Damn. I had hoped to get in one night’s sleep before my father found out, lost his mind, I begged for mercy, and somehow, we get past this.
“Get your ass in the car,” my dad bites out, low and slow.
“Catch y’all later,” I say as I move toward the door, avoiding getting within arm’s reach of my father.
“Bye, Nicky. Don’t die!” Gigi calls out, being funny and a total asshole.
“You’re going to wish for death,” my father growls as my boots touch the cement outside the door.
I pick up speed, walking double time toward his car, debating on running back to my parents’ instead of driving back with him.
“Don’t even think about it,” Dad snarls like he’s reading my mind.
Busted.
I give up any thoughts of running because I’m too far from anywhere and he’ll really want to beat my ass if I do.
There’s no eye contact as we both open the car doors. No talking either. I slide into the seat of his car, pinning my body against the door as Dad climbs in next to me.
“Don’t speak,” he tells me as he fires up the engine. “Not a fucking word.”
So, this is going well.
He’s not yelling at me, and he hasn’t grabbed me, trying to shake some sense into my thick skull either. So far, I’d call that a win.
He drives down the dark roads faster than usual, taking turns a little sharper than he normally does, too. Nothing is said the entire way home, but about a mile away from the house, he yanks the wheel to the right, pulls off to the side, and cuts the engine.
My entire body freezes, and I stop breathing, bracing myself for whatever comes next.
“What happened? And I want the truth because you know I’ll be talking to the headmaster tomorrow.”
I exhale, running my hands down my jeans, and lay it out without looking at him. “I was making IDs for some of the kids at school. One kid got popped. He sang. I got booted.”
Even in the dark, I can feel his eyes trained on me. “You were selling IDs?” he says, no disbelief in his voice. The words are even and low.
“Yeah.”
“Fuck me,” he mutters. “Your mother is going to have my balls.”
I gaze across the small space, watching him shake his head in the soft glow from the dashboard.
“I should’ve never taught you that shit,” he continues, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s going to rip me a new asshole first, and then she’s going to come after you.”
I’m not sure who I’m more scared of, my mom or my dad. Dad’s bigger and definitely has a hard edge to him, but Mom… Mom can turn on a dime, especially when you’re acting a fool and in the wrong.
Dad has a lot of gray areas to him. His time in law enforcement taught him skills he’s carried over into his work at his security and private investigation firm.
But Mom, she is all about right and wrong, and there is no in-between. Either you messed up or you were in the right, and she’d go down swinging to defend the wronged party. I know where I stand in this instance, especially in her mind.
“I’ll talk to her, Dad. She won’t be too upset,” I lie.
“She won’t be too upset?” he asks, his voice going all high-pitched with the last word. “Son, have you forgotten exactly who and how your mother is?”
I shake my head. “She’s pretty hard to forget.”
He closes his eyes, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, and inhales deeply. “We have to let the chips fall where they may. No other option.”
I raise my eyebrows. Am I getting a pass? I broke the law, Dad was about to kill me, but now, he seems to think we’re both going to fall on the proverbial sword to get the bad news over with.
“Don’t think you’re getting off scot-free with me either,” he tells me, opening his eyes again and turning his body so he’s facing me. “Your ass is in school by Monday, you will get straight A’s this year, and you’re grounded until graduation.”
“But—”
“Shut it, Nick.”
I clamp my mouth closed because there’s no winning this argument. The only thing I can do is wait for the dust to settle, hoping they eventually take mercy on my teenage soul.
“Buckle up, kid. We’re about to have a very bumpy night.”
“Fuckin’ great,” I mumble into the darkness.
Five minutes later, I walk through the doorway of my parents’ house, and Mom’s standing in the foyer, arms crossed, face pinched, waiting.
Looks like Headmaster Quinlinn already called her and informed her of my permanent exit from campus.
“Couch. Now,” she orders, tipping her head toward the living room with her eyes trained only on me.
I don’t say a word, don’t even bother pleading my case as I toe off my boots before heading toward the couch for the ass-reaming of the century.
“Baby,” Dad says, his tone very different than it was in the car. He’s trying to cover his ass, buttering her up. “Maybe we should talk before—”
“No, Thomas,” she cuts him off. “We’re going to talk now. All three of us. Get your ass in the living room and sit next to your son.”
I grimace, my steps slowing.
She said your son. That only happens when she is at maximum pissed off, and based on everything I’ve seen so far, she’s been there for a while.
I am screwed.
Goodbye, senior year. Hello, home confinement.
Nick
Five Years Later
I love tacos.
Not any kind of tacos, but the type where you sink your teeth into that crispy shell and the grease runs down your chin, puddling on the paper.
There is only one place in town where I can get my fix. It doesn’t matter that it is after midnight, I am getting the damn tacos, the grease, and all the goodness.
I park my bike and stalk up to the window outside the converted ice cream joint which now serves the most slammin’ Mexican within fifty miles. I’m behind a drunk guy who’s ordering a shitload of food and swaying back and forth like the ground is moving underneath him.
I glance around, crossing my arms, and zero in on a pretty girl, jamming nachos into her mouth, crying in between each bite.
Not my chick. Not my problem.
Besides her, me, and the workers, the only other person here is the drunk guy. He’s leaning against the counter at the closed register window next to me, talking to himself in tongues.
“One sec.” The woman on the other side of the glass and wearing a sombrero holds up a finger.
The damn hat is twice as big as her head, pink and yellow woven together, and has cotton balls hanging from the edges that shake every time she moves. When she finally glances up from the cash register and makes eye contact, she says, “Well, hey there, handsome.” Her eyes move away from my face and hungrily trail down my chest and then sweep back up my arms before her face breaks out in a smile. “What can I get you tonight?”
“Five tacos with extra meat and a bottle of water.” I reach into my back pocket, not looking to flirt with the sombrero girl, and grab my wallet.
I came here for tacos, not pussy.