So. Long(181)

Slade carries out the last suitcase and tosses it into the bed of his beat up truck. “You ready?”

I lock the door and exhale, shoulders slumping.

When I turn, Danny stumbles around the front of Slade’s truck.

Crap. I thought we’d get out of here before he came down.

He points at me as he weaves closer. “You shloudnut leave, Mo. Don’t go. I wan you t’stay.”

My heart seizes.

Slade steps between me and Danny. “Hey, buddy. This is happening. You sober up and give her a call tomorrow.”

Danny pushes Slade with both hands right in the chest. “Fluck you, man. Mo’s mine. She’s—she’s wit me.”

To his credit, Slade just blocks Danny from dodging around him. “Mo, get in the truck. Lover boy here can crawl back up to his house.”

I edge toward the truck. “We can talk tomorrow, Danny.” Or not.

For a drunk, Danny’s fast. He manages to slip past Slade’s arm and grabs hold of my hands. “Please. Jus lis—listen. Dad did the cameras. I didn’t do anythling.”

Slade grabs hold of Danny by the shoulders, moving him around until Danny’s legs twist together and he falls over.

Danny raises his hand as though he’s reaching for me. “It was him. All Dad. He’s the perv. I love you, Mo.”

My face grows hot. Unbelievable. I cover my mouth, shaking my head. “God, Danny. Really? That’s the best you could come up with? You’re going to blame your dad? He’s a freaking preacher.”

Danny bounces up like a kid’s blow-up punching toy. Again he tries to get around Slade, his expression hardening when I get into the truck and close the door.

He says something I can’t hear because the windows are up. Then he throws a punch at Slade, who ducks to the side. Danny’s fist lands on the wheel well of Slade’s old truck with a loud thump. He rolls to the ground, but doesn’t stay down.

I fling the door open. “Danny, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Not dicalous! This guy’s goin’ take you away.” His fist flies through the air again.

This time Slade steps into him, catching Danny around the waist when he almost falls over from the momentum of his own swing.

Slade says, “C’mon, man. Don’t make me have to put your ass down.”

My lungs are tight, and my stomach rolls.

Danny’s eyebrows shoot up. He points to himself. “Put me down?”

Slade bows up, chest out, fist ready. “If I have to.”

“You ain’t leaving with my girl, dickwad. We’re havin’ a blaby.” He pulls back and bashes his forehead into Slade’s nose.

Slade draws back his fist and lays Danny out with one punch to the jaw.

I gasp. “Oh, gawd. You guys!”

I yank a tissue from the wad of unused ones in my pocket and shove it into Slade’s hand so he can stem the flow of blood draining down his face onto his shirt.

Dropping to my knees next to Danny, I push the hair out of his face. He’s out cold and reeks of tequila or whiskey or some kind of alcohol. His jaw blooms with the beginnings of a bruise.

My eyes tear as I bite my bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

But I can’t cry over Danny.

I won’t.





THIRTEEN





At least Mo was nice enough to call my mom instead of leaving me to get eaten by mosquitoes or fire ants while I slept off my idiocy. I steady myself on the wall with one hand, rubbing my jaw with the other as I head to the top of the stairs.

Mom sits at the kitchen table, her coffee mug in front of her. A frown mars her face. She looks up as I open the freezer for a bag of peas.

She opens her mouth. Before she can speak, I hold up a hand. “I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

Mom rubs the crease between her brows. “Danny, what’s going on with you and Mo? Your Dad knows something, but he won’t tell me. Now she’s moved out with a flimsy excuse as to why, and now you’re drinking and passing out in the yard.”

I’ve been drinking for a long time, but I’m not telling her that. “She and I have been—seeing each other. She thinks I did—this thing I didn’t do, and she’s pissed.”

Mom places her hand over mine. “What does she think you did?”

This is a truckload of bullshit. I let out a deep breath. “Just something. Look, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to talk about it with you. I need to discuss it with Dad.”

She straightens and nods. “Yes, that would be good. You two talk. Your dad’s a smart guy; he’ll know how to help.”

Yeah. Help is probably the last thing he’ll do.

I push away from the table. When I get down the hall, I skip the knock and walk into Dad’s office.