Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“Seriously, man?”
“Seriously, dick.”
Hendrix hated Zepp’s girlfriend’s guts because he was one hundred percent sure she was the reason Zepp had gone to prison. But Zepp himself had told me his arrest was all on him. Of course, Hendrix refused to listen because he was Hendrix. “It’s the dump, Hendrix,” I said. “That’s our territory.”
“Was! Was our territory until the ginger devil came along.” He chucked the wrench into his toolbox. “And I already told you, we’re going to the Methodist revival.”
He’d watched some documentary about cults and convinced himself that church girls were freaks. I wiped off my grease-covered hands on a towel, watching as he tossed the toolbox down then rummaged through one of the coolers on the back porch.
“I am not going to church, man.”
He cracked open a Dr. Pep and gave me a disapproving glare. “You’re going to The Dump for her. You weakling.”
“I’m going to The Dump because your theory about finding freaks at a revival is fucked up.”
Hendrix snorted. “Come on, Bell. It’s a place full of sweet, virginal girls hungry for a little taste of the devil.”
And that—that was something I wouldn't even touch. The second Hendrix and Wolf set foot in the place, it was going to go up in flames.
“You’ve got issues, man.”
He slurped back more of his drink on his way to the back door. “Whatever. Like you wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t.”
He shook his head. “Drew’s done gone and fucked you up. Passing up virgins and Jesus...” The screen door slammed closed behind him.
Oh, the girl had fucked me up all right...
I left Hendrix’s and swung by the house to grab Arlo and take him to a friend’s for a sleepover. And when I got back to the house, Dad was already shitfaced. He stood at the open fridge, swaying on his feet as he grabbed another beer.
Mom shuffled into the kitchen, pinning her dark hair away from her face before taking a can of peas from the pantry.
“I don’t want no damn peas with my dinner, woman. I want hamburger steak and mashed potatoes.”
She froze, then placed the can back on the shelf. “We don’t have any fresh potatoes, Dan.”
“Well, better go get some.”
“I don’t have time. I have to be at the Dollar Ser—”
“I don’t care what you’ve gotta do. I want a decent damn dinner.”
“Don’t fucking talk to her that way!” My heart thumped against my ribs, the sensation hitting the back of my throat. I took the can of peas from the shelf and slammed it down on the worn counter. She worked her ass off and she loved him when he didn’t deserve it. There was no way in hell I could stand by and let him disrespect her. “She’s not going to the store.”
“Bellamy…” Mom whispered.
Dad was already shoving up his sleeves. “She will go to the goddamn store.” He staggered toward me. “You think you’re a big bad man now, son?”
I thought about all the times I’d seen him hit her, all the times he’d left me with a black eye as a kid. Then I thought about him not feeding Arlo the other night.
“Dan, please,” Mom whispered, then he reared back like he was going to smack her, and I just snapped.
Dishes shattered. Sheetrock splintered. After I’d busted his nose and his lip and he'd taken a beer bottle to my head, I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shoved him through the screen door. “Get the hell out.”
He staggered to his feet, swiping as his bloody nose.
“I swear to God,” I said, fighting through my ragged breaths. “You come back in here before you’re sober and I’ll fucking kill you.”
He froze, dragging in deep breaths before he stumbled around the side of the house. The engine to his truck sputtered, tires gripped the gravel, and then silence fell over the house.
Mom stood at the kitchen counter, hands bracing the sink while her chin hung to her chest. I hated that she was upset, but I wouldn’t let him hit her. On a hard sigh, I grabbed the broom from the pantry and began sweeping up the shards of glass and Wal-E-Mart china.
“You don’t have to clean that up, Bellamy…”
I picked up a few more broken pieces, biting my tongue until I couldn’t. When I turned to throw it into the trash, I looked at her. “Leave him, Mom. Leave his ass before I have to kill him.”
Sighing, she knelt beside me, grabbing pieces and tossing them into the bag. “I...”
“You can.”
And then her chin dropped to her chest. “I love him.”
“He’s an asshole.”
“But he didn’t use to be...”
Annoyance lapped at my veins, and I hated it. She was the last person on earth I ever wanted to be annoyed at, but it was so damn hard sometimes. Because she deserved better, and she just wouldn’t let herself see it. Mom was still stuck on this idea of who he used to be. The man who used to buy her flowers and hold down a job. She clung to that like it was a life raft in this shitty storm, and that notion of love was what I was afraid would either end up as her demise or mine. Because every time he got rough with her, it was harder and harder for me to stop throwing punches at him when I got him down.