Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
He continues, “I figured it didn’t matter where you were, long as you weren’t with him. You’re strong. Smart. Hell, you raised yourself after your mom died. I wasn’t worried.”
“I don’t claim to know a damn thing about being normal, but I’m pretty sure normal people worry about their kids,” I say sarcastically.
“That’s not what I meant.” He sighs, rubbing at his forehead with a shaky hand. “Of course, I worried. I wondered. But I had faith that you were safe.”
I used to think my dad was the strongest man alive. I remember arguing with my friends, each of us bragging about the strength of our fathers, claiming they could lift cars and other ridiculously embellished tales. Now, he’s sickly thin, except for his distended stomach. Weak. Frail. Pathetic. And fuck, if some part of me isn’t starting to feel sorry for him.
“I was almost eighteen,” I offer, staring at a cigarette burn in the carpet. “So, it was just a matter of laying low for a few months.” I don’t tell him how I stole money from my uncle and hopped the first bus out of there. I don’t tell him how I met Dare on said bus, who could tell that I was running from something and offered me a job a few hours into the trip.
“Why didn’t you come back after your birthday?”
Is he serious?
Tearing my eyes from the burnt spot, I look him in the eye.
“I didn’t have anything to come back for.”
“The Vale girl might not agree with that statement.”
I bark out a humorless laugh.
“She’s the reason I left.”
He knows this better than anyone. But he inspects me, as if looking for a piece to the puzzle that he’s missing.
“Look,” I say, gripping the back of my neck and focusing on the popcorn ceiling. “I know you’re trying to make amends before it’s too late, but you can’t force that shit on me. You’re ready, but I’m not.”
“I get it. I do,” he says. “I just can’t die with you thinking that I didn’t—that I don’t—love you,” he stutters. “That you ever deserved one goddamn second of what I put you through. You lost both of your parents the night your mom died. My biggest regret is blaming you.”
Inhaling deeply through my nose, I pace the living room.
“I don’t need forgiveness. I just needed you to know.”
“I gotta get out of here,” I say, already walking toward the door. My dad gives a resigned sigh, and I pause, one hand on the door, looking back at him.
“I, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I thought about going back to Dash and Briar’s, but I needed to clear my head. Instead, I found myself at a local hole-in-the wall bar. I had exactly three shots of cheap whiskey before a woman approached me. She was pretty, in that white trash, damaged sort of way. You could say she was the female version of me. And from the way her tongue flicked over her straw, I knew I could’ve had her in the bathroom. In my car. Right there on the bar, if I really wanted it. I looked her up and down, debating, but Briar’s face was all I could see, and we made a deal, after all. I couldn’t fucking pull the trigger, even if I wanted to. Even without the deal. Which, in turn, pissed me off even more. I slapped a twenty onto the counter and walked out without a word.
I’ve been driving around for the past two hours now, as “The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot” by Brand New blares from my speakers. I light up a cigarette, relishing in the comfort and the slight buzz as the nicotine is absorbed in my bloodstream. I quit smoking in River’s Edge—except for the occasional cigarette if I’m having a few beers—but I’ve been craving them more since I’ve been back.
I’m heading toward The Tracks, but at the last second, I cut across four lanes of traffic to take a different exit. The one that leads back to my old house. Something doesn’t feel right. Or maybe it’s just that I haven’t eaten, and the whiskey is hitting me harder than usual, so I decide not to make the drive out there tonight.
When I pull up to the driveway, I know something is off immediately. There’s a car that I don’t recognize, and once I’m out of my truck, I hear yelling from inside the house. I run toward the sound to find the front door cracked open. Walking as quietly as I can, I nudge it open and step inside.
Whatever I thought I’d be walking into, this wasn’t it. David, my uncle, has John against the wall with his hand around his throat.
“Not so tough now, are ya?” David spits. “Tell me where the boy is, for the last time.”