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“Thank you.” I place my hand on his forearm. “I promise that I will,” I tell him before I turn and head out the door, on a mission to find Jared before he does something crazy.
THEN
JARED
I’ve been sitting at this intersection for what feels like hours. It’s not busy, so I’ve sat here behind the wheel of my truck watching the traffic lights go through three rotations as I try to figure out where to go. It wasn’t like I had an exact plan when I stormed out of my house, but I couldn’t take being there for one more second. The walls were closing in around me, and I wasn’t ready to hear any more details about my father being gone.
The last word echoes around in my brain: gone. That word can be used in so many contexts. Some are positive, like every cookie we brought for the bake sale is gone, while others are so bitter and vile that no one wants to hear them. My father is gone, as in forever, as in he’s never coming back, and I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do with that information.
There will be no more Sunday phone calls from Dad—no more working on the car together to get it running top notch. No more jamming on the guitar together. No more . . . Everything has changed. Everything is different.
I stare at the red light in front of me on display, mocking me by putting my life on hold. When it turns green again, I still haven’t made up my mind where I’m going, but an angry horn blaring behind me tells me that my time just sitting here is over.
I crank the wheel to the right and mash the gas. It doesn’t take long before I find myself in the shady part of Knoxville. I don’t venture around here much, and soon I discover that I’m lost and have no clue where to go from here. I glance down at my gas gauge and notice that it’s on empty, but luckily for me the bright lights of a station illuminate the night sky.
The tires roll over the pavement, bouncing me inside the cab as I come to a stop beside a gas pump. When I open the door, I fish my wallet from my back pocket and head toward the store to pay.
On the way in, my gaze meets the brown eyes of a tall, skinny white guy with a beanie and red flannel shirt hanging out just outside the door. The clothing choice strikes me as odd, considering it’s May in Tennessee, which doesn’t exactly call for dressing warm. He twitches his nose before wrinkling it, and I catch a glimpse of his toothless smile. That takes me aback because the guy can’t be much older than I am, yet the roughness of his appearance gives off the impression that he’s much older.
When he catches me staring, he tilts his head and lifts his eyebrows as if to silently ask me what I want. Instead, I jerk my gaze away and shove through the heavy glass door. After prepaying for the gas, I return to my truck and take another long look in the man’s direction before I head back to fill my tank.
Bugs swarm the buzzing lights overhead as I set the nozzle on automatic fill and then grip the side of the truck bed and lower my head onto my arms. I sigh and wish there was some way to escape and forget about everything for a while.
My gaze snaps back up, and again I zero in on the man standing next to the building. Without really thinking about what I’m doing, I head toward the guy and leave my truck there to fill up.
When I step up in front of him, I shove my hands into my pockets. “Um, do you . . .”
Shit. I’m not even sure how to ask this.
“You lookin’ to get high, homey?” His voice is deeper than I expected, and it catches me off guard.
I furrow my brow, unsure of what to say.
“You need something or not? I’ve got the best shit. It’ll take you to a new high, man—shit so good it will make you forget your own fucking name.” He rubs the tip of his nose with his index finger.
While I’ve never done drugs before—always on the straight and narrow because I love baseball so much—I have to admit that losing my mind for a bit sounds pretty damn perfect right now. Against my better judgment, I decide to see what he has to offer.
I nod. “Yeah, what do you have?”
The skinny man wearing a red flannel shirt smiles. “Shit, homey, I got whatever you want.”
My thoughts drift over every movie I’ve ever seen, searching for the right terms to use, and I come up with only one way to ask for pot without seeming clueless. “Do you have a dime bag?”
He nods. “Not here, though.” He points his finger in the air and then does a circle motion. “There’s eyes all around. Meet me around back after you get your gas.”
My pulse races under my skin, and I know how wrong this is and what it will cost me if I get caught, but I need to do this. At least with the rush of danger, I’m avoiding the real problem at hand.
The guy steps back and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “You know where I’ll be.”
“Sounds good.” It’s the only reply I can think of at the moment.
I swallow deeply, and a click alerts me to the fact that my truck is now full. I run across the empty lot and remove the nozzle, pull a fifty from my wallet, and hop into my truck. Just like he said, the guy is waiting around
back, and the minute I’m close enough, he approaches.
I roll down the window and hold out the cash. “Change?”
The guy shakes his head. “I don’t do change, but I’ll throw in a rock.”
