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This time it’s different.
It’s metal meeting something solid and unyielding. There’s a snap, and then it’s just Murphy screaming. But it’s getting quieter because he’s not in the car anymore—he’s on the road behind us, rolling on the pavement, writhing in the red of our taillights.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Blake says as we both turn in the back seat, watch Murph getting smaller.
“Dude!” I scream at Ethan. “Turn around.”
A light comes on in Danziger’s house.
“Fuck that,” Ethan says, and accelerates.
I don’t think, I don’t hesitate. I don’t do anything other than what I want to. I lurch forward, grab Ethan’s seat belt, wrap it around his neck, and jerk it backward.
“What the fuck, man!” Blake yells, clawing at my shoulder while Ethan gurgles. “You’re gonna kill him!”
“Yep,” I say, then lean into Ethan, whispering in his ear. “Stop the car, right fucking now.”
He’s got one hand up to his throat, trying to pull the belt out of my grip, the other on the steering wheel. But I just found out something he already knew—doing whatever the fuck you want without thinking about the consequences feels amazing. I jerk on the belt again, and the car slows, coming to a stop. I get out, tear open the driver’s door, yank Ethan onto his feet, then throw him into the back seat while Blake just yells “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” over and over again, then transitions into yelling, “You shouldn’t be driving, Harding!”
He’s right on the money with that observation, but I only have to go about a quarter mile after I spin the car around. Murphy is still on the road, curled into a ball. Danziger is coming down the driveway, carrying a shotgun. I put the car in park and get out. Blake and Ethan cower in the back seat, their balls located somewhere inside their lower intestines.
“Fuck, man. It hurts, oh fuck.” Murphy is rocking back and forth, cradling his arms to his chest. A patch of road burn shows through his shredded shirt, crawls up the side of his face. My shadow stretches long in the headlights, reaching over Murphy to the bat, in two pieces on the road. The mailbox hangs open, a solid block of concrete inside.
“Jesus,” I say, just as footsteps come up behind me.
“Micah . . . Micah . . .” Murphy cries, motioning with his eyes because he can’t use his hands anymore. I turn around and look down the barrel of a shotgun, Danziger on the other end, grizzled and unforgiving.
“I warned you, boys,” he says.
“You did, sir,” I agree, smelling my own breath as stale beer wafts into my face. On the ground, Murphy sobs, tries to get to his feet, collapses with a fresh shriek of pain.
“Said I’d shoot you,” Danziger goes on, and cocks the shotgun.
“Yeah,” I say, meeting his eyes. “You did.”
I don’t beg, don’t flinch, don’t move—because I don’t care.
“Go ahead,” I say, nodding.
Danziger watches me along the barrel, eyes a cold, bright blue. I stare back, waiting.
He blinks, lowers the muzzle until it’s pointing at the ground. “You okay, kid?”
“No, sir, I am not,” I tell him.
I want to go on, want to say I haven’t been okay since Mom picked up a bottle, or Dad picked up another woman. Want to tell Danziger I wasn’t okay before that, either. Not really. Because there’s never been a time in my life when my brain wasn’t hurtling toward catastrophe, detailing the journey, and informing me of our arrival time.
“Micah . . . please . . .” Murphy is crawling toward me on his elbows. He can’t use his hands because his wrists are both broken, snapped at the base, one of them flopped backward, top of his hand touching forearm. The other is sagging forward, palm cupping his own arm. Danziger looks away from me, down at Murphy, and a flicker of recognition passes across his face. He spits, hitting my friend directly in the face.
“Good luck with that baseball career, kiddo,” he says.
Thirty-Four
Ava
“Ava, what did you do?” Becca’s voice is thick and throaty.
She’s been crying, and Lord knows she’s got more than one reason to. I might be the least-liked teenager in the county, but I still heard about someone dumping Murphy Ricks in the ER parking lot, both wrists snapped, a concussion, and road burn covering half his body.
