But then I saw Ben, two seats ahead of me on the left, erasing his North, and I shook my head, determined to be an idiot, I guess.
“She can be my North,” I said as calmly as possible.
I had to hand it to Ben. He’d made a dick move, but he wanted Tate, and he was going after her.
Why couldn’t I just let it go?
“Well, Tate. Go ahead then,” Mrs. Penley held out her hand, motioning for Tate to sit down.
She didn’t look at me, only slammed down in her seat and hovered over her paper, clearly plotting my death. I grinned, basking in her hatred and feeling in control again.
Now… I was ready for round two.
Chapter 13
“Oh, look. It’s The Dog…and Madman.”
I jerked my head up off the grass, spying K.C. walking up Tate’s walkway next door. Madman and I had just finished a walk and then collapsed on my front lawn after some man-to-man combat involving his teeth and my gloved hand.
“You know I can’t decide which one of you has the better manners.” She carried plastic bags filled with what looked like food but stopped before she reached Tate’s front steps. “At least he doesn’t shit on people.” She jerked her chin at Madman.
K.C. reminded me of that blonde chick on The Vampire Diaries that runs around acting like every problem in the entire universe has something to do with her.
Yeah, don’t judge. Madoc likes the show, not me.
The point is some people think they have a leading role when, really, they’re just supporting cast.
“K.C.?” I leaned back on my elbows and shot her a lazy and confident grin. “You know what’s worse than seeing how mean I can be?”
She sighed and jutted her hip out like I was wasting her time. “What?”
“Seeing how nice I can be.” My voice floated like silk across the lawn and straight between her legs.
Her sassy expression fell, and she looked a little lost. She was probably trying to figure out if I was flirting, or maybe she was just trying to remember her own f**king name.
I laughed to myself.
Yeah, that shut her up.
I didn’t have much tolerance for…well, most people, but I really hated cattiness. If a girl had to scrunch up her nose and pinch her eyebrows together at the same time just to talk, then she was perfect for the kind of activities that didn’t require any talking.
K.C. bolted up the stairs to Tate’s house and rang the doorbell like a legion of zombies was after her.
My chest shook with the mental image as I crashed back to the ground and closed my eyes.
The afternoon sun was waning, and the peaceful lull between the nine-to-fivers getting home and eating dinner had commenced. I loved this time of day.
The light to the west created a kaleidoscope of oranges and greens behind my eyelids, and I absorbed the delusion of this neighborhood that I existed around but not in.
Madman licked my hand, and I returned the gesture with a scratch behind his ears. Tate opened her front door, muffled voices. Lawn mower sounded down the street. Cars passed by. Kids called into dinner.
And I let myself be a part of it for a few moments.
I loved our street and always would. Every little house had its secrets and that’s what made it so perfect. I could laugh at Mr. Vanderloo across the street, because he snuck out to his garage every night and smoked pot after his family went to sleep. Mrs. Watson, three houses down, liked her husband to dress up as a UPS man and deliver things to her door. And then he’d deliver her to the bedroom.
Even Tate’s dad had a secret.
Over the time we spent together while she was gone, I discovered that he still ate at Mario’s every Thursday night by himself. I remembered Tate saying that the Italian restaurant was where her parents had had their first date. I didn’t know if she knew that he still did that.
My leg vibrated, interrupting my musings, and I reached into my pocket to grab my phone.
Narrowing my eyes in irritation, I touched the screen and answered.
“Yes?” No need to be polite. I knew who it was.
“Hello. I have a collect call for you from an inmate at Stateville Prison. Will you accept?”
No.
“Yes.”
I waited for the operator to switch over, feeling like I had been pulled out of Neverland and was now surrounded by a dozen soldiers trapping me in at gunpoint.
I knew why my father was calling. He’d only called once before, and it was the same f**king reason this time.
“When you come up tomorrow…put money in my account,” he told, not asked.
I took a deep breath. “And why would I do that?”
“You know why,” he growled. “Don’t act like you have a choice.”
I didn’t have the money to give him. I may not have a choice, but I had a problem.
“Then I’ll need to earn it, and I can’t do that until tomorrow night.” It was too late to get in on a race tonight. “I’ll be up on Sunday instead.”
And he hung up.
I closed my eyes and squeezed the phone, wanting it to be his face, his heart, and his power.
The money I gave him—to stop calling Jax—was supposed to be a one-time thing. But it hadn’t been.
He’d give Jax a break, but he always called again.
And I kept paying, just so Jax could have that break.
Don’t act like you have a choice. His words pierced my ears as if I could still feel the pain of that day. They were the same words he said to me before he shoved me down the basement stairs.