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She wasn’t supposed to be there, taunting me with memories.
I had planned to pay my respects at his grave, tell him I was sorry for my words, for my feelings, for driving that truck, for not keeping my promise to look out for him… For not wanting to keep it.
Then I saw Drew, and everything slammed into me like a freight train, like the force of the blast that blew us off the road.
I hadn’t just made the promise to Danny. I’d made it to her as well. Every time I signed off on a text, I told her I’d protect him.
In that moment I knew the truth: Forgiveness is going to be a long road.
I came back here, went to sleep, and I was right back there again.
Staggering into the kitchen, I flick on the old drip pot my uncle had since the stone age. I open the drawer and find filters still waiting. A canister of coffee is on the counter behind the pot. Opening the stainless lid, I take a sniff. No scent. It’s got to be two years old.
“Old coffee is better than no coffee.” My voice sounds like gravel.
My mouth is dry, and I note the empty bottle of tequila on the counter. It was only half-full when I got here. I feel like shit. Probably how I ended up on the floor in the living room. I started in my uncle’s bed then sometime in the night, I tried to return to my old quarters.
As the coffee drips, I take a quick shower. I’m just having my first mug when a knock on the door sends my insides into turmoil. Drew wouldn’t come here…
I’m not sure.
A pair of faded jeans hangs around my hips, and I snatch my old tee off the back of the chair, pulling it over my head before opening the door.
I step back when I see a skinny kid with long, shaggy brown hair hanging to his collar. Long bangs, parted in the middle are in his eyes. His black sleeveless tee has Metallica across the front.
“Who are you?” My deep voice is sharper than I intended, but the kid doesn’t seem fazed.
“Name’s Billy. I heard you were looking for help.” He looks at my shoes. “I need a job.”
“How did you hear that?” Shit, I haven’t even put the word out yet. I haven’t even been in town twenty-four hours.
“My neighbor said you’d turned the power back on. I figured you’d need help.”
I forgot how fucking nosey this place is. Nothing gets by these assholes. “How old are you Billy?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Last name?”
“James.”
“Billy James.” I scratch my jaw, thinking. Then I realize I probably look as old as my uncle right now, even though I’m only five years older than this guy. “You new in town?”
“I grew up over in Pintoville.”
“Oh.” Shit. I don’t say that part out loud. Pintoville is the racist nickname for the part of Oakville where most of the Mexicans live.
I thought I was an outcast, but it was nothing compared to the way these guys are treated.
“Did you go to school? I don’t remember seeing you around.”
“My daddy sent me to the school in Raymond. He had a friend who could drive me. Thought I’d get in less trouble there.”
“Are you a troublemaker?”
His stick-straight hair sweeps around his neck when he shakes his head. “I’ve never been in a fight. I don’t want to fight. I just like working on cars. I graduated top of my class at the trade school.”
“I’m not really open yet. I’m not sure how much business I’ll get. How about you come around in a week?”
