She nods. “I’m cool with that, but Dad might have a shitfit.”
“I really don’t care. It’s his own damn fault for getting shit-faced the night before we move then misplacing his keys.”
“I completely agree.”
Silence encases us, except for the soft chatter of Bailey and Payton floating from the other side of their shut bedroom door.
“I miss who he used to be,” Londyn whispers suddenly. “I wish we had our old dad back.”
So do I, Londyn, so do I.
I don’t say the words aloud. No, I learned a long time ago, the day our mom passed away to be exact, that wishing is just a waste of time. That was the last day I stopped believing in wishes.
That was the day I stopped believing in a lot of things.
2
HADLEY
Larry doesn’t havethe car keys, so we end up hotwiring Dad’s truck while he’s distracted with vomiting in the neighbors’ bushes again. Or, well,Ihotwire his truck.
Cars are sort of my thing. Always have been. My first word wasrace. That was my mom’s doing. She chanted the word repeatedly until I said it.
She was really into cars and racing. She even went professional for a while before she got pregnant with me and married my dad. That still didn’t stop her from racing locally. One of my first memories was when I was about three or four, and I went to watch her race on the back streets of town. I was the only kid there, and that made me feel super special. But not as special as I felt when my mom won the race. My dad was so happy that he took her out to dinner to celebrate. He bought her a necklace beforehand to give her as a prize for winning. At the time, I couldn’t figure out how my dad knew she was going to win. Later, I realized he didn’t really know. He just hoped. And if she hadn’t won, he still would’ve given her that necklace.
I remember how happy she was when he gave it to her, the way her eyes lit up. That necklace was one of the pieces of jewelry I had to pawn the other day. I asked my dad beforehand if it was okay. He said he didn’t give a shit, then took off to the bar.
Life is so screwed up. Sometimes, I can’t even stand it. But I’ll never admit that aloud, being the glue that holds this family together. Although, I sometimes feel like the really shitty, cheap kind of glue.
After I hotwire Dad’s truck, he briefly bitches me out for doing so before climbing in. He looks awful—pale skin, bags under his bloodshot eyes, and he smells like a guy who spent all night doing shots of whiskey with his buddies at the local bar, which is exactly what he did.
“You think he’ll be okay to drive?” Londyn asks as the four of us pile into my Chevelle. “He’s super hungover.”
Payton and Bailey slide into the back seat, and Bailey instantly rests her head against the window and shuts her eyes, refusing to speak to me.
“I tried to convince him to let me drive his truck, and you could drive my car, but he’s in one of his asshole moods.” I shut the door and turn on the ignition, firing up the engine.
While my car needs some bodywork, the engine is in excellent shape. It was actually a project car my mom and I were working on before she passed away. It was supposed to be finished a long time ago, but without much extra money or time, I haven’t been able to work on it as much as I want to.
“So, a normal mood then,” Payton grumbles, resting back in the seat.
Bailey snickers while I sigh, knowing they’re right. More often than not, our dad is an asshole.
“I say we follow him for an hour or so,” I suggest. “And then, if he looks like he’s struggling, we’ll say we need to make a pit stop, and then I’ll make him let me drive.”
“And how are you going to do that?” Londyn fastens her seatbelt. “You know how stubborn he can get.”
I smile wickedly. “I’ll un-hotwire it and refuse to start it up again until he agrees.”
She only frowns. “What if he throws a fit? I hate when he does that, especially when we’re in a public place.”
True. Our dad can throw the biggest tantrums. He didn’t used to be like that. I think all the drinking makes him temperamental or, well, when he has to stop drinking. And since he’s sober right now … well, there’s a good chance he’s going to cause a scene if we try to say he can’t drive.
Still …
“I’ll handle his temper tantrum. It’s better than letting him drive when he’s too tired.” I put my own seatbelt on then back out of the driveway.
“I wish he’d stop acting like a child.” Londyn stares out the window.