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The only time my heart doesn’t feel broken is when I’m racing. That’s what my dad doesn’t understand—that I need to race to keep floating in this shitty pool of muddy, scummy pond water that I’m struggling to keep afloat in. Racing is my only breath of fresh air, my passion, and I’m damn good at it, something I more than prove when I skid into the parking lot of the bar right as our dad is about to walk inside.
A cloud of dirt kicks up and gusts into the rolled down windows of my car and around my dad as I brake hard. He gapes at us in shock. Then the moment the surprise wears off, sheer lividness flashes across his face as he strides toward the car. I know what’s coming next. He’s going to yell at me, make a scene, threaten to take away my car keys. Wouldn’t be the first time.
“Give me your car keys. Now!” he seethes as he reaches my door.
“No—” I start, but he reaches in, shuts off the engine, and steals my keys. “Hey.” I move to snatch them from him, but he stuffs them into his pocket and strides away toward the bar door.
I dive out of the car and rush after him. “Dad, we don’t have time for this shit. It’s already going to be dark by the time we get to Honeyton.”
“Well, you should’ve thought about that before you drove like a goddamn lunatic.” He jerks the door to the bar open. “Seriously, what were you thinking? Especially with your sisters in the car.”
“I was thinking that I needed to get here before you went inside,” I snap. “Because, I knew, if you did, you’d be in there all night and we’d be stuck out in the car, waiting for your drunk-ass to stumble out.” This isn’t the first time I’ve lost my cool with him, and it won’t be the last.
His face reddens. “I think you’re forgetting who the parent is.”
“What parent?” I’m fuming mad. Mad at him for being a drunk. For being such a shitty father. For pretending he has the right to scold me now when he doesn’t give a shit about anything we do. Mad because I had to pawn my necklace. Mad, mad, mad. I’m so mad all the time that I can barely stand it. “Because all I see is a drunk deadbeat who can’t even take care of his kids.”
He smacks me across the face, shocking both him and me. With all the terrible things my father has done over the years, he has never hit me until now. “I’m sorry,” he sputters as I place my palm to my throbbing cheek, my eyes wide. Then he bails into the bar.
Shaking my head, I spin around and storm back to the car. “What an asshole!”
“Holy shit, I can’t believe he hit you,” Bailey whispers with wide eyes.
Payton’s eyes are equally as large, but Londyn appears shockingly pissed off.
“We should leave his ass here.” She shakes her head. “Take the truck and ditch him.”
The idea does sound enticing, but he’s our legal guardian and none of us are eighteen. Even though I hate it, we need him around.
I roll my window down all the way. “We’ll give him an hour to cool off, and then I’ll go in and get him.”
Londyn shakes her head while staring at my cheek. “I can’t believe he hit you.”
Me neither. And I’m not sure what hurts worse—my face, my pride, or my heart.
3
HADLEY
After sittingoutside the bar for almost an hour, our dad stumbles out, drunk off his ass. When I refuse to hotwire his truck again, he finally lets Londyn drive his truck. I feel bad for her being stuck in the car with his smelly ass and offer to drive with him instead, but Londyn refuses to allow it. Since my cheek currently has a bright red handprint on it, I don’t put up much of an argument.
Five hours into the drive and after Dad sobers up, we pull over and Londyn climbs back into the Chevelle. Everything is going decently until we enter the town of Honeyton, our new, temporary place of residence.
Somewhere along the main street and the turn off to our neighborhood, Dad pulls over. Since we don’t notice right away, we’re unsure where he went. My bet is the first bar he spotted.
Luckily, I have the new address entered into the GPS on my phone. Unfortunately, I have no clue how the hell we’re supposed to get the keys from the landlord, or if Dad’s even signed the lease yet. He found the house online, that much I know. Other than that, he hasn’t given me any more info other than the address. Not that I haven’t tried. He always just dismisses me or gives some vague answer, probably because he’s either doing something or has done something I won’t approve of.
That’s my dad for you.
Yeah, did I forget to mention that he does some pretty shady stuff, pulling off scams and screwing people over? Not that he ever tells me about it. I just hear stuff through gossip or read about it on his police report when I bail him out of jail.
I wonder how long we’ll be here before he gets arrested?
Sighing heavily at that thought, I pull up into the gravel driveway of the address currently typed into the GPS. The sun is starting to set, the sky greying. Even if Dad arrives in the next five minutes, we’re going to be trying to move stuff in while it’s dark.
“Well, I think this one is the winner.” Sarcasm drips from Bailey’s tone as she takes in the narrow, two-story home in front of us.
The wraparound porch is starting to collapse, the front door is cracked, and one of the windows is boarded up. It does have a garage at the end of the driveway. Or, well, more like a shack with a garage door.
