Not So Loved (West Coast Campus Series Book 2)

Chapter 19

Maeve

When I was five, I met a boy.

We met in September but I don't remember the exact date.

A boy with blonde hair so white and eyes so vibrant I was immediately drawn towards him.

He had this smile that outshined the fucking stars, his happiness a drug I could never let go.

He became my person.

This boy became something words can't even begin to live up to.

He became a craving for my sweet tooth, a drug for my addiction and my will to live.

And even though he left me, abounded me when I was drowning the most, I have him to thank for even drowning in the first place.

Because without the man sitting beside me, I wouldn't have lived long enough to even experience what that pain would be like.

So, yes. I'm thankful that for that little blonde haired boy who offered me part of his sandwich at lunch because without him and that damn sandwich, I would have starved to death from a lot more than hunger.

"Maeve? You okay?" His hand slips into mine, his eyes alert as they search my face. Always searching.

I squeeze his hand, my head dipping in a small nod. "I think so."

It's all the answer I can give him, and he must know that since he just nods right back at me.

We've been waiting patiently for an officer to call about my father, reminding myself these things take time. Rhys doesn't understand that.

He throws his head back against the couch, groaning so loud Liam actually glares at him from where he sits on the floor, his trains spread out in front of him.

"What the hell is taking them so long? It should be easy. Father abuses daughter. Boom! Lifetime sentence."

I roll my eyes at his theatrics, rubbing my eyes with my palm.

I don't want to tell him there's a way my dad won't even have to go to jail. He'll get off easy.

"He's gonna go to rehab." I whisper, hoping Rhys didn't catch it. My head collapses into my hands, my elbows digging into my knees.

Rhys's lips part. He leans closer to me, shuffling over so he's holding me.

"What?"

I give him a sad smile. "Since he's an alcoholic who uses, they'll just send him to rehab. It's easier than sending him to prison."

His jaw goes slack, his hands tightening around me. He glances away toward the window, orange and yellow leaves sticking to the glass.

"No. They won't do that. They can't. He-he abused his family. They can't-"

He stutters over his words, disbelief all over his tight features.

"They can. And will. He'll be in there for maybe a month? Two months? And then he'll be free to go because he convinces everyone in there he wants to try. He'll be sober for a month and then go right back onto the streets, searching."

He pales, his eye bugging out. I almost laugh.

Shooting up, he throws his hands over his head, immediately going to pull at his hair like that will solve all our problems.

I lay a gentle hand on him.

"Rhys." I say softly. "It's okay. We'll be okay."

He whips around, breathing so hard he's panting. "But it's not okay! That's so fucked up!"