Chapter 7
Jack
Ikill the engine. During the drive, the old sedan rattled, but it made it to the driveway. I hug the steering wheel.
“Don’t die on me, yet,” I say to the car, grateful she made it another day.
Now I’m here.
Home.
It’s quiet, dark, and peaceful.
But I don’t want to go inside. Not yet.
I search the console. Nothing. The visor. Nope. The glove compartment.
Yes! The other joint I hid.
It’s been at least a year since I’ve lit up, but now is a good time. I lean back and flick the lighter. The burn in my lungs is a welcome relief. I need this so bad.
I exhale, filling the car with a plume of smoke that spreads its pungent scent. I stare at the burning paper rolled between my fingers.
I just wanted to help Noel and ended up taking his girl home. What a dick I am.
Fuck, I almost killed that rapist, too. Would’ve went to prison. For what? A chick I don’t even like. I lost my mind. Walking into a church never goes well. I thought meeting with Morgan would be quick. I should’ve known better.
Another drag fills my lungs and I hold it longer. I should be feeling better. How old is this damn thing?
Nope. There it is.
The calm.
My phone vibrates.
Church girl. I write her quick and hope that’s the end of it. I helped her. She knows I want the charges dropped.
I finish the blunt, and finally, I feel faded enough to go inside.
I get to the front door, and my heart stops beating.
The green wooden door is ajar and damaged, splintered from being pried open. I push it with my fingertip and the hinges whine softly.
The front room is ransacked. The kitchen drawers are ripped open. I walk past both rooms because my gun is in mine and my brothers are supposed to be here.
Please be here. Be safe.
The hall has random things on the floor, dropped by whoever made this mess. A broken watch. Some video games. Pictures on the wall that were bumped and hang askew.
In the bathroom, the medicine cabinet is opened, and things are strewn all over the counter.
Next, Tommy’s room. It’s dark. I flip on the light.
Tommy is huddled in the corner on the floor, hands covering his ears, gaze fixed on his feet.
“Tommy,” I say as I kneel beside him. “You okay, buddy?”
He looks up and latches onto me like I’ll vanish if he doesn’t.
“I’m here,” I whisper. “What happened? Where’s Noel?”
I help him stand. His face is flushed and eyes red from crying.
“They shot me,” he says.
He wasn’t shot. He’s fine. But Tommy must’ve seen a gun.
He mimics a pistol shape with his hands and prowls like a robber.
“How many people?” I ask.
“Ten.”
“Show me on your hands.”
He holds up two fingers.
“They left. They saw me and left,” he adds.
“Okay. Good.”
I get to Noel’s room, but he isn’t here. It’s a disaster zone. His gaming console is gone, desk torn open. The thieves probably saw Tommy and left him be, but kept looting the house—
Fuck, my bedroom.
I rush to it.
Noel isn’t here, either, and as I feared, everything is scavenged through.
I call him.
“Noel, you okay? Where the fuck are you?” I snap when he answers.
“Uh. Walking. I got a drink at the gas station.”
“The gas station,” I hiss. “The house was robbed. You been gone a hell of a lot longer than a walk to the gas station.”
He gasps. “We were robbed? Tommy—”
“Tommy is fine. You weren’t supposed to leave him, Noel.”
“Okay, I was with Liam. Damn, it was like an hour or two and Tommy was sleeping.”
I scoff in disgust. “You can’t just leave him alone that long.”
“I am not his fucking dad!” he yells into the phone, then ends the call.
I stare at my screen for a minute, debating my next move.
Forgot the closet.
I trudge over there, not wanting the night to get any worse, but knowing it will.
The safe in the wall is broken open. It’s empty.
Everything is gone.
My gun, my parents jewelry, heirlooms, and the cash. Every penny I saved for the last five years.
It’s all gone.
The sense of loss is so great, my body goes numb.
I glance up. My reflection stares back in a mirror. I’m high. Red eyes, slack jaw, dry mouth, and my movements and thoughts are undeniably slowed.
Can’t call the cops. I don’t know exactly where Noel is. I left Tommy alone with a minor. And I’m high. They’ll take them both from me. I’m just their guardian.
“Can I sleep in your bed?” asks Tommy.
I turn to him and nod.
He looks relieved. I bite down. Now I have to worry about what this trauma did to him and how to deal with it.
I rub my face hard, but I don’t wake from this nightmare.
Sunday.
Day of rest.
Day of continued hell.
Because I wake up with Tommy’s foot pressed painfully against my spine.
Worse, I check, but Noel still isn’t home.
I spend the morning cleaning up the kitchen so I can make breakfast. It’s a pain in the ass. So much stuff. Stuff mom left behind. Kitchen gadgets I’ll never use but can’t throw away. I need her right now. My dad would be helpful, too, especially with Noel.
After making pancakes, I check my phone.
dumb girl: heyyyyy will I see u in church today??
Fuck, no. Where the hell is that coming from?
Ignore it.
A few hours later, I finish cleaning up the bathrooms and bedrooms. Even Noel’s room. I call him twice.
“Sup,” he answers the second time, like nothing happened.
“When are you coming home?” I say flatly.
“Whenever.”
Now, I want to hang up.
“Noel, get your fucking ass home by dark,” I say as sternly as I can.
“Whatever.”
He hangs up again, making my blood boil.
My frustration overflows and I erupt. My phone launches across the room and it hits the front door.
The broken door — the one I forgot about.
I need to buy a whole new door.
I groan and grab my car keys.
The door creaks open wider.
“Hello?” says a woman’s voice.
Church girl. Here.
Is there no end to my suffering...
As if I am being prodded by a hot poker, I force myself to open the door fully. This despite the fact Morgan is already edging it open herself.
“Hi, Morgan,” I say, tired.
“Jack! Good afternoon. Looks like your door has seen better days.” Her eyes dart around the disastrous front room, then fix on my face. “I didn’t see you at church this morning.”
“I don’t go to church.”
“Right. Well, we have an evening service on Sundays. Want to attend tonight?”
I sigh as if the request is killing me.
“Bye-bye now, Morgan.” I fling the door shut, but it bounces off the busted frame and creaks open about five inches.
Fuck me.
I stare at the beam of sunlight streaming in through the gap. I know Morgan is probably staring at the same nothingness that poorly separates us.
“Jack?” she says sweetly. “Can I help you fix your door?”
I stand there silently, hoping she’ll go away.
“Hello? How did it break? When? Did you break it? Is that your phone on the floor? Is it an iPhone?”
So many questions. Too many.
I open the door, but this time, I lean on it, feeling too tired to care.
“We were robbed last night. I’m about to go buy a new one. Yes, that’s my phone. No, it’s an Android. No, you can’t help. No, I won’t ever go to your church. Please, don’t ask me one more question.”
She clutches her hands together and presses her lips into a line. I can tell there’s a hurricane of thoughts swirling in that dumb head.
“We can take my truck,” she says and holds up her keys. “It’s Daddy’s, but he won’t mind. It’ll be hard to get a door to fit in your car.”
That’s true.
“And we can talk about your brother.”
Damn. She’s good.
I glance past her shoulder. In the driveway is some special edition truck, white and fully loaded. It shines in the sunlight. Probably worth a small fortune. I steal the keys from her hand.
“I’m driving then,” I say.
Her face lights up like I just complimented her or something. What’s with this girl?
“Tommy is coming with us.” I call him and he walks to my side. “Good with that?” I ask.
“Absolutely. God loves company, and I do, too.” She smiles at Tommy.
“None of that shit, either. No religious talk.”
Her forehead scrunches as she looks up at me.
She doesn’t like the rule. Fine with me. I thrust the keys back into her hand and stalk past her.
“Come on, Tommy. Get in the car.”
“No! No,” Morgan hurries in front of my path. “I won’t talk about God.”
“Okay...” I say reluctantly.
We load into the truck. I press the start button, and it roars to life.
Holy fuck this truck is nice. I think my testosterone level just spiked hearing the diesel engine rumble. As we pull onto the street, it fits like a glove. Easy handling. Smooth ride. The power.
I can’t help it. I’m grinning.
I glance over. Morgan stares at me with a mischievous smile.
“What?” I ask.
She shrugs innocently. “You look good driving a truck. It suits you.”
I squint at her. She can’t be hitting on me. Nah, I’m not her type. Not even close.
“Thanks,” I reply. “I like cars better.”
“What kind?”
“Drag cars. Pro-mods mostly. I like turbos over nitrous...” I stop talking. She doesn’t know what I’m saying. I sum it up instead. “I like street racing.”
“Oh. Cool.”
Cool and a pipe dream.