Pretty Reckless (All Saints High #1)(53)

“Why didn’t you call?”

“Father said I couldn’t.” Father.

“You could have written. You knew my address.”

“He said he’d throw me out if I made any attempt to reach out to you. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I couldn’t go back to living with Rhett. I couldn’t risk you writing me back. Please, Penn.” She touches my arm, and I pull back instinctively. Bailey stands up from behind her and hugs my sister’s shoulder. My sister turns around and sinks into Bailey’s embrace. I’m so focused on what’s happening, I barely register Melody yelping Daria’s name and running after her up the stairs.

Daria bailed.

I don’t even blame her.

I would probably kill my mom if she had pulled shit like that.

Lucky for me, she’s already dead.





FUCK. TEA.

I put a hole in Mel’s perfect wall, and now I’m dragging my twin sister by the arm. I fling her into my bedroom and slam the door. She’s hysterical, shaking all over, and her eyes as wide as saucers. I don’t care. I feel too much and nothing all at the same time. Everything I turned off four years ago is back in full swing, and I’m dealing with a grave issue—believing Via was dead was heartbreaking but comforting. Knowing she was alive and ignoring my existence, however, is pure hell.

“So you lived in their trailer?” I ask, no mingling to warm up the conversation.

She nods.

“Where’d y’all sleep?”

“Father took the mini bedroom. Grandmamma and I shared a mattress in the back room.”

I see he is still a selfish asshole. At least one person in my family hasn’t changed.

“School?” I jerk my chin toward her. She shakes her head.

“Technically, I was homeschooled, but…” She worries her lip, clearing her throat. “I have a lot to catch up on.”

“We’ll give you all the tutoring you need!” Melody cries from behind my door. Motherfucker.

“Ma’am!” I punch the door with my fist. “A fucking moment and some chill would be nice right about now.”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I’m leaving now…oh, and no cussing!” she barks, and I hear murmuring between her and Jaime. Jaime, who looked pissed off on the couch, didn’t even have time to register what Daria and I looked like when we entered the living room.

“I missed y—” Via starts, but I cut her off.

“Where are you going to sleep?”

“Mel is giving me the room next to the studio in the basement. It’s already furnished as a guest room.”

“Nice.”

Like a puppy kicked in the ribs, she curls on the edge of my bed with her hands on her lap. I’m guessing the past four years were very sheltered for her. I put my hands on my waist, and the scent of Daria is everywhere. On my skin and clothes and fingers and inside my mouth.

“You still cut holes in your shirts?” A small, sad smile that tells me she is not sure who I am, either, tugs at her lips.

I hitch one shoulder up. She knows the score. Knows when the hole will finally close.

“There’s not one thing about you that I recognize,” I tell her frankly.

“I’m still the same Via.”

“My Via wouldn’t leave me.”

“Your Via didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a fucking choice.” I smash my fist against the wall. Again.

Via jumps back. She knows this conversation is going in ways she doesn’t want it to go, so she stands up and plasters her hands over my chest.

“I’m here now. I know I’ve been the worst sister the past few years, but the beauty of our situation is that we don’t have a choice. We have to be there for one another because neither of us has anyone else. Mom’s dead. Dad and Grandmamma will never accept me again. Not with you, anyway. They think Mama and Rhett ruined you. And maybe not at all. So you have to forgive me.”

Shaking my head, I start pacing the room, knowing damn well that my burning knuckles need some ice on them before the skin breaks and everything hurts like a thousand bitches. Since I still can’t figure out how to approach her, I move on to practicalities.

“So you’re going to stay here with us?”

Like the Followhills and I are a unit or some shit.

She shrugs. “Mrs. Followhill thinks it’s in everyone’s best interest.”

Other than her daughter’s.

“Gonna go to school?” I fold my arms across my chest.

“Yes.”

“Well, I leave early every morning to Las Juntas for strength training, so your 2.0 version better be an early riser.”

“I…” She looks around the empty room, biting on her lower lip. “I’m actually going to attend All Saints High. It’s closer than Las Juntas, and they have an extensive tutoring program.”

“Daria goes to ASH,” I deadpan. In my mind, this is the end of the discussion. They can’t go to the same school. I doubt they’ll survive living under the same roof for longer than three hours.

Via picks imaginary lint from her nun dress. “Mrs. Followhill said Daria can give me a ride. I won’t be in her way.” Her tone is soft, coy. “I just want to graduate. I’m probably at junior level, if that. I’ll have to talk to their counselor and take a bunch of tests.”