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Available4.6
22 reviewsCy’s eyes popped open, instantly alert. He didn’t question Nicky. There was no time for questions when Phoebe was in one of her moods. This had become their new normal over the last year whenever Cy’s dad, Ray, left them, and Ray had just left them for good, whether Cy knew it or not. Nicky didn’t want to tell. He didn’t want to tell Cy what he saw Phoebe do.
Cy’s brown eyes went wide when he saw the blood splattered all across Nicky’s Star Wars pajamas. It seemed to spur him into action. He snatched Nicky up and bolted for the closet, shutting it behind him. He pushed open the crawl space above, tossing Nicky inside, before pulling himself up with an upper body strength six-year-old Nicky wasn’t sure he’d ever have. But Cyrus was older and a football player. He was huge, barely fitting through the small opening.
Nicky shivered at the blast of cold air that was no match for his flannel pajamas. Cy carefully closed the door to the smelly attic space and pulled Nicky into the tiny crevice in the far corner, wedging them back as far as he could manage, cradling Nicky in his arms.
“Nicky, sweetie,” Phoebe called, her voice sweeter than Ms. Emma’s Coca-Cola cake. “You don’t have to hide. Mama’s not going to hurt you. I know it looks bad, but you just have to trust me. You know how he was. I did us all a favor.”
Nicky’s eyes widened at the closeness of her voice, a scream climbing his throat, but Cy slapped a hand over his mouth hard enough to leave bruises, whispering, “Shh,” against his ear. “She’s downstairs. I promise. Sound plays tricks up here. Remember? Remember?”
(...)