Waiting for Wyatt (Red Dirt #1) (20 page)

I felt that usual pang of guilt when it came to my old friend. After all, tomorrow was Christmas and I bet he was spending it by himself again. He was like some ripped-up teddy bear, tossed in the dumpster and forgotten. Letting out a deep breath, I picked up my phone, shooting off a quick reply.

“Be there soon, asshole.”

Heading downstairs, I heard their voices before I even reached the landing. I grabbed my black hoodie from off the back of the couch. Glancing in the direction of the laughter, I saw my family gathered around the table in the kitchen—waiting for me.

Hopefully, I could slip out the door without my parents knowing I was headed to Trevor’s house. Just the mention of his name would make my dad get all preachy and shit again.
You need to stay clear of that Higgins boy.
I’d heard it most of high school.

“Where are you going, Wyatt?” Her soft voice made me stop in my tracks. I looked over my shoulder, seeing the sad smile on my mom’s face as she stood under the curved archway that led into the kitchen. “Are you leaving? You just got here.”

“I’m just going for a little ride. I won’t be gone long.”

The visible hurt flashed in her eyes. “Well, it’s already after eight and I just got finished with dinner.”

I got a whiff of something that resembled pie. Only a complete asshole cut out on Christmas Eve, but I needed to get to his house, make an appearance for Trevor’s sake. I would spend some time with the guys, and then take it easy the rest of winter break.

Ever since I’d gotten the scholarship to play for Texas Westmiller University, my life was an endless looping circle of football practice, class, and homework. Coach was a hard ass, but he was damn good. It’s the reason our football season ended in the Division-II semifinals.

But now I was here. I was back in Gibbs and the same old claws of the monster pulled me right back down into the depths of his debauchery. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a little excited. I’d missed Marcus and Trevor while I was away.

“I’m sorry, Mom. But there’s something I gotta do.”

“You going to Trevor’s house?” Her eyes probed with the questions I knew she would never ask of me. The whole town of Gibbs heard the rumors of the crazy shit that went on just over the city limit line—my father more than any of them.

“Yeah. Just for a little bit.”

“You should invite him over tomorrow.” Even though my dad hated the guy, my mom on the other hand had a soft spot for the delinquents.

“You sure that’s okay?” I asked, glancing toward the kitchen at my father. His large frame seemed three sizes too big for our old dining chair. I stared for a moment as he talked to my little sister Willa. She laughed, flipping her brown hair over her shoulder. It seemed so normal and easy with them.

“Yes, invite Trevor. I’m the one making the food. I can give it to anyone I want to.”

My father picked up a six-inch knife, taking a stab at the roasted turkey. I moved out of eyesight before he noticed my presence. “Thanks, Mom. That’s um . . . that would be nice.”

“Don’t stay out too late. Grandma and Grandpa will be here early. They want to see you and Willa open presents.”

“Okay, Mom.” I laughed under my breath. “Early, as in?”

“Seven.”

“Fu . . . I um . . . mean. That’s nice.” The Christmas show still went on like I was five. My pocket vibrated again.
Shit.
Trevor needed to calm the hell down.

“Bye, Mom.” I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Flipping the hood over my head, I left through the old front door, leaving my mom standing alone in the living room. I went around to the storage building where they kept my bike. I didn’t take it to college. I didn’t want any of those stupid assholes touching it as a prank.

Lifting the tarp, the moonlight reflected off the shiny chrome and black. The motorcycle had been a gift from my grandpa when I turned sixteen. He’d restored the old Harley himself. My father had wanted to send it immediately back over to his garage. He said it played right into the path of me becoming a felon. Personally, I think it saved me from it.

I pulled a pack of Marlboros out of my pocket. Lighting up a cigarette, I took a couple of drags and studied the clouds. The air was chilly and smelled of winter rain. I’d probably get soaked on the way back, but it was a better option than my truck.

I straddled the seat, feeling a deep rush of freedom under my thighs. It had been too damn long. I took a few more puffs before tossing the butt on the ground. I’d get shit from my father over that one tomorrow once he figured out my smoking habits were still alive and well. He’d be pissed that college didn’t fix
everything
about me.

Putting the key in the ignition, I fired up the engine, letting it get warmed up. The sound sent chills down my back. My grandpa did a hell of a job on it. I drove down the driveway, glancing back at the house. My father’s broad shoulders cast a dark shape against the window as he watched me leave. I felt the anger from his face without actually seeing it.

I dared him to come out and yank me off the seat, pull me by the arm right back in the kitchen and throw my ass down in the chair. Force me to stay for one of our typical discussions that was more yelling than talking. Giving him one last look, I gunned the engine a few times and peeled out in the street.

The football scholarship changed more than one thing about my life. It got me away from my friends—
and
my father. I only came back for holidays and I didn’t give a shit if he showed up at my games. Another perk of going to college in south Texas.

That’s the thing about being a PK. Not the preacher’s kid, but a more destructive one. My father was the police chief for the town of Gibbs. He’d always expected the same authority at both work and at home, which only caused me to push back against an unmovable force. I was the round object he’d tried to cram into a square hole. And sometimes I still provoked him on purpose—just for the hell of it.

Sucking in a deep breath, the air settled in my lungs as I watched the streetlights glow under the cold mist. My nerves seemed to relax the farther I got from my house. Cruising through the comfortable darkness, I looked around my old hometown. The whole place was lit on fire with the familiar Christmas lights—the same ones they’d pulled out of storage each year that had faded to a pink color instead of shiny red.

Once I cleared Main Street, I kicked it up to seventy. The bike went over the rough metal of the railroad tracks to the literal other side of town. The chilly wind slapped my bare face, making me feel better than I had in months. As much as I loved college, it was brutal at times—and so very different than here.

As I pulled in the driveway full of three-foot tall weeds, I thought about Trevor. His life was an overgrown mess of shit. Unlike me, he wasn’t going to do anything about it. He was a follower right down the path of his father and it all happened because his mom was a selfish bitch who had left him.

The yard was full of cars and an assortment of trash. The low bass from the music was louder than the motor on my bike. Pulling up in front of the garage, I looked at the mangled door. The damn thing must have broken months ago, and no one had bothered to fix it. I cleared the lopsided hanging metal and parked inside to keep the rain off the old Harley. An arm grabbed me as I slung my right leg over the seat.

“I was beginning to think your ass was too good for me.”

“Shut up, Trevor. You don’t need me. Looks like you got a full house.” I hugged the guy who had been my friend since kindergarten. Trevor was so damn needy sometimes. He never could stand on his own. He’d always had Marcus and me at his side. “By the way, my mom wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow.”

“Really?” His face lit up. “She making that stuffing shit?”

In that moment, I felt bad for the guy. That was the thing about Trevor. He made sure I never forgot him. It was the eyes. The sad, pathetic eyes that spurned pity from his friends and made the girls fuck him.

“Yeah, I’m sure there’s stuffing.” I followed Trevor around the busted bags of trash and hundreds of old containers and bottles, scattered across the cement. The smell caught my stomach. Some kind of animal must have died in here too.

“Everybody is here. And wait until you see Melissa.
Damn.
”

We entered through the garage and for a split second, I froze. The world stopped spinning and it was senior year all over again. I swear he’d invited our entire class.

“Carter!” Marcus reached me first. “You got here just in time. We’re lining up another Crash.”

“Shit, man. I can’t be doing that stuff tonight.”

“Sure you can.”

I hadn’t done that kind of drinking since I’d left this place. Crash was a game Marcus had invented our sophomore year. The fastest to down four shots of vodka plus a can of beer, without hands, was the winner.

Trevor had me on one side and Marcus on the other as they pulled me through the kitchen. The three amigos. Growing up, they had been my best friends. Inseparable in T-ball and football and all that shit that boys did in small towns. Even when we got older, everything stayed the same between us—even when our
activities
got a little wilder.

The guys pushed me over to where Becca Fenton was lying on the dining room table. A night-and-day difference from what I’d just left in my parents’ kitchen.

“I can’t.” I protested as Marcus poured the clear liquid into the glasses. Glancing across to the other side of the stained-up table, I saw Jimmy Meisner, sticking shots on some girl I didn’t recognize. I felt the old hatred brewing under my skin like a lit match. I despised the guy. He was an obnoxious asshole who had tried to break my nose in PE class in elementary school.

All the internal conflict dissolved into the excitement of crushing his ass. One round wouldn’t hurt. Looking back down at Becca, her nipples poked through the tight, white shirt. I pulled the bottom of the fabric up just enough to show her tan stomach and belly button ring. She giggled, pushing it up higher, exposing her see-through white bra.

“Shit, man. Here.” Marcus handed me two oversized shot glasses. As I tucked one against her neck, she leaned up for a kiss. Her mouth grabbed mine with a quick bite to the lip. I pushed her back to the table, catching the shot before it slipped to the floor.

“Be still,” I warned.

“Sorry, Wyatt. I haven’t seen you in a while.” She grinned, showing off the wide smile I remembered very well. I laughed, shaking my head at her attempt to flirt with me. Becca and I had history going back to ninth grade. She was the first girl I’d ever fucked.

“Let’s just win this, and we can catch up later.”

“Sure.”

As I balanced the second glass between her tits, I caught myself looking into her eyes. She smiled again. Becca was better than this shit, but I guess things never really changed—not even me in this moment.

Marcus handed over another two glasses. Flipping up her skirt, I shoved the third shot against her purple-lace crotch. She giggled again as my fingers grazed her inner thigh. I put the fourth shot inside her knees and the can of beer between her red painted toes.

“You assholes ready?” Marcus shouted across the noise of the house. Jimmy and I stared at him, waiting for the signal.

“Go!”

I clasped each glass between my teeth. They went down fast. The beer trick was always the hardest, but once I got the can balanced between my elbows, it was over for Jimmy.

“Wyatt Carter!” Marcus yelled across the room. He slapped me on the back. “Damn, you still got it. That college shit hasn’t whipped your ass.”

“I told you. Same lame-ass parties, just hotter girls and better liquor.” Except that wasn’t exactly true. Coach would cut me faster than I could blink if he caught me drinking. Texas Westmiller didn’t approve of that sort of thing.

“Well, Mr. Preppy. Don’t say that shit to Trevor. He went all out for you tonight.” Marcus poured two shots of vodka, pushing one in my hand. He tapped the glasses together for a toast. “Here’s to the cheap stuff. I hope it lights your ass on fire and gives you the shits.”

I tipped it back, rolling my eyes at the guy who I considered my best friend. Tonight was like a damn time warp. In a brief moment, I remembered the first time we had downed shots. I was thirteen. Trevor had stolen a bottle of tequila from his dad’s stash. Marcus and I had taken turns until I saw him pass out on the floor—even though he swears I crashed first. Trevor wouldn’t ever tell us the truth. Said he was taking it to his grave.

We’d had some fun times growing up. Marcus, Trevor, and I had been so different, but it had worked for us.

Marcus Tucker was the actual preppy of my friends. The good one. His dad was a former city councilman who got himself elected mayor last year. Marcus even went to a state university in Arkansas but flunked out his freshman year. When we talked a few weeks ago, he thought the school might let him back in for the spring semester.

“So? What’s the verdict?” I asked.

“Hopefully hooking up with Zoey tonight.”

“Jackass.” I rolled my eyes. “You going back to Arkansas?”

“Yeah. Probation is over. They let me back in. Trevor’s pissed of course since I won’t be around.” Marcus laughed, glancing over to where our friend was smoking a joint. “But I’m going to do it right this time. No more of this shit. You know what I mean?”

I let out a deep breath. “More than you realize.”

“Zoey said she would marry me if I could keep it together this year.”

“Really?”

“Crazy, huh? I bought a ring and everything. I haven’t given it to her yet though. I’m trying to figure out a way to surprise her. Who knows. I might just do it tomorrow. That would be a hell of a Christmas present.” He laughed, the happiness glowing in his eyes. Marcus put an arm around my shoulders. “You’ll be my best man, right?”

“Shit, man. I’m the closest thing you got to a brother. I
better
be.”

He grabbed the vodka bottle, topping off the glasses again. “To getting married.”

“To not flunking out of school.” Tipping the shot back, the alcohol burned all the way down my throat.