“You know? She never wanted a kid.” He’s watching me, waiting for a reaction. I can feel it. “Everything was kind of perfect before you came along and fucked it up.”
He’s said these things before. I refuse to play into it.
“You hear me? She’d still be here if it weren’t for you. I’m sure of it.”
I tighten my fingers around the steering wheel imagining it’s his neck.
“She was going to be a big-shot lawyer. But then she had to worry about taking care of an ugly little bastard.”
I consider informing him that they were, in fact, married, thus, I was not technically a bastard, but that’d just give him ammunition.
“You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you? You got everything figured out.” He laughs bitterly. “You don’t know shit. You never know when an ugly little bastard might pop out and ruin your life.”
“Well, at least I’ve provided you with a valid excuse for becoming a raging, psychotic drunk,” I mutter.
My cheekbone feels like it’s exploded and my ear starts to ring. I swerve and practically hit a blue minivan that lays on its horn. I didn’t even see his hand move.
“You trying to kill me too, you little prick?” he asks.
I focus on the throbbing in my temple and block out his vitriol. When I reach the park-and-ride, I slam on the brakes so hard, his head almost hits the dash. Unfortunately, his reflexes aren’t as slow as I had hoped—his hands stop his head from making contact.
“You better watch yourself,” he says. Then he gets out and staggers to the bench, leaving the door open. His boss has the patience of a saint. Or maybe Dad’s got something on him. Or just maybe when your face is buried beneath a welding helmet no one gives a shit.
I shove my foot down on the accelerator. The sudden forward movement slams the passenger door shut. I’m shaking, I’m so pissed. Punching the dashboard helps a little.
? ? ?
I reach school late and have to park way in the back of the lot. About halfway to the entrance, I reach for my phone in my pocket out of habit. It’s not there. It’s probably in the car, but I’m almost all the way to the door. Screw it.
All my morning classes are as pointless as ever. I seriously consider not coming anymore. I almost have all the credits I need for a diploma. The only reason I didn’t graduate last year was because I was short a gym credit and an elective credit. So this year I was going to pad my GPA and play football so I’d be sure to impress Stanford. But that scholarship’s probably off the table now that I’m not playing, so why the hell am I here?
? ? ?
“Where were you?” Sheila shoves me from behind just outside the cafeteria at lunch.
I turn, taking a deep breath. “What?”
“Where were you this morning?” Her eyes and nose are red. She’s been crying. And it’s because of something I did. But I have no clue what.
“Good thing I called Shee before school,” Cara, the one friend of Sheila’s I can actually stand, chimes in.
“Shit.” I remember now and I feel like an asshole. “Sheila, I’m sorry. My dad left his car at work so he could get trashed last night, and I had to take him to the bus this morning.”
Sheila used to live down the street from me and has been witness to several blowups on the front lawn with my very drunk dad and my very hysterical mom and me. So her look of pity doesn’t bother me as much as the others. At least she has a frame of reference.
She hurries over and wraps her sun-kissed arms around my neck. I pick her up and kiss the side of her head. “Sorry I forgot,” I whisper.
I can feel her forgive me with her whole body before she says, “No. I’m sorry. If I had known . . . It sucks that you always have to deal with his crap. I’m here if you need to talk.”
And then she looks up at me with bated breath, like I’ll just start pouring my heart out right here in the fucking hall. In front of all these fucking people so she can make sure they all know how great she is for being there for me.
? ? ?
Roger’s assisting one of the regulars—a man with a disgusting beard that always has something stuck in it. It physically sickens me to watch Roger’s level of ass-kissery today, so I head to the back room to chop some more damn onions.
Somehow I must have zoned out, because I’m stunned back to life when Roger snaps his fingers in front of my nose.
“I know you’re going through a really tough time right now, Ty, but I need you to focus, m’kay?” He’s leaning so close that I have no choice but to breathe in his rancid garlic breath. “Julie’s out there working the rush alone. D’ya think you can rally it up and give her a hand?”