by Eden Connor
I turned to scowl. Pain lanced my head and shoulder. “Why?”
“Since Walt finished up in December, he had to leave campus.”
Walt was a fraternity buddy. I couldn’t recall his last name. “Okay... but—”
“Someone has to live in the house. Traditionally, it’s the president. With Walt gone, the role of acting president falls to me, so I had to move my stuff over the break.”
“You live... here... now?”
He opened his door. “Yes. But don’t worry. It’ll be quiet until the break’s over.” He grinned, pushing my hair behind my shoulder. “And I promise, I’m replacing the lock on the bedroom door.” Without regard for my protest, he sauntered to the back door and jammed a key into the lock.
I eased out of the car, nearly vomiting from the pain of standing. Inching my way across the uneven lawn to the patio, I hoped he’d just left something here, that he was joking. He extended a hand to help me climb the steps.
My soles made a disgusting squelch on the grubby linoleum. I surveyed the eat-in kitchen in dismay. A funky stench wafted from of the barrage of red plastic cups crowding the bar and counters. I clapped my hand over my mouth. Was that... molded scrambled egg on the stove?
A keg occupied one corner, floating on its side in a fifty-five-gallon trash can. Broken bar stools sprawled across the spot where a table and chairs should’ve been. The wooden pieces were interspersed with crushed beer cans and pizza boxes. Robert tugged me toward the hall, stopping between two doors. One led to the bathroom. I eyed the other door while he jiggled the knob.
“Damn thing sticks,” he grumbled.
Jessica Whitley is a whore. The words were slashed into the veneer beside Robert’s head. Similar misogynistic proclamations surrounded that one, but those were written in ink or magic marker. The wounds in the door didn’t have the vanilla cream color of fresh cuts, but I couldn’t recall seeing the hateful graffiti before.
The stench of stale beer and vomit curdled and sank like a stone to the pit of my stomach.
Dropping a shoulder against the door, Robert popped the panel open. His stuff—television, Ralph Lauren comforter, books, and the stupid collection of empty-but-prized liquor bottles—confronted me.
This isn’t a joke.
He urged me forward with a hand to my back. My shoes refused to move. Not my legs. My shoes. I pried one foot free of the carpet, only to lower it in place.
“Take me to Harry’s, right this minute. I’m not getting up to pee in the middle of the night and sticking to the floor. Good grief, Robert, do you plan to sleep in your shoes? This is disgusting.”
“Flip flops. Heard of them? Jesus Christ, can you just breathe? After we clean it up a bit, it’ll be great. And the pledges—”
“I’m not cleaning anything.” I grabbed his hand and lifted it to the back of my head. “Easy, if you like your nuts where God put ‘em.”
He traced the grapefruit-sized bump, eyes going wide. “Jesus. Weren’t you wearing a seat belt?”
“Yes, I was. My head hurts so bad, it’s all I can do not to throw up on your shoes. So, no, I won’t be cleaning anything.” Just like Mom. If it goes wrong, I must be the reason why.
I slapped a hand to the bathroom door. It swung open. I felt for the light switch. Mildew staggered up a shower curtain that held grimly to the rod by four mismatched plastic rings. A thick film of black scum around the toilet bowl suggested I’d be better off puking outside. I didn’t have the guts to look in the sink.
“How was I supposed to know you’d wreck your car?”
I stumbled through the back of the house and down the steps, sucking down a lungful of fresh air. The nausea eased. I collapsed against the hood of Robert’s car. He slammed the back door, looking contrite, but his determined gait gave his anger away. He jerked my door open and held my arm to steady me while I climbed in.
“Shelby, listen. I already gave up my room in Shipp Hall. I don’t have anywhere else to stay. This is my last semester. I’m never gonna see most of these guys again after graduation. I just want to kick back and relax for twelve weeks, then study my ass off to pass my finals. I know it’s irresponsible. But, I’ve never been irresponsible. I want to try it once.”
“Okay.” Then why get engaged? My head hurt too bad to ask.
Rather than put the key in the switch, he fiddled with the fob. “I need to tell you something. I dated someone else over the holidays.”
“Okay.” I leaned my head against the icy car window. “I guess I did, too.”
“It made me realize how much I love you, Shelby. I just don’t think you love me. I keep reminding myself, you grew up without a father, so of course, you have trust issues.”
Why did he make everything sound as though I was to blame?
“Everyone has trust issues. If they don’t yet, they will. It’s called growing up. Listen, Robert. I lied about wanting the ring. I just didn’t think you’d come unless I said I’d reconsidered.”
He gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. “My dad says to never marry a woman you can figure out. That being with a woman who bores you is like being dead, only worse. You’re the woman who makes me feel alive, Shelby. What do you like about me?”
He was solid. Reliable. He’d never hurt me because I’d never give him enough of myself so he could. And, above all else, Robert was predictable. Honorable. He’d never conceal a camera in my room. He’d never make me feel like a whore to hide his own secret, because I doubted he had any.
He was safe.
I owed it to him to look him in the eye, but meeting his gaze was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. “I like that you’re smart. I like that you want to do something with your life. I like that we like the same movies. I like that we can discuss books. I like that you want to travel. I like looking at you, for fuck’s sake. I just don’t know if that’s enough.”
His lips twisted. The pain in his eyes added one more ache to my battered body. “That’s everything, Shelby. For God’s sake, what’s missing?”
Excitement.
I couldn’t admit that the problem was sex. Not out loud. If I said those words, what did that make me? Now that I was out of Concord, memories of the things I’d done there placed an unwelcome knot in my gut. How many times had I seen my mother get burned by some guy that rocked her body with his cock, only to shatter her soul with his indifference?
“I don’t want to lose you.” Sincerity radiated from his eyes. “Maybe... maybe we could just take a break? Till you feel better?” He waved toward the windshield. “I’ll be right here, just getting drunk with the guys.” He swallowed hard. “Law school’s gonna be a grind. No time for fun.”
One thing I both liked and hated about Robert was his tenacity. If I let him, he’d sit in this spot until sunrise, until we’d debated every option. He’d use logic, but, if logic applied, was it love?
A little voice in the back of my head drilled through the pain. Love? I know more about the internal combustion engine. At least I’ve seen what an engine looks like.
“I can’t think straight right now. Please, just take me to Harry’s so I can lie down on clean sheets.”
***
When Harry opened his front door, his eyes went wide. “Good God, you look like warmed-over shit.”
Robert dumped my suitcases on the porch. “She wrecked her car over Christmas.”
“I know that,” Harry snapped. “I was there.” Robert turned stunned eyes to me, but I let Harry take my hand. “You’re shaking. Come and lie down, right now.”
Avoiding Robert’s troubled gaze, I followed Harry to his spare bedroom. I stood in the doorway, fighting back tears while he turned the covers down.
“What the fuck’s going on?” Harry whispered. “I called the hospital this morning. They told me you weren’t getting released today.”
“Just let me sleep. Then I’ll explain. I know you need time alone with Phillip, but Harry, I don’t have anywhere else to go.�
� I clung to the door frame, hoping my head would stop spinning.
“Don’t worry about Phillip. He’s your bitch for life.” He took my arm and guided me to the bed.
I blinked away tears. “Can you get my meds out of my purse?” It hadn’t been four hours since I’d taken one, but I had to get rid of this pain.
“Let me get rid of your boyfriend first. I’ll bring back a glass of tea.”
I managed to wriggle under the covers. Robert’s angry voice carried from the living room. “She flipped her car in a drag race? On a bet her stepdad made with a professional racecar driver? Seriously? What the fuck is wrong with those rednecks?”
Chapter Two
I scrolled down the line of photos on Caroline’s Facebook page, ‘liking’ each of her holiday pictures. I meant for us to stay in touch this time. The caption on the first photo said, “Little Shelby slept in her red boots on Christmas Eve, so Santa could see them.”
Outside, firecrackers went off like gunshots. Each explosion made me jerk. Each jerk sent a thump of pain to the back of my neck.
“New Year’s Eve was last night, dipshits.” I doubted the teenagers in the apartment complex down the road cared. Any excuse to fire off bottle rockets.
Pausing at a photo of Caroline, Caine, Colt, and Jonny, seated on the back of the Mustang, I eyed the cans of some new soft drink they held aloft, squinting to make out the name. Red Bomb? Sounded like a bad rip off of Cherry Coke. The caption read, “We’d rather drive than drink.” When I checked, both Colt and Jonny had posted the image to their Twitter accounts.
My shoulder ached, but not as much as my head. I logged off the site and dropped my phone onto the nightstand. Grabbing the prescription bottle, I dumped a pain pill into my hand, then realized I had nothing to drink. The cup by the bathroom sink had a ring of grunge in the bottom, so I went to the kitchen and snagged a cartoon glass.
“Beep, beep.” I grimaced at the Roadrunner and turned on the faucet.
“’Bout time you came out of that room.”
The deep voice came out of the dark, accompanied by a rumbling that sounded like the end of time had arrived. My heart nearly exploded before I realized that Harry had dragged the patio door open. Stepping into the narrow galley-style kitchen, he slapped me on the ass.
“Goddammit, Harry. I almost broke the glass, you nut job.” Huffing, I put the pill in my mouth and chugged water.
“C’mon, grouch. Welcome to a little somethin’ I call Two Queers and a Beer. You’ve either been in bitch mode or in a coma for the last four days. We’re gonna find middle ground.” He captured my hand and strode for the patio door again. I tried to resist, but my socks skated across the vinyl.
“It’s twelve damn degrees out there, Harry. My head’s splitting. Let me go back to bed.” I cast a desperate look around for something to hold on to so I could resist this insanity, but Harry showed all the sympathy of Cinderella’s stepmother.
“Fifty-nine degrees, drama queen. Not twelve.”
“Hey, Shelby.” Phillip lifted a beer can, saluting from a striped canvas beach recliner in the center of the flagstone patio. He huddled so deep in his Nike hoodie, I could barely see the lawyer’s nose, but I blinked at the flip-flops on his bare feet. A white laundry basket rested at his side.
“Why the hell are you wearing that?” I glared at the huge number twenty-two emblazoned across his chest.
“Last rites, my queen.” He sipped the beer. “Barnes is goin’ down. Again.”
“Queen? How long have y’all been drinking?”
Harry grinned. “He’s not that drunk. He’s been waiting and waiting to tell you about all the race car drivers he met.” Harry gave Phillip an affectionate grin. “Like a kid at Christmas.”
“I’m your bitch for life.” Phillip gave me the kind of smile that usually made me think about confiscating a customer’s car keys. “Holy fuck, Shelby. Jesse Hancock and his daughter sat next to us at the race. And Rowdy Collins was there, too. Jamie Roark and his wife sat two rows behind us. Honey, I’ve bought pit row tickets and not seen that damn many NASCAR drivers.”
“She’s not his daughter. My friend Caroline’s his real daughter but Jesse chose to be with Marley’s mom rather than look after his own child.”
My eyes adjusted to the darkness. The cardboard standup of Kolby Barnes jutted from the circular brick fire pit Harry had built last summer. The life-sized image of the prick’s face tripled the heavy beat in my head. A bitter taste filled the back of my throat when the pill surged up from my stomach.
“Oh, trust me, we saw Caroline,” Harry snapped. “In fact, Phillip couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was in the back of the truck with your brothers. Right?”
“Right.”
When Harry growled, Phillip laughed. “Boobs, Harry. Boobs. I love you, but I’ll always love boobs.”
Harry towed me along the rear of the townhouse until he reached his round Weber charcoal grill. He lifted a can of lighter fluid off the small redwood tray on the side.
“You do the honors.” Slapping the can into my hand, he grabbed the long electric lighter. “Go light that motherfucker on fire.” He scowled and stabbed a finger toward the advertising piece.
“Again. You mean, light his ass on fire again, Harry.” Phillip hooted. “Tell me something, Shelby? All those nights I hung out at the bar, waiting for Harry to get off work, how come you never mentioned that your stepdad was Dale fucking Hannah? The man’s a gasoline god.”
I stumbled forward, trying to figure out how to lift the red plastic lid on the can of fuel while I gripped the damn thing one-handed.
Staring into Kolby’s brown eyes, a shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the breeze. The moment when the ‘Cuda flipped, then flipped again, played behind my eyes.
I lifted the lighter fluid to my lips and stared into those eyes while I pried the flip top open with my bottom teeth. A sharp tang assaulted my nose. I inhaled a deep drag of ethanol. The knot in my chest relented a bit. I splashed more fuel into the bottom of the pit than I got on the paper, but when the can had nothing left, I slapped the container against Harry’s chest and snatched the lighter.
The tool flared with the flick of my thumb. I stretched the flame to the Ridenhour logo over Kolby’s breast, wishing with all my heart that Richard would release the little prick. I wanted this asshole out of Dale’s hair. Flames began to lick the red racing suit. While I stared at the twisting flames, the world spun. The grind of metal on cement shrieked inside my skull and the flames became the sparks that had arced across my windshield when the car rode the barrier before it turned over.
“You okay?” Harry demanded, grabbing my right arm again. “How in the hell are you sweating? It’s seriously almost sixty degrees out here.”
A gust chilled the beads of moisture on my upper lip and forehead. My head throbbed so hard, I feared I’d puke up the pain pill.
“Just need to sit down. Please, tell me you have something to drink besides Budweiser.”
“Like I don’t know you won’t drink good American beer?” Harry dragged another lounger forward with his foot. “Never fear, bottled Chihuahua piss and a slice of lime, comin’ right up. We only bought you one, because of your meds, so make it last.”
I watched the flames shoot into the sky while he disappeared inside. The standup’s legs blackened. The shoulders glowed red hot, then began to curl. By the time Harry tucked an Atlanta Braves stadium blanket around me, every bit of the Barnes figure had turned black, except the jerk’s face. I gripped the icy bottle Harry thrust into my hands, unable to look away while I scraped the lime wedge across the bottle lip and shoved the peel down the slender neck.
“I’m scared. For Dale. Kolby’s not... I don’t trust him.”
Phillip chuckled. “Honey, Barnes needs a personality transplant, but the man puts his life in Dale’s hands every day. No need to worry. Barnes probably helps Dale cross the road. This feud? I figure it’s all for show. They’ll bring Co
lt up to the Cup series mid-season, and then he and Kolby will pretend to hate each other’s guts. Ridenhour sells more tickets and more hats. It worked like a charm for Jeff Gordon and Earnhardt, Junior. Whoever thought up the drag race stunt is a genius.” He frowned. “I’m sure no one meant for you to get hurt.”
Phillip stood and shoved the laundry basket across the flagstones with his foot. “But, Barnes reneged on the bet. I figure Dale never meant to keep his money, but as far I’m concerned, if the fans are supposed to take sides, then I take Hannah’s side.”
Had the race been all in the name of publicity? Richard had gone along with the engine swap. My brothers had used me for their own ends before. Even Harry pointed out that, win or lose, all I got out of the deal was a new car.
If Phillip was right, then Dale had played me, too.
But... if this was about some fake feud between Colt and Kolby, why hadn’t Colt taken the wheel?
My head hurt too bad to dwell on the problem. If Dale showed up with the Audi and put the keys in my hand, I supposed I could ask him.
Unless he showed up with the Passat. If that happened, all the Hannahs could kiss my ass. I’d have been just fine with getting a new car the old-fashioned way. Or figuring out a way to buy my damn own. In fact, if nobody had pumped me up to race Barnes, I’d have been happy to take the Passat.
I never should’ve gone home at Christmas.
Phillip fished a baseball cap out of the basket and tossed it into the pit. “Thirty-two bucks I wish I had back.” Several shirts followed. I stared in shock when the attorney ripped the thick hoodie over his head and hurled it into the pit.
“Where the hell did that come from?” I jerked forward to eyeball his long-sleeved T-shirt. “Harry!” I screeched, before Phillip could answer.
“Oh, my God! What’s the matter?” Harry sprang out of his lounge chair. His beer spilled all over his jeans. Slapping the wet denim on his crotch and legs, he lifted his head to glare. “Your damn arm better be falling off, oh queen of all the horny badgers.” He stuck a finger in his ear and waggled it. “If it’s not now, it will be. Unless you’re dying, I’m gonna rip it off and beat you with it.”
