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“Okay, what the hell is going on?” Jess said the moment we were both back in the car. I felt better with the AC blasting on us and all the doors closed, the tinted glass hiding us from the world.
Maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe it wasn’t him.
But that truck…it was the same one he’d driven for so damn long. And the way he smiled, the sharp angles of his face, hisdark eyes…so much like his son.
“You saw that old man?” I said, shoving my wallet in the center console. She nodded. “That was Manson’s dad. Reagan Reed.”
Her eyes widened as she turned in her seat, looking back across the street. “Shit. I take it he hasn’t been in town for a while?”
“Not since the funeral,” I said, pulling out of the lot and back onto the road. “We thought he was dead.Hopedhe was dead, I guess. Don’t mention this around Manson, okay? I’ll tell him, but don’t bring it up.”
“I won’t.” Her eyes were on me as I drove, studying me. Clever girl. She’d figure me out if she kept trying. “He scares you too, doesn’t he?”
I sighed, my fingers flexing on the wheel. She’d never gotten the whole story — she’d heard some of the surface-level things Reagan was capable of, enough to know what kind of man he was, but nothing more. It wasn’t my story to tell, and besides, I didn’t want to scare her.
Manson had rarely brought anyone over to his parents’ place in high school, but I’d gone over twice myself. Both times I’d been eager to leave. Reagan’s presence in the house was like a poison in the air. I’d watched his wife and son cringe around him; heads down, eyes lowered, voices kept evenly cautious.
It was nothing like how it was in my own home. My sisters and I had never been afraid of our parents. We respected them, certainly. As the oldest, I’d always been expected to be the one to set an example, to look after my little sisters and help support the family. But I was happy to do those things out of love, not fear.
I’d be lost without my old man, and my mom was one of the kindest, wisest people I knew. They’d taken in my boys when no one else would, fed them, loved them. They’d accepted Jason under their roof without a second of hesitation when his own family kicked him out. If Manson and Lucas hadn’t beenso damn ashamed of accepting help, my parents would have brought them into the house too.
“Reagan freaks me the fuck out,” I answered honestly, but smiled at the end to try to reassure her. “But don’t worry about it. He’ll probably bail out of town again in a few days; he never sticks around very long.”
She settled back in her seat, but a crease of concern remained on her forehead, pinching her eyebrows together. Reagan hadn’t been back in Wickeston since his estranged wife died. He didn’t attend the funeral, but he sure as hell was pissed about the will. Apparently, Manson’s mom had been well-off when she married Reagan, including having inherited the house from her own parents. But years of an abusive marriage and alcohol addiction sapped everything they had —almosteverything.
Every penny she had left, she gave to Manson. It wasn’t a fortune, but between that inheritance and the house, it had completely changed the tides of our lives. It had given us all a place to live, a haven where we could be together. It allowed us to dream of bigger and better things.
I’d be damned if Reagan tried to ruin that now.
But I didn’t want to dwell on that old man or the trouble he could cause. It was a beautiful day and I had an even more beautiful woman sitting in my passenger seat, probably wondering if I was going to take her home or snatch her away for my own nefarious plans.
It was definitely the latter.
Instead of taking Route 15 all the way back to her house, I took a turn and wound through narrow backroads, keeping my eyes out for any lurking cops. I kept driving until the asphalt ended. The road ahead of me went winding through farmland, fields of corn on one side and overgrown trees on the other.
Jess glanced over at me. “Why did you stop?”
I tightened my grip on the shifter. I knew this road like the backof my hand. I probably could have driven it with my eyes closed. But she didn’t know that. “Just giving you a chance to prepare yourself,” I said.
Her eyes widened, darting between me and the road ahead. “Wait, prepare myself for what —”
I slammed into gear and punched on the gas pedal. She sucked in a breath as the car surged forward, backfires popping off like gunshots as my tires caught traction and dug into the earth. We launched over the first bump in the road, dust kicking up behind us in a cloud.
She was grateful for that harness now — she was clinging to it for dear life.
28
Jessica
Vincent was hurtling down narrow curving roads, tires skidding in the dirt, flying over bumps and dips without a care. I could have sworn the carflewover one particularly large bump, and all four tires left the ground as the engine buzzed like an overgrown honeybee. I had one hand in a death grip on the grab handle above the door and the other locked around his thigh.
But it was clear he knew what he was doing. With one glance, I saw the joy on his face, the excitement and concentration. Every turn was tight, the variations in the rutted road requiring him to constantly adjust his speed. Every dip gave me the brief sensation of flying, my stomach rising and falling with the road.
It was like being on a roller coaster. I shrieked as he sped through a tight curve, and the back end of the car slid around the turn before we launched forward again. I giggled, then laughed, unable to stop myself from smiling.
“Holy shit, this is fun!” I screamed as we flew over a bump again, sailing past a herd of cows that fled in surprise.
“Welcome to rally racing, Jess!” He raised his voice over the engine, laughing along with me. “Scared?”
