Page 11 of Watcher

“I spoke with the Sheriff. He will drop all charges against you and the other players.” That is a prelude to the oncoming lecture I get whenever he’s displeased with my behavior. Fortunately, I’ve learned to nod and move on. “I wish you would tone down the violence. I thought there was medication for people your age.”

That was a new one. Drug me until I abide. “I understand,” I say and nod with the intention of not abiding.

“Did you see your mother this morning?”

Yeah, she was about to go play scissors with Winnie. “She’s not my mother, Daddy.” I stare out the window, wishing Mom was still around. “Her and Winnie were just getting back from spending your money.”

Daddy pats my leg. “Now, now. There’s plenty for everyone.”

There is, but she doesn’t deserve jackshit. I nod again. “I understand.” I’ll do everything within my power to make sure the cheap whore never gets a dime when he’s gone.

The limo drops me at the rink, and instead of leaving to meet my father at home for dinner, I stay at the rink and sit in the empty stands. The place is a complete fucking mess.

“Sup, Jessica,” Jeremy says as he enters the rink. He’s too far away to see my eye roll. He’s the last person I want to talk to right now, but that doesn’t stop him from climbing the stands and sitting next to me.

“Frat tonight at U M,” he says. “Some of the guys and their girls are going down to get wasted.” He puts his hand on my knee, and I knock it away. “The fuck is your problem, Jess?”

“You’re my problem, Jeremy. You just assume I’m your girl. We haven’t even been on a date!” I scoot away, and Jeremy stands. His fists are clenched as tight as his jaws but probably not as tight as his asshole. “Fuck off, Jess. Stay at home by yourself. I’m getting laid tonight. Something you should try!”

As Jeremy leaves, I consider following him out to the parking lot and using my keys to write asshole across his car door. Ultimately, his not worth the time or effort.

I get up and walk down to the rink. Two championship banners hang from the rafters. I was responsible for neither, but I will be responsible for the next one.

Jeremy is another asshole in a long line of assholes that don’t get me. I’m not interested in going out and raising hell with a bunch of kids. I’m an old soul. At least that’s what Mom told me before she died. She didn’t see my disobedience as something bad. She said it was me making my way.

I want something different. I want to raise some hell, but not with those people. I’d had my fill of college guys trying to get into my panties.

I didn’t want to be like either of my parents. I didn’t want to abide by aristocratic rules. I wanted to make my own. I wanted to live life before I got old like my father and had to worry about some golddigger. Maybe I wasn’t so keen on the money. Nobody would believe that. Hell, I didn’t believe it.

“Thought I would find you here.” Emily comes to the middle of the rink and turns her head to the banners. She had been partly responsible for both banners. Of course, being ten years older, she had a headstart. “Who pissed in Jeremy’s Cheerios?”

“I did. Hiked my leg and pissed like a Saint Bernard.”

“He’s an asshole.” Emily motions over her shoulder. “I’m heading down to Grizzes Bar.” She hooks her arm around mine. “Come with me. Keep me company. Ryan stood me up and I don’t want to go home and Netflix and chill by myself.”

“Sex toy broken again?”

Emily nods. “Think the motor is burned out.”

Arm in arm, we leave the rink as the cleaning crew arrives. Emily wants to get shitfaced, so I volunteer to drive.

Grizzes sits on the southwestern side of town near the Mississippi River in the Harbor District. I know I've made a mistake as we pull into the gravel parking lot. At least two dozen motorcycles sit out front. Emily gets out, but I stay in the car. She stops at the hood and waves for me to follow. I stay put.

“What if those two assholes are in there? The ones who were at the rink today?”

“They aren’t locals, Jess. Come on.” Emily opens my door. “If they are in there, we’ll leave. I promise.”

I follow Emily to the entrance, and I cringe when we open the door. The stench is almost unbearable. Beer, sweat, and sex.

“Nice,” I say. “This is not me.”

We walk to an empty booth beneath watchful eyes from both men and women. Metallica booms from a Jukebox in the corner of the bar. Several bikers are at the two pool tables, drinking, laughing and playing very little pool. The place is entirely different on the weekdays.

“What can I get you?” a waitress wearing next to nothing asks. Her schoolgirl plaid skirt is short enough for everyone in the bar to see her ass.

“Two house beers,” Emily says.

The waitress stares at me for a moment. I expect her to ask for an ID but someone calls her away. “Coming up.”

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