“Since the guys are going to be gone for the Fourth of July, we’re going to do a charity run. More bikes mean donations.”
“A poker run.”
Mom huffs.
“The new pastor down at the church on Sycamore urged its congregation not to get involved with any gambling,” Dad says with a frown.
“But that’s not how it works.”
“Seriously,” Mom mutters, her hands working effortlessly as she cuts carrots.
“We don’t want to alienate anyone, and since it’s for charity, there’s no harm in making a few changes. Your mom, Em, and Misty spent the last couple of weeks advertising and passing envelopes around to the community.”
“Several places even let us put stacks of them in their businesses for people to grab before leaving,” Mom says with pride.
Cerberus has always been first to stand up in assisting the community, but we’ve also been blessed that they support us, too.
Not for the first time, I consider a career in the military rather than one that includes baseball. I don’t mention this to Dad, however. He’d never let it go if I did.
“So we’re just collecting money?”
Dad nods. “For the local food pantry.”
“Food donations are low?”
Mom scoffs again, causing Dad to roll his eyes. “They’re getting an influx of outdated food they have to throw away. Having the money to buy what they actually need benefits more people.”
“Since it’s the Fourth of July, shouldn’t the focus go to more veteran-focused organizations?”
Mom turns around then, the familiar look of pride on her face.
“Don’t start,” I warn, my lips curling up in a smile despite my words.
“Such a good boy.”
“You sound like an old granny when you say sh—stuff like that.”
Dad gives me a look of warning, and I know it’s a chastisement of the near slipup. The man would knock my head off if I actually cussed in front of my mom.
“Seventeen percent of the food pantry’s patrons are veterans,” he says.
“It’s sick that anyone in this country goes hungry, but the people that risked their lives defending it? Disgusting,” I mutter. “America needs to get it together.”
“Agreed. As always, Cerberus is matching all donations fivefold. So like I said, the more bikes, the more donations. You in?”
“You had me at charity run, old man.” I slap him on the shoulder. “Any reason to get on my bike is a good reason.”
“You know,” Dad begins, and I smile at the man, knowing what’s coming. “If you were a Marine veteran, you could ride that bike with leather on your back.”
“True,” I tell him before walking away.
Chapter 8
Rick
“I’m a dick,” I mutter as Boomer walks away with the three bottles of water I just handed him.
“What’s that?” Emmalyn, Kincaid’s wife, asks.
“Nothing.” I give her the sweetest smile I can muster.
“Charity isn’t always about having a good time. You’re just as important helping here as you would be out there.”
“I know,” I say, grateful when she nods and walks away.
The charity run is happening today, and my vocal slipup has nothing to do with helping. I don’t mind helping. I like it in fact.
I’m a dick for thinking I didn’t want to be here at all. I don’t feel like handing out bottles of water helps any but turning down my dad wasn’t an option.
I’ve avoided Landon completely for the last couple of weeks. Hell, I’ve avoided everything the last couple of weeks, spending the majority of my time at home in my room.
I caved and finally looked at the list of symptoms for depression and when I checked yes to nearly every damn one on the list, I decided I needed to make some changes.
Problem #1: Feelings of sadness?
My solution: Watch more comedies.
Problem #2: Loss of interest of pleasure in normal activities such as sex and hobbies?
My solution: Buy a Lego set and jack off more.
Problem #3: Trouble thinking, concentrating, and remembering things?
My solution: Overthink everything.
I had the memory thing in the bag, much to my disappointment. I can remember everything—every little look, smile, or action. Of course, all my symptoms I could relate back to Landon. He’s been my focus for far too long. That’s where I needed to start the changes. I couldn’t wait for senior year to be over. I’d be a basket case by that point. Avoidance has helped some, and like anything else in life, change doesn’t come overnight.
I didn’t think I made much progress in my efforts, but then I saw him earlier, and he took my breath away. It wasn’t the tight jeans or boots, but the smile he tossed my way when I passed him in the parking lot in front of the clubhouse.
It wasn’t the old smile from when we were friends. It wasn’t the sneer more familiar in recent years.
It was a secretive little smirk; one I’d probably use to help with problem number two later—no Legos involved.
And then it hit me that I’d fallen right back into the old habit of reading more into a situation.