Chapter 8 Wes
EIGHT
WES
My dad often took my brothers and me out to the river to fish.
We’d sit on the boardwalk with our lines dangling in the water while we relaxed in our camping chairs.
This time of year, half the town was out there trying to catch something.
I used to love it. I’d look forward to it all week, since my dad worked and the only free time he had was on the weekends.
Now, all I could do was stare at my watch as the day waned and time ticked by.
“You’re not even trying, Wesley,” my dad chided as my shoulders slumped and my line followed suit.
“He’s distracted,” my brother joked, pulling on his rod to tighten his line.
My dad watched me carefully, chewing his spearmint gum, making his jawline look intense.
He reminded me of Pete Carol when he did that.
Dad watched us with the same intensity as when the head coach watched his team execute a play.
A lot of unnerving silence. He even had slightly graying hair like the coach, plus a narrow face and slender nose.
“What has you distracted?”
I hoped with all my might my brother didn’t know.
I had worked so hard to keep Callie a secret for this reason right here.
I didn’t want anyone to ruin what we had, or to do anything to mess it up.
As it was, she wasn’t something I had to explain or share with my brothers, and I’d do just about anything to keep it that way.
I said nothing right as Dustin said, “He’s distracted by that Stone girl, from down the road.”
My neck grew warm as I stared out over the water. My dad’s gaze was laser focused on me, and I knew I had to be careful with what I said next.
“The biker’s daughter?”
His tone was curt but curious, like he wasn’t sure that could be true and maybe he had it wrong.
I swallowed the thick lump lodging itself in my throat.
“We’re just friends.”
Dustin scoffed with his entire chest, making him look like an idiot. I glared a hole into the side of his stupid face.
“I can’t imagine being friends with that girl is prudent. She’s from a pretty rough family. I’d like you to steer clear of her.”
He said rough family, but all I heard was real family.
My parents shoved faith and family values down my throat so often I wanted to tear through them with my teeth just to get some air.
Dad was strict, but he was also a hypocrite.
He didn’t think we knew about the lipstick on his collar when he came home, or the fact that he smelled like a perfume brand that Mom didn’t own.
He didn’t think we saw Mom’s jaw grow tight when she greeted him or how she swiped at her eyes when she wandered back toward the back of the house.
They had five children together, but he wasn’t faithful.
Regardless, if I spoke any of these thoughts out loud, it would be a big production of yelling, grabbing my collar, and shoving me into the basement to think about my mouth. I’d miss seeing Callie, and it wasn’t worth it.
I smashed my back molars together hard, feeling my jaw tighten, and tried to focus on the future, on the good things. I’d be turning sixteen in three months. Callie was sixteen in two.
For the past few summers, we had continued sharing the treehouse, but our legs were getting long for the space, and our innocent kisses started turning much less innocent.
Two weeks ago, when the weather had shifted and school let out, Callie had snuck over like usual.
But that shirt she wore that was too big for her wasn’t as big, and curiosity finally got the better of me.
I pulled it up over her head and saw her in a sports bra for the first time, and I realized I really liked getting to see her skin.
I had pulled the pillow from behind my head and pushed it over my lap so she wouldn’t see how badly I wanted to touch her.
Since then, we’d done a lot of kissing and exploring with our hands, but there was a part of me that wanted to do more. Feel more. See more.
We continued fishing and drinking sodas, and I ended up betting Dustin five dollars that I’d catch something before he did.
I won, just like I usually did. On our way home, we stopped for gas, at which point an idea formed in my head.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” I declared to my dad and brother and then darted inside.
I knew I didn’t have much time, so I searched carefully for what I wanted. The options were limited, but I found what I needed and took it up to the front, silently praying I was able to pay before my dad came inside.
“Just this?” Old man Barker eyed me suspiciously.
I blushed under his scrutiny. “Yeah, just that.”
He rang me up and slid the item into a bag as I handed over the five I had won. I gave him a brief nod of thanks and then hurried outside. Instead of keeping it in the bag, I removed it and shoved it into my back pocket so there’d be no questions whatsoever about what I had purchased.
Once we were back home and I’d helped put everything away, I began pacing the backyard.
It was late June, and while I knew Callie would come by later, a part of me didn’t want to wait to give her what I’d bought.
I wanted to see her face when she held it in her hand and realized I was thinking of her while I was out today.
“Mom, I’m going to ride my bike down to the park,” I called out, knowing she was in the kitchen.
She made eye contact with me, her sharp brown eyes assessing me for lies.
“Be back by dinner.”
I nodded and took off down the road.
If she talked to my dad, he might put two and two together and realize I was trying to see Callie, but I didn’t have a phone yet, and it wasn’t like they could track me or call and ask me to come back.
I rode hard, standing up on my pedals to gain speed and distance from my house.
The sun was setting, leaving pastel streaks across the horizon, but it was still sandwiched against a pale blue sky.
Within minutes, I was at the top of Callie’s driveway, staring at the rusted mailbox and the painted image of a skull with roses blooming from the eye sockets.
Not once had I ever ventured down the gravel path or dared to get any closer to her house, but I was almost sixteen.
Soon, I’d be driving, and my hope was that I could pick her up on dates, which would require me to get closer than her mailbox.
With a nervous swallow, I pedaled down the path.
Every few feet, rusty metal littered the patch of grass on either side of the dirt drive. Bike parts, truck frames, old wheels. Wildflowers grew among some of the rust, which was oddly beautiful.
Soon enough I was right in front of Callie’s house. It was two stories, but it looked even older than my house.
Dull windows, some patched up with plywood, lined the top story of the house, and the lower story was much of the same. Bed sheets hung as curtains, and car parts littered the ground and porch.
There didn’t seem to be anyone around until I heard the screen door screech open and a man with long, dark hair walked out.
He wore a leather vest with a few white and red patches covering the right side, and in white lettering, the word “President,” was sewn into the left side of his vest. Dark ink covered his arms, down to his knuckles, and under the loose shirt he wore there was even more ink along his torso.
I knew this was Callie’s dad.
He was staring at me from a pair of eyes that seemed to match hers, and even his expression was similar to hers when she got upset.
“Who are you?” he asked harshly.
Words died on my tongue as I stared at him. All the warnings about him being dangerous came rushing back, freezing my limbs. I probably looked like an idiot just straddling my bicycle not saying anything.
“Well… you here sellin’ something or what?”
Sweat trickled down my neck as I stared up at him, until finally words came.
“I’m here to see Callie.”
By the way the man’s eyebrows lifted, this answer amused him.
“You the boy that got into a fight for her?”
I nodded, trying to think back to that day when everything changed between Callie and me.
There’d been more fights since then. Turns out the boys at her school were pricks and liked to make jokes about her.
It only took one time for me to overhear them joke about her being club pussy for me to lose it.
The man laughed, walking closer. “I was wondering when you’d finally show your face.”
Was I in trouble? Was he going to hit me?
“Killian says you fight like you have nothing to lose, like you can’t stop.” He lifted his chin in my direction. “That true?”
There was a big fire pit between us, dead grass, a rusted barrel of ash and debris.
“Yes, sir.”
He laughed, tipping his head back.
“Call me Stone, or Prez, but not sir.”
I nodded, not wanting to speak another blunder.
“What’s your name?”
A slight breeze blew between us, making his hair shift the slightest bit.
“Wesley Ryan. I go by Wes.”
His long legs ate up the space between us, and his hand came down on my shoulder.
“You Terrance Ryan’s kid?”
I nodded, having no idea what he’d heard of my father. Probably that he was a good guy who attended church, paid his taxes, and had a handful of kids at home. Maybe he’d heard something else, because the look that passed over his face was almost pitiful.
“Okay, Wes. Let’s see if you can hit a heavy bag, then you can help me clean up some of these beer bottles.”
I didn’t want to clean up beer bottles or really learn to hit, but he was being nice to me. Besides, maybe it would allow me the chance to see more of where Callie grew up.
An hour went by. I learned to hit a heavy bag with my bare fists and push through the pain.
My knuckles were puffy and red, but I still felt a small thrill inside that Stone had taught me something.
He’d stayed the entire hour, explaining where to move, how to shift, where to land the blow to get a better outcome.