Waiting for Wyatt (Red Dirt #1)

by S. D. Hendrickson

  I straddled the seat, feeling a deep rush of freedom under my thighs. It had been too damn long. I took a few more puffs before tossing the butt on the ground. I’d get shit from my father over that one tomorrow once he figured out my smoking habits were still alive and well. He’d be pissed that college didn’t fix everything about me.

  Putting the key in the ignition, I fired up the engine, letting it get warmed up. The sound sent chills down my back. My grandpa did a hell of a job on it. I drove down the driveway, glancing back at the house. My father’s broad shoulders cast a dark shape against the window as he watched me leave. I felt the anger from his face without actually seeing it.

  I dared him to come out and yank me off the seat, pull me by the arm right back in the kitchen and throw my ass down in the chair. Force me to stay for one of our typical discussions that was more yelling than talking. Giving him one last look, I gunned the engine a few times and peeled out in the street.

  The football scholarship changed more than one thing about my life. It got me away from my friends—and my father. I only came back for holidays and I didn’t give a shit if he showed up at my games. Another perk of going to college in south Texas.

  That’s the thing about being a PK. Not the preacher’s kid, but a more destructive one. My father was the police chief for the town of Gibbs. He’d always expected the same authority at both work and at home, which only caused me to push back against an unmovable force. I was the round object he’d tried to cram into a square hole. And sometimes I still provoked him on purpose—just for the hell of it.

  Sucking in a deep breath, the air settled in my lungs as I watched the streetlights glow under the cold mist. My nerves seemed to relax the farther I got from my house. Cruising through the comfortable darkness, I looked around my old hometown. The whole place was lit on fire with the familiar Christmas lights—the same ones they’d pulled out of storage each year that had faded to a pink color instead of shiny red.

  Once I cleared Main Street, I kicked it up to seventy. The bike went over the rough metal of the railroad tracks to the literal other side of town. The chilly wind slapped my bare face, making me feel better than I had in months. As much as I loved college, it was brutal at times—and so very different than here.

  As I pulled in the driveway full of three-foot tall weeds, I thought about Trevor. His life was an overgrown mess of shit. Unlike me, he wasn’t going to do anything about it. He was a follower right down the path of his father and it all happened because his mom was a selfish bitch who had left him.

  The yard was full of cars and an assortment of trash. The low bass from the music was louder than the motor on my bike. Pulling up in front of the garage, I looked at the mangled door. The damn thing must have broken months ago, and no one had bothered to fix it. I cleared the lopsided hanging metal and parked inside to keep the rain off the old Harley. An arm grabbed me as I slung my right leg over the seat.

  “I was beginning to think your ass was too good for me.”

  “Shut up, Trevor. You don’t need me. Looks like you got a full house.” I hugged the guy who had been my friend since kindergarten. Trevor was so damn needy sometimes. He never could stand on his own. He’d always had Marcus and me at his side. “By the way, my mom wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow.”

  “Really?” His face lit up. “She making that stuffing shit?”

  In that moment, I felt bad for the guy. That was the thing about Trevor. He made sure I never forgot him. It was the eyes. The sad, pathetic eyes that spurned pity from his friends and made the girls fuck him.

  “Yeah, I’m sure there’s stuffing.” I followed Trevor around the busted bags of trash and hundreds of old containers and bottles, scattered across the cement. The smell caught my stomach. Some kind of animal must have died in here too.

  “Everybody is here. And wait until you see Melissa. Damn.”

  We entered through the garage and for a split second, I froze. The world stopped spinning and it was senior year all over again. I swear he’d invited our entire class.

  “Carter!” Marcus reached me first. “You got here just in time. We’re lining up another Crash.”

  “Shit, man. I can’t be doing that stuff tonight.”

  “Sure you can.”

  I hadn’t done that kind of drinking since I’d left this place. Crash was a game Marcus had invented our sophomore year. The fastest to down four shots of vodka plus a can of beer, without hands, was the winner.

  Trevor had me on one side and Marcus on the other as they pulled me through the kitchen. The three amigos. Growing up, they had been my best friends. Inseparable in T-ball and football and all that shit that boys did in small towns. Even when we got older, everything stayed the same between us—even when our activities got a little wilder.

  The guys pushed me over to where Becca Fenton was lying on the dining room table. A night-and-day difference from what I’d just left in my parents’ kitchen.

  “I can’t.” I protested as Marcus poured the clear liquid into the glasses. Glancing across to the other side of the stained-up table, I saw Jimmy Meisner, sticking shots on some girl I didn’t recognize. I felt the old hatred brewing under my skin like a lit match. I despised the guy. He was an obnoxious asshole who had tried to break my nose in PE class in elementary school.

  All the internal conflict dissolved into the excitement of crushing his ass. One round wouldn’t hurt. Looking back down at Becca, her nipples poked through the tight, white shirt. I pulled the bottom of the fabric up just enough to show her tan stomach and belly button ring. She giggled, pushing it up higher, exposing her see-through white bra.

  “Shit, man. Here.” Marcus handed me two oversized shot glasses. As I tucked one against her neck, she leaned up for a kiss. Her mouth grabbed mine with a quick bite to the lip. I pushed her back to the table, catching the shot before it slipped to the floor.

  “Be still,” I warned.

  “Sorry, Wyatt. I haven’t seen you in a while.” She grinned, showing off the wide smile I remembered very well. I laughed, shaking my head at her attempt to flirt with me. Becca and I had history going back to ninth grade. She was the first girl I’d ever fucked.

  “Let’s just win this, and we can catch up later.”

  “Sure.”

  As I balanced the second glass between her tits, I caught myself looking into her eyes. She smiled again. Becca was better than this shit, but I guess things never really changed—not even me in this moment.

  Marcus handed over another two glasses. Flipping up her skirt, I shoved the third shot against her purple-lace crotch. She giggled again as my fingers grazed her inner thigh. I put the fourth shot inside her knees and the can of beer between her red painted toes.

  “You assholes ready?” Marcus shouted across the noise of the house. Jimmy and I stared at him, waiting for the signal.

  “Go!”

  I clasped each glass between my teeth. They went down fast. The beer trick was always the hardest, but once I got the can balanced between my elbows, it was over for Jimmy.

  “Wyatt Carter!” Marcus yelled across the room. He slapped me on the back. “Damn, you still got it. That college shit hasn’t whipped your ass.”

  “I told you. Same lame-ass parties, just hotter girls and better liquor.” Except that wasn’t exactly true. Coach would cut me faster than I could blink if he caught me drinking. Texas Westmiller didn’t approve of that sort of thing.

  “Well, Mr. Preppy. Don’t say that shit to Trevor. He went all out for you tonight.” Marcus poured two shots of vodka, pushing one in my hand. He tapped the glasses together for a toast. “Here’s to the cheap stuff. I hope it lights your ass on fire and gives you the shits.”

  I tipped it back, rolling my eyes at the guy who I considered my best friend. Tonight was like a damn time warp. In a brief moment, I remembered the first time we had downed shots. I was thirteen. Trevor had stolen a bottle of tequila from his dad’s stash. Marcus and I had taken turns until
I saw him pass out on the floor—even though he swears I crashed first. Trevor wouldn’t ever tell us the truth. Said he was taking it to his grave.

  We’d had some fun times growing up. Marcus, Trevor, and I had been so different, but it had worked for us.

  Marcus Tucker was the actual preppy of my friends. The good one. His dad was a former city councilman who got himself elected mayor last year. Marcus even went to a state university in Arkansas but flunked out his freshman year. When we talked a few weeks ago, he thought the school might let him back in for the spring semester.

  “So? What’s the verdict?” I asked.

  “Hopefully hooking up with Zoey tonight.”

  “Jackass.” I rolled my eyes. “You going back to Arkansas?”

  “Yeah. Probation is over. They let me back in. Trevor’s pissed of course since I won’t be around.” Marcus laughed, glancing over to where our friend was smoking a joint. “But I’m going to do it right this time. No more of this shit. You know what I mean?”

  I let out a deep breath. “More than you realize.”

  “Zoey said she would marry me if I could keep it together this year.”

  “Really?”

  “Crazy, huh? I bought a ring and everything. I haven’t given it to her yet though. I’m trying to figure out a way to surprise her. Who knows. I might just do it tomorrow. That would be a hell of a Christmas present.” He laughed, the happiness glowing in his eyes. Marcus put an arm around my shoulders. “You’ll be my best man, right?”

  “Shit, man. I’m the closest thing you got to a brother. I better be.”

  He grabbed the vodka bottle, topping off the glasses again. “To getting married.”

  “To not flunking out of school.” Tipping the shot back, the alcohol burned all the way down my throat.

  “And there she is. My girl is looking hot tonight. Zoey!” Marcus yelled over the music at the tiny brunette who came in the front door. He poured one final shot in my oversized glass, slapping me on the back. “I’ll see you later. And try to have a little fun tonight. You can go back to being a Texas nun after break.”

  “Asshole.” I shook my head, swallowing the contents of his parting gift.

  Marcus ran off across the living room and grabbed Zoey Lemming, lifting her right off the nasty carpet. She squealed as he spun her around before sticking his tongue down her throat. She was the only girl Marcus had ever hooked up with and the only girl he’d sworn to ever love.

  As he whispered in her ear, Zoey turned in my direction. She waved, and I nodded in return. They were the perfect couple: the quarterback and homecoming queen kind of shit.

  My eyes drifted around the room at the bare walls. Half of the paper was ripped off next to the couch. An area of the kitchen still had fire damage from the time we had gotten smashed junior year—the kind of drunk that made us think spiders were edible if we set them on fire.

  Then I saw her. My ex-girlfriend Melissa, wearing a tight, red sweater. Damn, Trevor was right. My hands and eyes were very familiar with that body—and that shit was no longer real. She looked up in my direction, sending over an icy stare. Melissa was still pissed at me for ending it before I’d left for college.

  “What are you doing over here alone, Wyatt?” Becca handed me a can of beer.

  “Just taking a breather.” I tipped the can back, swallowing half of the cold liquid. “What are you doing these days?”

  “Not much. Still doing hair at the Glamour Shack.”

  “Sounds nice.” I didn’t know what else to say. Swallowing the rest of the can, I leaned against the wall. The noise in the room got vague and hazy in my head as her hand rubbed along my thigh. I knew what she wanted. Things had always seemed to continue between us, off and on through the years, after our first time together.

  Removing her fingers off my crotch, I pulled Becca into the bathroom. Her kisses were familiar. Her body moved in all the same ways as I pressed her against the white ceramic sink. Becca slipped her fingers down between us and tugged the zipper on my jeans.

  I let go long enough to pull the broken drawer open on the cabinet. Grabbing a condom from Trevor’s stash, I lifted Becca onto the sink. We fit together just like a hundred other times.

  The bathroom door opened, and Ronny Burkett walked right past us. He took a long piss in the toilet before stumbling back out the door, slamming it behind him.

  “Oh my gosh.” Becca burst out laughing, her forehead leaning into my chest as she struggled to stay sitting on the sink.

  “I don’t think he even saw us.”

  “But I saw more than I ever wanted of Ronny. That’s some nasty stuff he keeps down there.” Her nose squinted up. “And he didn’t even wash his hands after touching it.”

  “So I guess those rumors of you and The Burkman weren’t true.” I grinned back at her.

  “Asshole. You know I got better taste than that.”

  Becca jumped down, fixing her skirt. She kissed me briefly, leaving the taste of beer and strawberry lip gloss on my mouth.

  Someone beat on the door. “Stop fucking in there. I need to take a piss.”

  Becca whispered against my lips. “This was fun, you know. Catching up.”

  I smiled back at her. “I should come home more often.”

  “You should.”

  The flimsy door rattled as someone took a fist to it again.

  “I guess we better get out of here.”

  “Bye, Wyatt.” I let Becca kiss me one last time before opening the door. She gave the middle finger to Jimmy Meisner who was waiting to come inside the bathroom. Damn, that guy was everywhere tonight.

  I walked back into the crowded living room, picking up a couple of cans of beer. I took a seat alone on the couch. I never made actual plans to have sex with Becca when I came back into town. But we always had a tendency to find each other. There were no delusions. We both knew it would never be more. I never loved her or Melissa for that matter—even with her new tits.

  I wasn’t like Marcus. I’d never felt something even close to what he shared with Zoey. I cared about Becca in a friendship kind of way, but Melissa could go to hell. She had a scary-evil temper. After one of my games, she’d burned all my jerseys when she decided I’d lied about what I did at one of Trevor’s parties. My high school coach almost kicked me off the team.

  A glazed-over Marcus half-fell down on top of me. “Come on, buddy, you ready to go again? I’ve got money riding on you.”

  “I think I’ve had enough.”

  “Come on. One more round of Crash. I’ve got a hundred bucks on this one. You’ll crush it. Win one more for me. Remember. You’re on vacation.” The words slurred from his grinning mouth.

  “Marcus, I’ve got grandparents coming at seven in the morning. I’m out, man.” And I needed out of this house too. I needed some fresh air or rather a little nicotine. “I’ll catch you later.”

  Grabbing my hoodie, I made my way outside into the trash dump known as Trevor’s yard. I took a piss next to an old washing machine.

  Leaning back against the house, my fingers touched the rotted siding. I remembered a time when it used to be yellow. Digging inside my pocket, I pulled out my cigarettes and lighter. I sucked in a drag, letting the smoke settle in my lungs before releasing a puff into the air. A slight gust of wind hit my neck. I flipped the hood up over my head, blocking out the freezing drizzle. It was going to be a nasty Christmas tomorrow.

  Noises from the party drifted up into the quiet night. None of this ever changed. Life here was strange and yet so familiar. Taking another drag from my cigarette, I heard laughter coming from the back porch. I listened for a moment, catching the low voice of Trevor.

  With a house full of girls, it wasn’t a surprise that he’d lured one outside to his usual spot on the covered back porch. Dropping the butt, I watched the faint embers disappear in the drizzle. The voices laughed again. I stepped around the old washing machine and through the overgrown weeds into the backyard . . . and then I froze in p
lace.

  My sister. My little sister Willa was on Trevor’s lap in a lawn chair. Sitting on the wooden deck, her friend Layla leaned against his legs, holding a cup in her hand. The girls laughed at something he said too low for me to hear.

  A slight gust of wind hit my face as I remembered the night Trevor had gotten drunk and tied a girl to the railroad tracks in some freaky-shit dare. I knew better than anyone what he liked to do with women. He bragged about it until I wanted to punch him sometimes. But like a moth to a flame, those girls always fell for him anyway.

  “Hey, man.” His face took on that charming grin and my fists clenched into a death grip as I watched my friend touch Willa’s knee. “Look who showed up tonight. I’ve been trying to get your little sis out here for months since she got her license.”

  “How did you get here?” I said, looking directly at her and ignoring him.

  “I drove.” She scooted out of the chair, holding onto the plastic cup. Her arm moved in an exaggerated circle, sloshing the red contents all over her Ugg boots. The smell of alcohol drifted up around us.

  “You need to go home.” I tried to keep my voice steady when everything about this situation made me sick to my stomach.

  “I can’t,” she giggled. “Dad . . . um. He will . . . be mad if he sees me . . . like this.”

  Shit. She was drunk. The idea of Willa being hammered at one of Trevor’s parties sent a deep chill down my spine.

  “Come on, Carter. Let her stay just a little bit longer.” He flashed that pathetic grin, but it wasn’t going to work on me tonight. He knew better than to mess with my sister.

  “Get your stuff. I’ll deal with Dad when we get home.”

  “You’re leaving?” Trevor got out of the chair and came down the steps into the yard. “I had to beg your ass to come over here. Now you’re leaving. That’s fine. Get the hell out. But maybe she doesn’t want to leave. You were having fun, right, Willa?”

  “Shut the hell up, Trevor. You may act like you’re still in high school, but she’s the one who’s actually sixteen.”