AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As I run by the bucket of balls I’ve yet to put away from our little practice session tonight, I grab one and throw it as hard as I can.
“Jesus Christ, Pope,” Marks spits right after it smashes into the back window of the vehicle.
The streetlight above the car illuminates the shattered window. The driver hits the brakes and lights it up showing the damage more clearly. Satisfaction takes over, and I smile at the fact that I hit dead center and the balls stuck in the glass.
Of course I did.
And then reverse lights.
“Not a good night to leave my gun at home,” Marks grumbles as I stand there, waiting for the punks to show their faces.
I hear Marks reading off the plate number and know he’s called the station.
“Get here now. They’re coming back.” He then yells, “Get in the house and wait for York to get here. She’s a minute out.”
“You two head in. I’m not moving.” And I don’t.
I stand there as the passenger door flies open and see exactly who I hoped it would be—Kal fucking Seward.
“You stupid son of a bitch! I’m gonna beat the redneck out of you!”
I raise my arms to the sides and stretch them out wide. “I’m right here. Take your best shot. I’ll give you the first one free.”
“The Seward family is going to make you pay for this,” his buddy, the driver, yells as he takes in the back window of the car.
I don’t even look in his direction. My eyes are locked on Kal as he storms toward me in chinos and a polo.
I stand there, arms still outstretched, with a smile on my face. Hell, I’m willing him to take the first jab so I can take the rest.
His knuckles crash into my lips, and the metallic taste of my own blood fills my mouth as he pops back and then starts hopping around, fists raised.
This fool thinks he’s Muhammad Ali.
I spit the blood out on the ground, and a low chuckle comes out before I taunt, “Let me know when you’re ready to play ball, motherfucker. With a swing like that, your ass still deserves to be riding the bench, wishing you were me.”
He swings again, and I lean back easily, dodging his fist.
“Strike one, Sewie.”
8
Wednesday
Thankfully, the rain started after I filled up my gas tank, but it’s coming down in buckets after I went inside to grab a cold can of pop—Dr. Pepper—and a “shareable” bag of peanut M&M’s from the gas station. I have zero intention of sharing the M&M’s with anyone, except my wounded ego and shattered pride. The can of pop, I’ll wrap my throbbing fingers around.
Wipers set to wow, I pull out of the parking lot of the Gas ’N’ Go and immediately tear open the bag with my teeth and begin the process of self-medicating. My hope is that the candy shoots me into a sugar high long enough to get me through a shower and drop my behind into contentment so that I don’t mull over tonight’s happening until the sun rises. I need to make time to schedule in a breakdown on Friday while Nora’s at school. After today’s shift, I don’t have it in me to figure out what the heck I’m going to do next.
As I round the bend before the Stop sign next to Pope’s corner lot, I swear I see flashing lights, but there’s no way. I tell myself I must be seeing things. The closer I get, the more I realize I’m not seeing things. There’s most definitely lights.
Before I can think, I’m jumping out of my vehicle and running toward a crowd. York and a group of guys. Pope, Mark, and Danny are unmistakable even though Pope is covered in mud. The other three men I can’t make out … until I can.
“What is going on?” I ask York, who is standing there, soaked.
“This asshole shattered the back window of the Porsche,” Kal sneers.
“There’s more to the story than that,” Marks spits back.
“And we’ll sort it out.” York looks at Pope. “Let’s you and I take a walk.”
