The Struggle (The Things We Can't Change Book 2) by Kassandra Kush

not my dad, asking him for help, to come and make me feel safe, to talk with me about this as I am supposed to, but dialing just a single number.
    One.
    Voicemail.
    And then Tony’s panicked, tear-filled voice is filling my ear and I’m sobbing all over again.
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
    Ezekiel
    30
     
     
     
    I step out of my dad’s battered old car and he drives quickly away, abandoning me to my fate. It’s insanely early, way too early to be up in the summertime, and the air already feels a little sticky, though it’s cloudy out. That’s Ohio in the summer for you; uncomfortable heat waves that are worse than Florida. And my ass gets to work outside in it. All summer.
    I shake my head and stare up at the long, winding drive before me. They live on a hill. Who lives on a hill? I look left, then right. Apparently, everyone on Riverside Drive. Small, sloping green valleys with perfectly manicured lawns and shrubs sit between each hill and house, the land slanting down, then coming back upward in a large mound so a house can sit and crown it, big and level at the top so there’s room for all the necessities. You know, the pool, the tri-level deck, the gazebo and sauna and hot tub and maybe even a tennis court or two. Trees are plentiful on the properties, adding to the owners privacy.
    Behind me, morning rush hour is whizzing by on Riverside Drive, so named for the broad river that is on the other side of the four-lane road. The river side has the coveted, if somewhat smaller houses where wealth is shown with the speed and cleanliness of your boat.
    I look back to my side of Riverside Drive, the land side, where the sprawling almost-mansions look out over the road and offer a view of the Scioto River. The houses are all built with heavy grey stone, turret towers and carefully grown ivy, Gothic windows and arches and brick fences flanking the driveways.
    Brick fences, I think to myself as I begin my way up the long driveway. I feel wrong , somehow, just walking up the big, wide expanse of blacktop. It’s big enough to deserve a sidewalk, really. I feel like I shouldn’t be here. Which technically, I think with a scowl, I shouldn’t. I didn’t ask Evie or her dad to intervene. But, I remind myself, it’s better than the alternative. Or at least… I’m pretty sure that it is.
    After almost breaking into a sweat during the long, uphill walk, I reach the top of the driveway, where it flattens out into a huge parking area and butts up to the garage and a paved path leads to the front door of the house. Far off to my right, a six car garage is home to what could be an impromptu luxury car show. I count a candy apple red Mercedes coupe, a gleaming black Escalade, a Porsche, Evie’s Lexus and give up in disgust when I see the fully restored vintage Dodger Challenger.
    These people are sick-rich, compared to me, at least. I know about Dr. Parker’s practices; they are mainly pediatric clinics, but the two big ones in Columbus are fairly popular because he’d had the idea to combine a pediatric office with an OB-GYN office, so you can meet your child’s pediatrician before they are even born and keep going to the same place life-long. There are also branches in Cleveland and Cincinnati. The man is loaded, and it’s no mystery to me why Evie always walked around school like a queen. With a house like this, anyone would feel like royalty. I have a flash of her wounded violet eyes and then push the image away. Violently.
    Shaking my head, I squash down my lingering feelings of nervousness and pull on my emotionless mask. It’s time to get to work. I wipe sweaty palms against my well-worn gym shorts, step up to the front door and ring the bell. I half expect a uniformed butler or maid to answer the door, but it’s the same face and eyes I had imagined just a moment ago that greet me, though now they’re filled with surprise.
    We stare at each other for a long moment. We haven’t been alone together