“Yeah, she is. But does it matter?”
I glanced at him. My best friend. The guy who knew me better than I knew myself at times. Most people thought Zane was cold and cruel, but I knew him as a guy steadfast and unwavering in his friendship. Sure, he didn’t take any shit and he always told it like it was, but I appreciated that about him. He kept me grounded.
And when things had gone to shit last year, he’d been there. Right by my side, holding me up.
“No, I guess not.”
There was no going back for me and Harleigh. I knew that. I fucking knew it, and yet, it was like my heart was singing for closure. Demanding it.
I stared up at my trailer, dread slithering through my gut.
“You can stay at my place again.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I need to show my face. You know how it is.”
Zane nodded before climbing out. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.
“Yeah, see you.”
He disappeared, but I made no move to get out of my car. Anything to reduce the amount of time I had to spend breathing the same air as my father.
The soft flicker of the television reflected off my windshield. A warning beacon that he was awake, or hopefully ass over elbow drunk, passed out in his threadbare armchair.
With a heavy sigh, I climbed out of the car and trudged up the stairs to the door, slipping inside. Except for the low din of voices coming from the television it was quiet, a thick haze of smoke lingering in the air. Sometimes, I wondered how he hadn’t already burned this place to the ground. Cigarettes, and a penchant for drinking liquor until he passed out weren’t exactly a good combination.
I kicked off my sneakers and went straight to the refrigerator, grabbing a beer. Something to take the edge off and maybe help me sleep after my weird as fuck conversation with Harleigh.
Her broken expression and hateful words were burned into my fucking skull like a brand. I don’t know what I’d expected to find when I followed her tonight, but it wasn’t that. She was so broken. So fucking sad. At the time, I couldn’t see past my own anger and frustration but she wasn’t okay.
Harleigh wasn’t okay.
And I didn’t know what the fuck to do about it.
Leaning back against the counter, I closed my eyes and took a long pull on my beer, letting the cold liquid douse some of the fire burning inside of me.
A rustle and heavy thud made my eyes snap open.
“Where the fuck have you been?” my father slurred, running a hand down his off-white wifebeater. Faded ink covered most of his arms, wrapping around his shoulders and creeping up his neck like dark vines.
“Out.” I held his stare, as much hatred radiating in my eyes as he reflected back at me.
“Don’t fucking speak to me like that, boy.”
Great. He was in one of those moods.
“It’s late. You’re drunk. We can do this tomorrow.” I went to move around him, but he grabbed my arm. Hard enough that I flinched, my spine going rigid.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I said with simmering fury. It exploded inside me, angry flames licking my stomach, my chest, burning my goddamn throat.
His grip only tightened, pure rage shining in his eyes. “Or what, kid? What the fuck are you going to do about it?”
Kid.
I hadn’t been a kid in a really long time. But he knew the word grated on me. And Joe Wilder was a master at knowing which buttons to push.
“Get the fuck off me,” I said, yanking my arm free. My wrist smarted but I bit down the yelp of pain. Just what I didn’t need—another fucking injury.
“You’ve always been a pain in my ass,” he spewed the words as I walked away, heading toward the back of the trailer, toward the sanctuary of my bedroom.