by J. A. Little
“It’s okay, Dean. I get it.” I don’t face him. It’s easier to keep my voice calm and even, all emotion held back, when I’m not looking at him.
“Fuck!” he grumbles behind me.
Something hits the counter. A hand? A fist? I turn just as he’s walking out of the kitchen. I set the glasses down and follow him, hoping he’s not leaving. He makes his way to the living room, but strides away from his coat and keys. Sitting down in the chair, he puts his head in his hands.
“I need to tell you something,” he mumbles.
I sit down on the couch across from him. “Okay.”
When he lifts his head, he looks like a little boy again—so lost. He puts his left hand over the angel tattoo on his right bicep. After clearing his throat a few times, he takes a deep breath and looks me directly in the eyes.
“Do you believe in redemption?”
Chapter 30
Dean
“What do you mean?” Kayla asks, confused.
“Do you believe we can atone for our sins? Make up for past wrongs?”
“Of course we can.”
“No matter how horrible they are?”
Kayla tilts her head. “Please talk to me, Dean,” she begs in a whisper.
I can feel my shield starting to slip into place. I remember when I was being prepped to join Aiden at Wyatt House. My dad had a child development specialist talk to me so I would know what I would be dealing with. He said that sometimes when children experience really horrific things, they develop protective layers. It’s a mechanism that allows them to function despite what they’ve been through. It was an “aha” moment for me—I’ve been doing it for years. Any time I’m asked to talk about what happened, even with my family, I separate myself from the moment. I don’t want to be so mechanical with Kayla, but I’m not sure I can control it.
“I killed people,” I say flatly. “I was a stupid fucking kid. I thought I was invincible—that nothing could ever touch me. I was wrong.”
Her eyes flicker, but otherwise her face remains calm. She’s waiting. Do I really want to do this? I’m risking any chance at a relationship and the friendship I have with her. I don’t think she knows how much I’ve come to need her.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
Kayla nods. “I do. Let me get us some water first.” Her voice is soft and comforting, reassuring me that I can do this. She makes her way to the kitchen and returns with two glasses of water. She hands one to me and sits down, ready to listen. I take a few seconds to figure out where to begin.
“I was always a pretty good kid growing up,” I start. “I got into some trouble here and there, but usually it was because I idolized Aiden and was always following him around. He was kind of the master of mischief. He once convinced me to spray-paint the neighbor’s dog purple. I was only seven and didn’t even think about the fact that the purple on my hands would give me away. I got into a shitload of trouble and had to spend four Saturdays in a row cleaning up dog poop in their yard while Aiden got to ride bikes with his friends.”
Kayla smiles. I do, too. Fucking Aiden. I was just lucky my mom talked my dad into four Saturdays, rather than the whole summer. I run my hand over my jaw before continuing, and I feel my shields go up. It’s like all the emotion is sucked out of my body in one fell swoop.
“Despite how much trouble he got me into and how much he beat me up, I was devastated when he left for college. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I became a little obnoxious. I drove my dad crazy and my mom had to constantly come to my defense. Eventually, though, even she reached her wits end. About halfway through my sophomore year of high school, my dad told me he’d had enough. He gave me a choice: I could keep acting up and land my ass on permanent restriction, or I could get good grades, stay out of trouble for the rest of the year, and he’d buy me a car when I turned sixteen. It was an easy decision. I ended up with a 4.0 GPA for the semester and never got another detention. Dad was happy, Mom was happy, and I was happy. I woke up on my sixteenth birthday and they took me to get my license, and then to the car lot.”
Kayla takes a sip of her water. She holds the glass in her hands, swirling her finger around the rim.
“I ended up buying a silver Honda Civic with a spoiler and leather seats. I fucking loved that car. I drove all over the place, not because I had anywhere to go, but just because I wanted to show off my car.” I take a deep breath. Here we go. “About two weeks after my birthday, we were hanging out at my friend Tony’s house. Me, my best friend Gage, a few girls from our school, this kid Ray, and his older brother Sean. We weren’t doing anything—just fucking around. We weren’t drinking or doing any drugs.”
I glance up to see Kayla nodding. When it happened, most people assumed drugs and alcohol were involved. What else could cause a bunch of kids to be so stupid and reckless?
“Sean wanted to see my car,” I continue. “His parents had bought him a bright-red Mustang for graduation, so he’d been comparing it to all his friends’ cars. He was a douchebag, trying to show off. And so was I.”
“Dude, how fast does it go?” Sean asks, looking under the hood like he knows what’s what.
“Don’t know.” I shrug. “Pretty fast.”
“Wanna find out?” He grins, slamming the hood down. I flinch, irritated that he’s being so rough with my baby.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll bet you a hundred bucks my car can beat yours to the end of the street.”
Tony’s head shifts to the side, looking past Sean down the street. I do the same. It’s pretty long, about a mile and a half, but is it long enough to race down?
Tony looks at me as if I asked the question out loud. “I don’t know, man,” he says, unsure.
“Yeah, let’s go.” I nod. A hundred bucks is a hundred bucks. It’s not gonna bankrupt me if I lose, but it’ll buy some nice threads if I win.
“Fuckin’ A!” Sean claps his hands.
“You guys are idiots,” a girl named Karly scoffs. “I’m not watching this.”
She turns away, dragging her friend, Lola, with her. Sean mocks her with his hands on his hips and his lower lip stuck out. We all laugh.
“All right. Let’s go. First one to the big oak tree at the end. Tony, start us out?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure, I guess.” Tony shrugs.
“Can I go?” Ray asks.
“Yeah. Come on.”
Sean and Ray head to the mustang while Tony walks toward the street. Once they’re all out of hearing range, Gage turns to me.
“Don’t, Dean,” he says, looking worried.
“Come on, G. Don’t be a pussy. Come with me.”
“I’m not. I just… I don’t think it’s a good idea. Isn’t it illegal? What if our parents find out? I don’t want to be kicked off the swim team. My dad will be pissed.”
“How’re they gonna find out? You gonna tell?”
Gage shakes his head. “No, but—”
I frown at him. “Fine,” I snap. “You don’t gotta go. I’ll do it by myself.”
“Wyatt! You ready?” Sean yells.
“Yeah,” I shout back. I take another look at Gage.
He hesitates and then rolls his eyes. “Okay. I’ll go. This is stupid, though.”
I grin at him.
Climbing into the driver’s seat, I see Tony checking the street for cars. He gives us the thumbs-up sign, and we both start our engines and pull up to where he’s standing. I buckle my seat belt.
I look over at Sean and Ray in the Mustang, and they’re grinning like idiots. I guess I am, too. Tony turns around to check for cars one last time, and we watch as a minivan pulls out of a driveway and heads the opposite way down the street. When it disappears, we’re ready.
Tony puts his arms up. Sean revs his engine. I rev mine, too. For one brief moment, I get a really heavy feeling in my stomach. It twists and turns, making me a little nauseous. I push it back, telling myself Sean’s not nervous—he’s excited.
Tony’s arms move down, and I slam on my gas. Both engines roar to life, propelling us forward.
“Yes,” I yell over the noise. “Stop being a wimp and enjoy the ride.”
I quickly shoot up to sixty, blowing past the thirty-five-mph speed limit.
“Dean, slow down,” Gage begs. “You’re going too fast.”
But I don’t listen to him, because my heart’s racing, adrenaline’s pumping, making me feel on top of the world. This has got to be the best feeling ever.
“It’s a race, G. We’re supposed to go fast.”
I speed up because I want more of this feeling. Glancing down at the speedometer, I watch as the needle passes eighty. The thrill is fucking awesome.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Mustang pull slightly ahead. I floor the gas pedal, trying to catch up.
The car drifts too close, and I swerve—but I’m going so fast, I can’t control it. It all happens so quickly. I don’t know where it came from, but there’s suddenly a car in my way—not the Mustang. I grip the wheel. Gage is yelling at me; screaming.
“Dean, STOP!”
I slam on my breaks, hearing them screech, but it’s too late. I close my eyes and throw my hands over my face as we hit the car full force. My body jerks forward and then slams back. There’s the sound of metal crunching, splintering. It hurts my ears. I’m spinning, dizzy, unable to focus. Everything around me fades away, and then there’s nothing.
When I come to, the car isn’t moving anymore. I think I’m upside down. I don’t feel anything at first—it’s like I’m in a bubble. Everything’s cloudy and fuzzy. I can’t see, even though I know my eyes are open. There’s something in them, on them. I don’t know. I blink. I can’t move my left arm, but I don’t know why.
When the pain comes, it hits me like a Mack truck. My whole body is suddenly screaming at me from the inside out. It hurts so fucking bad.
I can lift my right hand just enough to wipe at my eyes. I blink again, clearing my vision. I wish I hadn’t. There’s blood all over. On my hand, in my eyes, everywhere.
Where’s Gage? All I can feel is pain. All I can see is blood. I hear the sound of screaming. Through the pain, I hear screaming.
Turning my head around in circles, I try to figure out what’s going on—where I am. My window is busted and through the broken glass, I can see another car. It’s twenty, maybe thirty feet away. It’s flipped onto its roof. There’s a woman strapped in, upside down. I can see her. She’s screaming.
“My baby, my baby! Help my baby!”
But I can’t help her. I can’t help her baby. I can’t help anyone. I can’t move. There’s fire, so much fire. I can feel the heat. It’s consuming her—them. I can’t look away. Her eyes meet mine. I’m so close, and I can’t help her. She’s still screaming. Make it stop. I don’t want to see this. Please, God. I don’t want to see this. Her face. Her eyes. I can’t move. I can’t help her. Where’s Gage? What’s that smell? I can’t move.
I watch the woman. I don’t want to, but I can’t look away. The screaming stops, and I watch as her body convulses violently. What have I done?
I reach down and am barely able to push the button to release my seatbelt. When I do, my body falls the short distance to the ground and I feel an intense pain in my shoulder. I shimmy around, trying to move to a less painful position, but there isn’t one. My back hurts so bad.
I think I can hear sirens, but they’re too late. People are shouting, screaming. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know where Gage is. He’s not where he’s supposed to be. Then I see him. He’s halfway out the window. His eyes are closed, his body crumpled. There’s blood on his face and shirt. So much blood. He’s not moving. Why isn’t he moving?
“Oh God, oh God, oh God. Gage,” I gasp. “Gage!”
He doesn’t answer. I try to yell, but no sound comes out. My lungs hurt. There’s a horrible smell and I don’t know what it is, but it burns my nostrils. I want to throw up. Maybe I already have. My shirt is wet, and my head is heavy.
Muddled voices come from all around, but I can’t understand what they’re saying. I don’t know how long has passed. All I know is that I can’t keep my eyes open anymore.
Kayla’s face is pale, her eyes red-rimmed. I watch as a tear slips from the corner, trailing down her cheek and dripping from her chin, but I’m unable to provide any comfort with my emotions on lockdown.
I run my hand over my left shoulder. “It was a combination of road rash, anti-freeze, and transmission fluid that leaked that caused the burns on my back. They told me that because of the way the car landed, all the engine fluids flowed down to where we were lying. When I unfastened my seat belt, I inadvertently dropped myself into a puddle. They tell me the burns on this arm,” I say, nodding toward my right side, “happened right before they pulled me out. Part of the car caught on fire. They were able to put it out, but not before it got to me.”
“What happened to Gage?” Kayla chokes out.
“He was in bad shape. They had to put him in a medically induced coma for swelling in his brain. He had a punctured lung, and his leg was severed completely. They tried to reattach it, but it didn’t work. Something about the blood flow. For a long time, they weren’t sure he would survive.” Kayla uses her sleeve to wipe her face.
“I was in the burn unit for a few weeks. One of my dad’s friends pulled some strings and got me a great plastic surgeon to help with skin grafts and scar minimization. My mom, dad, and Aiden were the only ones allowed to see me; there was too much risk of infection. And they had to scrub themselves and wear masks. Gage was in intensive care. We couldn’t see each other even if we’d wanted to. But I didn’t want to. I couldn’t face him.”
“What happened to the woman?” Her voice is quiet and hesitant, like she’s afraid to ask, but needs to know.
“Nadia Wilde.” I nod. “She was a passenger. Her husband, Ian, was driving. Their, uh…their four-year-old son, Adrian, was in the backseat.” This is the one place where my mask slips. I can’t think of Adrian Wilde without feeling my heart ache. “Adrian and Ian were on the side I hit. They died on impact. Nadia’s cause of death was smoke inhalation, but they said her body was badly injured. She had a lot of internal damage.”
“They all died?” Kayla asks calmly. She must be controlling her voice. My guess is that it’s a result of years working in the system.
I rock my head up and down in a choppy nod.
“Redemption,” she whispers in understanding.
“They didn’t tell me about the Wildes when I woke up. I mean, I knew she was dead—I watched her die—but I didn’t know about Ian or Adrian until I was flipping through the channels on the TV and I saw their pictures. The reporter was talking about a family that was killed in a ‘tragic street racing accident.’ They showed the cars and the scene and all these flowers and teddy bears.”
“Oh my God,” Kayla whimpers.
“I freaked out—got sick all over myself, ripped out my IV, and tore off some bandages. I was so crazed that they had to sedate me. I refused to let my family anywhere near me for a week. I was horrified.”
Kayla doesn’t say anything. She takes a drink of water, runs her hand through her hair, bites the thumbnail of her free hand, and then takes another sip of water. I can feel my shield slipping. It makes me agitated. I don’t like feeling vulnerable.
“It was my fault, and I’m the only one who walked away unscathed. How is that fucking fair?”
Kayla’s mouth drops open. “Unscathed? You really believe you walked away unscathed?”
“I’m alive. My family isn’t visiting my grave every year. They got to watch me grow up and become a man. As Gage says, I’ve ‘got all my parts.’ My parents are still together. My mother’s not dying of cancer. Yeah, Kayla, I’d say I walked away pretty fucking easily. My scars are no
thing compared to what everyone else lost.”
Kayla stands up and then drops to her knees in front of me. “I’m not talking about your physical scars, Dean. I’m talking about what’s up here.” She presses three fingers against my temple and then slides her hand down to my chest, placing it flat over my heart. “And here.”
I put my hand on top, threading my fingers with hers and gripping them. I’m torn between holding it harder against me and pushing it away. When I look into her eyes, there’s nothing but compassion and acceptance in them. No blame, no hatred, no deception. I’m not sure exactly how I expected her to react, but I certainly wasn’t anticipating this.
“You were just a kid,” she says softly. “You made a mistake. You’ve seen enough teenagers go through your house to know that making bad decisions is part of life.”
I shake my head. “It was more than just a mistake.”
“I realize that. But do you know how lucky Logan is that he hasn’t killed anyone yet? When he was fourteen, he took his foster father’s car in the middle of the night, drove it to the convenience store, and stole a six-pack of beer. He sat in the car and drank four of them before the cops showed up. If he hadn’t been caught, he would have tried to drive back home. He was wasted—couldn’t even walk in a straight line. I’ve had half a dozen kids, at least, who have done something that could have ended in tragedy.”
“It’s not the same. I had everything, Kayla. Everything!” I snap. “I had parents who loved me. I had good grades and a future. It wasn’t a cry for help, or attention, or even a rebellion. It was me, wanting to be cool. That’s it. There are no excuses.”
“I’m not trying to make excuses for you, but you can’t spend the rest of your life hating yourself.”
“Why not?”
She stares at me, but I have to turn away. After the initial shock of the accident wore off, I didn’t feel anything. For a long time, I was just numb—completely dead inside. Eventually that numbness was replaced by anger and guilt. I’m reliving all of those emotions now.
