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Did Daddy ever do this? Did he dream of getting in his Bentley and driving until he hit the end of the road, and then soaring off into nothing? Those days when he took us to the beach, were they obligations to him? While we shrieked off-key renditions of Olivia Rodrigo and Melanie Martinez, was he in the front seat imagining escaping the life he’d built for himself, the one filled with responsibilities and burdens, pressure to make more, have more, do more? To keep up with the Joneses, to surpass them, to buy one more private jet and a bigger yacht?
Maybe he’s happy. Maybe, ironically, he’s finally found freedom.
The Faulkner exit comes up quick, and I see a car parked at the bottom of the ramp. My heart leaps into my throat, and I slam on the brakes, sure it’s the cop I’ve been looking for every second I’ve been gone. But as I reach the bottom of the ramp and see it’s just an abandoned car someone parked there and left, my pounding heart sinks. That’s when I realize I wasn’t scared of seeing a police car.
I was praying I would.
fifteen
Rumor Has It… (redacted) (redacted) (redacted)??Did you really think I was going to spill the Tea during this night? Told ya! Attendance at this Tea party in-person only!
Colt Darling
The crowd surges back toward the road when another racer turns the corner, leaving twenty feet of skid mark as they scream forward into the lot. When the last car comes limping in, a jacked up Charger that sideswiped a lamp post and bottomed out on the curb trying to pass someone on the way back, the crowd boos and throws debris this time, peppering the wrecked vehicle with half-empty beer cans and convenience store paper cups full of the dredges of their watery sodas and ice.
I’m finally freed from the crush of the crowd and break away, leaving my friend and my enemy with my joint. The spectators have begun to disperse, and Mad Dog is already collecting money from the betting. The families with little kids start to leave, and most of the racers go off with whatever willing girl climbs into their car.
The rest of us gather around on a small strip of dying grass between the factory’s parking lot and the train tracks. There are probably a hundred people left, mostly high school and college kids and a few older people who love the games too much to give them up.
People who want to chill make a handful of barrel fires down the strip, and others collect random sticks and pallets to light a bonfire. Someone finds a stack of buckets tipped over in the dying grass, and people turn them over and use them for seats. I stashed some folding chairs in my truck, so I bring them out, as do a few others who remembered to bring them. Dixie climbs into my lap and wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me. I hold her soft body against mine, pushing my dick up against her ass.
“You sure you want to stay for this?” I ask, squeezing her thigh. “Wouldn’t you rather go home and let me spend the rest of the night making earmuffs out of these?”
Dixie loves Bye Week, but I have no interest in hanging out with a bunch of assholes who treat me like shit every day, pretending we’re friends. I like the race, since it brings in good money and I have a part to play. For a few minutes, I’m the center of things, like I used to be. I love those few minutes, when everyone is looking at me, right up until I point the pistol into the air and hesitate. Every eye is on me, every breath held. It makes me feel alive again.
After it’s over, the excitement deflates, and the rest of the night always feels like a letdown. But Dixie loves every minute, especially hanging out with the elites and playing the Bye Week games.
“Of course I want to stay,” she says, snuggling against me. “We’ve barely even started. And you better not disappear on me again, like you did last year.”
“I disappeared on you?”
“I told you that,” she says, even though I’m pretty sure she didn’t. “Right before you dumped me with no explanation.”
“Once again, I’m sorry.”
I hate how often I have to say those words to her. How guilty it makes me feel every time I think about our past. Sometimes I just want to start over and meet her for the first time right now, or erase all our memories since we met. But then, a part of me wonders. If that happened, would we even be together? I never chose Dixie. She chose me. Over and over and over, she kept choosing me, until I gave in and accepted her. I just didn’t realize I’d be accepting all the guilt that comes with that. But here it is—the consequences of my actions.
“And once again, I forgive you,” Dixie says. “I know you’ll show me how sorry you are one day.”
“Don’t I do that every day?” I ask, moving her around on my lap a little, so she can feel that I’ve got a semi.
She giggles. “Not like that. I mean… Something bigger.”
“Since when is my dick not big enough for you?”
“Hey, what’s up?” Gloria asks, dropping a chair beside us.
I frown at her. “That was quick. Shouldn’t you still be fucking off the adrenaline with some pit lizard?”
“I have a boyfriend,” she says, giving me a dirty look before turning to Dixie. “What are y’all up to?”
“We were just talking,” Dixie says.
“Yeah,” I say, leaning back in the chair. “Dixie was just complaining about my shrimp dick.”
“Shut up,” Dixie says, slapping me playfully. “I wasn’t talking about your dick. I was talking about the future. You know, a ring. A mansion on the hill. That kind of big.”
“You got her a ring?” Gloria asks, sounding personally offended that I’d dare to propose to her friend without asking her permission.
