Every Little Thing

46

|| Reed ||

By now, I'm fully convinced that the world is falling apart. Evelyn's words haven't yet registered—Georgina is pregnant. Georgina is pregnant with Hale's child. Just thinking about it makes me want to scream.  They were supposed to be the perfect couple. Hell, they were the perfect couple.

What the hell is happening to us?

Evelyn was strangled, Georgie and Hale are soon-to-be parents, and I—

In all truth, I'm just trying to hang on as tight as possible.

I sink my head into my hands, closing my eyes and listening to Evelyn's soft laughter coming from the other room as she pets the new dog. She spoke today—that's a huge step in the right direction. She spoke, and she sounds happy.

And God knows I could use a little happy in my life right now.

I can't help it; a smile breaks across my face as I listen. The dog yelps a little, she giggles and murmurs something incomprehensible, and it's almost like she's sitting across from me in that coffee shop—sipping a hot drink and laughing her enormous, hilarious laugh. And it's almost like nothing happened at that party—like she never wandered into that pantry, like she never left me alone on the rooftop.

If only for a split second, it's almost like we can move past this.

And then, my phone rings.

THOMAS BISHOP, screams the Caller ID. INCOMING CALL FROM THOMAS BISHOP.

 Instantly, my heart leaps into my throat, and I feel sweat break out across my palms as I stare blankly at the screen. Trying to slow my breathing, I shut my eyes and wait. My father always taught me to wait three rings before picking up any phone call—that way, I have the advantage over anyone who's calling me. "Wait three rings, Reed, and they'll be begging for your attention."

What he doesn't know is that when Evelyn Moore calls, it only takes the one.

But Tom Bishop is a different story. So I stay frozen in place, listening to the phone buzz violently in my hand.

Ring.

I swallow. My mouth feels oddly dry.

Ring.

Shaking out my hands, I position a finger over the "accept" button.

Ring.

"Dad?" I ask, clearing my throat, and his voice returns gruff and stern.

"Son."

"What's up?"

The silence on his end is heavy and uncomfortable, and I know this is another one of his business tactics. Always make the client feel inferior.

And since the day I turned eight years old, I've been his favorite client.

"Well," he says finally, decisively, "Your sister tells me that you've been in a predicament lately."

Oh, dammit, Hallie.

I blow out a breath, trying not to sound too nervous as I reply, "Yes, sir. I am."

He releases a long, exaggerated sigh that screams of disappointment, and my heart twists. I hate it when he's disappointed in me.

"So your girlfriend is hurt," he says flatly, devoid of emotion. "And you're currently keeping her in my home."

"Yes, sir."

"And you are using my money to keep yourselves fed and stable." Annoyance seeps into his tone, and I feel a surge of pride to put an end to this assumption.

"I'm not, actually," I counter swiftly, "I'm employed at the pet store two blocks down."

"Hm," is all he can say, but that's more than enough for me—"hm" means that I caught him off-guard, but he's too prideful to congratulate me. My father has a language of his own; one that I am now fluent in.

"Is there a problem, Dad?" I ask, and I know it's kind of a risk to be so upfront with him, but I really can't afford Evelyn hearing me having a conversation with him—she'll want to say hi, or do something impossibly friendly, like only she would.

"No." he replies, a firm snap that makes me flinch. "I'm just curious as to how much longer you two will be residing together."

"I—I don't know, sir."

"Athalia didn't specify in what kind of trouble you were in—care to elaborate?"

My jaw clenches. "She prefers Hallie, Dad."

"That's besides the point. What, exactly, is going on?"

I swallow, pinching the bridge of my nose and wondering how many more times I'll have to relive this story. I tell him the abridged version, leaving out the part about the rooftop and sparing him the graphic details, but with every word, his silence grows more and more painful. After I'm finished, it's a full half-minute until he speaks.

"Well, then." he says, and I instantly translate it to "I can't find a reason to argue with you, so I'm just going to pretend to be apathetic."

"Hey, Reed?" I hear Evelyn call from the bedroom, and my heart lifts, exhilirated to have a reason to leave this conversation.

"Sorry, Dad. I'm going to have to talk to you later."

He makes a slight growl and says, "I'll be home in two days. Get your act together by then, will you?"

I don't even respond before hanging up and pocketing the phone, walking into the room to find Evelyn sitting there, the floppy-eared puppy sleeping in her lap. She smiles, but it flickers as she takes in my expression.

"Are you okay? Who was that on the phone?"

"No one," I say, pushing the words through a sigh and joining her on the floor. My fingers run through the dog's soft fur, scratching the place between his ears, which earns me a slight tail-thump.

Evelyn doesn't press; instead she leans into my shoulder and lets out a breath.

"It's been quite a day," she says softly, and I close my eyes, absorbing her warmth and pushing away my father's voice, still ringing in my head.

"That it has, Evelyn Moore. How are you feeling?"

It's a stupid question, I know, but I've been so desperate to talk to her again. So desperate to hear her voice and her snide remarks and pretend that things are normal.

But, for once, she decides to play along.

"I'm feeling good, Reed Bishop," she whispers, and I've never been happier to believe a lie. Our hands meet and our fingers intertwine, and her skin is so warm and smooth that I can almost ignore the bruises lining her wrists. Soon, I think, they'll fade away.

And, right now, that's the only thing keeping me going.