At the Right Time

Chapter Two

Rylie ~ Six years ago

The sound of a basketball dribbling down the hallway forces me out of my trance. Rachel and I have been decorating the guest room of her parent's house—now my room—for the last several hours.

"If Max is home that means dinner is almost ready." Rachel plops to her feet, "I'm going to go call Jerrod before we eat."

I take in the room, satisfied with our progress so far.

My brother, Hudson, gave me money and Mr. and Mrs. Rossi gave me permission to make this room whatever I wanted it to be.

I have a dark purple comforter with white trim and pillows. A white night stand that holds a picture of Hudson and I at one of his gigs last year. Plush carpet pads the room, and a huge mirror sits on the door of the walk-in closet that my clothes only take up a quarter of.

Three walls are white. One wall is painted with chalkboard paint, and a few of my favorite quotes are already on the wall.

"Light is easy to love. Show me your darkness."

I stare at my favorite one. That's how I feel. Dark.

I'm not depressed. At least, I don't think I am.

I know that there is still a purpose for me. I don't feel useless or like going to bed and never getting up. I just feel dark. Like there is this cloud that's surrounded me my entire life and I can't shake it.

The cloud turned to a thunderstorm last week when my mother overdosed in front of me on the living room floor.

She'd struggled with a drug addiction for as long as I can remember. Hudson tells me there were times when she would actually play with us and put food on the table. Back then, we had our father, too.

I was too small to remember the day my dad left. I guess in a way, when we lost him, we lost her, too. From then on out my mom popped pills, and even used harder stuff occasionally. She slept all the time, stole the money I had stashed away more often than not and had plenty of people in our apartment building who could supply her so she never had to leave her space.

Hudson, being eight years older than me, really took the reins. He raised me while raising himself, and that's a debt I'll never be able to repay.

Since I've been in high school, Hudson has taken advantage of me being able to take care of myself to see if he can kick off his music career. On paper, it might sound selfish, but it isn't.

He won't admit it to me, but I know he thinks that if he makes it big and gets a lot of money, he can give me everything I've ever wanted.

I want him to have everything. He deserves it. And I appreciate my brother's relentless need to protect me, but deep down, I'm ready to start taking care of myself.

It's every sixteen-year-old's nightmare to grow up too fast, but that ship sailed for me long ago.

So, I asked Hudson if I can be emancipated instead of the last two years of my adolescence being transferred to his responsibility, or child services pulling my father from whatever life he's been living to make him raise a child he didn't even want in the first place.

Yeah, no thanks.

I want to see my brother get to live a life with less stress and I want to figure out who the hell I am, other than the girl with a druggie mom who lives in a shitty apartment.

This is my new beginning. I'm sad my mom passed. Angry at her, even. I always held onto hope that one day she'd get clean and want to know me.

It wasn't ever going to happen. I don't have a mother to grieve for.

She didn't take me to my first day of school, or tuck me in at night. She didn't paint my nails, or take me for ice cream. She didn't know me. I didn't know the sober version of her.

It is what it is.

The Rossi's were kind enough to let me move in for the rest of the semester. Rachel and I have been friends a couple years, and spending time in this house isn't new to me. Only difference is, now I won't sleep in Rachel's room or crash in their fully furnished basement when my best friend and I have movie marathons. Now, I'll have my own room.

I step out of my bedroom and reach for the bathroom door across the hall to wash up before we eat. I freeze when thick steam hits my face and I find Maxwell stepping out of the shower. Thankfully, the towel is covering from his waist down, but that's not what grabs my attention.

Bruises, purple and yellow, are littered across his chest. I see a gash on his stomach that's a couple inches long, and a hand print clear as day.

I raise my eyes to his, and he seems to be frozen, too.

"What happ—"

As if my voice snapped him out of his shock, he flies across the room and clamps a hand over my mouth.

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to, little girl."

He's called me that before. I know Maxwell as good as anyone knows their best friend's popular, attractive as hell older brother. We've been around each other, but never for too long. He's always thought Rachel and I were annoying, despite only being one year younger. 

Plus, basketball is his entire life. He's outside from sunrise to sunset, minus the hours he's forced to be in school. I've even noticed that on the weekends, he's never here. When I asked Rachel about it, she shrugged it off, but now I'm wondering if they know what Maxwell really does. Those bruises aren't from basketball. There is no way.

"Haven't you ever heard of fucking knocking?" His dark eyes pierce me, and a droplet of water from his damp, coal-colored hair hits my forehead and slides down my face. I don't dare reach up to wipe it, and I can't respond to his question because his hand is still clamping my mouth shut. "You won't tell anyone about this. Got it?" I nod. "Because I swear, Rylie, if you do, I'll ruin your life."

He finally moves his hand, but not his body. I've always thought Maxwell was good looking. A sharp jaw that's clenched right now, straight white teeth, muscles that are ridiculous for a seventeen-year-old. Dark wavy hair that matches his eyes. He's weak-in-the-knees handsome.

He's the best basketball player on our school team, and everyone says the NBA will snatch him up after his first year of college.

What is he doing all beat up like that?

"I won't tell anyone." I finally manage to whisper, only now realizing my voice has gone hoarse from my dry throat.

"You're right you won't." Maxwell steps away, "Now get the fuck out, Rylie, and knock next time."

I'd forgotten the second floor only has one bathroom. His room is right next to mine and Rachel's is down the hall. We all share. I won't make that mistake twice. My shaking hands fall to my side as I rush down the stairs.

Mrs. Rossi has lasagna ready and Rachel is already fixing her plate. I follow suit and sit down, trying to calm my racing mind. It doesn't work, though, especially when Maxwell comes down.

I can't help but sneak a glance at him. He's put on a black t-shirt that covers all evidence, and a scowl sits on his face.

What secrets are you hiding, Maxwell? I say to myself. Living here just got a lot more interesting.