Enjoy this Excerpt from Colton...
 

​

“C, you remember Keely, right?” Ginny asks in a hopeful tone that denotes I’m not only lame but they need to fetch a napkin to wipe drool off my chin.

 

I don’t even grunt in acknowledgment. Except for a few months after the debacle of Ginny getting knocked up in high school, I’ve never held anything against my brother’s wife. At this point, it’s wasted breath telling them to all leave me the f❤ck alone. They won’t listen so I ignore the attempts to cajole me into a better mood. My inner demon loves to feed off of it when I get pissed. I don’t like being mad. I prefer feeling nothing. Alcohol and antidepressants make that easy to accomplish.

 

Today Gin’s in full-on Miss Perky mode introducing me to her sister. I sit in my wheelchair, clutching the wheels and waiting for her to shut the h︎❤ll up.

 

Do I remember Keely? Yeah, Miss Bossy-pants is hard to forget. Even when we were young Keely had a come in and take-charge attitude. Thank f︎❤ck she was never around longer than those few weeks at Christmas. Too bad it looks like I’m going to have to put up with her nonsense in close quarters.

 

People are always all over me to set small goals for myself. It makes me consider targeting how many days it’ll be before Keely realizes she’s wasting everyone’s time and then seeing if I can whittle the number down for both of our sakes’. It’s only a matter of time before I convince her to high-tail it out of Texas. An Adair doesn’t belong at Kingsbrier, even if Keely is outspoken in her hatred of her blood.

 

I give Keely a blank once over. Her white kicks are spotless but by no means new. Threads are pulled out near the toe stitching. Black spandex capris stretch over muscular but graceful curves. A coral tank top covers a white sports bra holding her breasts tight to her chest. Brown hair flows past her shoulders. It’s straight as a pin, cut at sharp edges, and held flat to her head by a black snapback with the logo for a CrossFit affiliate. Other than the different colored hair, she looks like the seventeen-year-old girl I used to know. It’s as if she hasn’t aged a day since the last time she called me a pig. I don’t even remember what for.

 

Her brown eyes stare me down, daring me, per our former repartee, to speak against her. She’d always been a formidable sparring partner. The one girl who never acted like her feelings got hurt. Keely gave as good as she got in the verbal banter we engaged in.

 

Back then, Keely’s arrival was a good diversion, giving others a break from my back-handed comments. I got Christmas kicks out of pissing her off. Then sent her merry a︎︎❤❤ back to Maine, uncaring if anything I’d said did more than bounce off of her thick skin.

 

Now, not saying a damn word, I expect Keely to understand she can get the hell out of this house and leave me to rot. Except, she’s throwing off her own nasty attitude in spades. The cut muscles in her thighs and calves along with the slight, feminine bulge at her bare bicep tell me she showed up on the doorstep ready for a fight.

 

Unfortunately, my fight’s gone. It’s the one defense mechanism in my corner that will make this an easy win.

 

I turn my head to the girl next to Keely. From this angle, she’s only a fraction shorter, though what the fuck do I know? I sit my a︎︎❤❤ in a wheelchair so my perception of height is off. Everybody’s taller than me now.

 

I’d heard long ago through the sibling grapevine Keely had a kid. Great. Now my quiet leave-me-the-eff-alone life has to accommodate a whiney-a︎︎❤❤ tween because my family is certain I’ll off myself. An idea which is gaining merit as the pretentious duo look at me like I’m a circus freak.

 

I huff and laugh at the absurdity.

 

For the number of times they’ve left me alone in this one-story prison, I could have done it by now. It’s easier to get stumbling drunk and take the chance with the roulette wheel that combining booze and pills might make me lucky enough not to wake up in the morning.

 

My lip quirks again. I can’t get stumbling drunk because there’s not enough muscle tone in my legs anymore to walk.

 

Why is Keely exposing her kid to this misery? If she’s going for a “don’t end up like this” visual, it’s a bad way to garner a parenting win. Even Gin’s smart enough to keep Cricket on the periphery. I wouldn’t intentionally hurt any of my nieces or nephews, but they’re collateral damage if they get too close.

 

I touch the old scar at my temple, figuring He had a reason for sparing my life then. But just as there had been no pearly gates waiting for me any of the times I’d been shot at, there’s also no light at the end of the tunnel or pot of gold where the rainbow touches the earth. I could have been dead years ago and it wouldn’t have had a negative effect on my family the way the accident has.

 

Adam got married and everyone sh︎❤t a brick when I didn’t attend the wedding. I don’t think the bride needed me stealing her moment due to the side glances I’d get from other guests.

 

Ready to leave, I push one palm forward and the other backward, turning the wheels to roll down the hall to the master bedroom. At least the rooms where my new, big f︎❤cking deal babysitter and her kid are staying are on the opposite side of the house. It’ll make avoiding them less complicated.

 

Ginny makes a faint apology to Keely for my behavior. Keely’s patronizing response is that she’s seen worse cases. Whatever. It’s the kid’s loud reaction that has everyone gasping.

 

“What a f︎❤cker!” The young girl’s words come out in a rush of indignation and contempt.

Keely admonishes her daughter.

 

I spin back, giving the child a second once-over. She’s thin and tiny for her age. Except, now that I think of it, Keely was never all that tall in comparison to me. The girl’s dark hair is pulled back into a tight French braid so severe that it looks like it hurts her scalp. Her outfit is a hodgepodge of pastel pinks, vibrant blues, and shimmery greens. The little girls’ section barfed on her. The sweetness doesn’t match the fiery animosity of her scowl.

 

“What did you say?” I take in the sugar and spice appearance. It’s hard to believe a ten-year-old would have the gall to be disrespectful in someone else’s home. And the mouth of a sailor to boot.

 

“You heard me,” she replies full of sass.

 

Game. F︎❤cking. ON.

 

This kid doesn’t know who she’s dealing with.

 

“Great job, Key, bringing the spawn of Satan along with you to torment me. Not that I expected less from the grandchild of Alan Adair.”

 

I go back to rolling to my room and hear the kid ask who Adair is.

 

​

©2019 Jody Kaye, All Rights Reserved

​