it is. My oldest sister and I aren’t so different after all—* runs in the family.

The door isn’t locked, which is strange, but I’m grateful that I can walk right in. I glance behind me, scanning the street, relieved that Murphy still hasn’t arrived. I want to know what we’re getting into, because there’s still time to save her from it.

The house is quiet. Perfect silence—per the norm. But I can typically find my oldest sister at her usual post—the corner stool at the kitchen counter. But the kitchen is disheveled, grocery bags half-emptied and a pot of boiling water spilling out over the edges. I step close to the stove quickly and recognize what I think was at some point noodles. I shut the burner off and move the pot to the sink, dumping the water and mush of noodle down the drain before running the disposal.

It takes me a few minutes to clean the mess up and finish clearing groceries from bags. When I see the number of pads and adult diapers that were purchased, I shudder and my muscles contract, not wanting to carry me any further into this.

“I’m doing the best I can!” I hear my mom’s voice cry out from upstairs. I leave the few cans of broth I was putting away on the counter next to the fridge and dry my hands before rounding the corner and taking cautious steps toward what I quickly recognize as my mom and sister arguing. Their conversation falls to a whisper again, but the kind that’s laced with Christina growling and my mother’s weeping.

“He doesn’t want anyone here but me. I can’t have the nurses come. I can’t…he doesn’t want it,” my mother is pleading. Even in this state, my father is bullying her.