Playing with Fire
“Hush, hush,” she whispered to her sleeping brother. Wyatt, who was normally a peaceful sleeper, tossed and turned, his sandy blonde hair unkempt and just about covering his furrowed brow. Normally she’d pull him close in the small bed they shared and cocoon him in the dirty sheets, but tonight he would have to make do in his car seat. Their father had passed out again, meaning that tomorrow morning would be brutal. His hangovers were always fierce and controllable, usually ending with either her or Wyatt bruised and bloody. She needed to keep her young brother safe at all costs, and she couldn’t do that with an uncontrollable parent figure.