Page 49 of Road Trip

Standing in my dad’s driveway in Del Mar staring at his closed front door while Jacob said my name over and over again.

My dad hadn’t evenrecognizedme, for fuck’s sake. What kind of father didn’t know his own son? Not the kind of father who was going to welcome me with open arms, that was for sure.

My eyes burned and I blinked furiously.

“Matty?” Jacob asked again. “What’s going?—”

The door swung open, and hope swelled in my chest even though I wanted to stomp it down.

My dad stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind him, forcing me to step backward. He glanced around like he was in a spy movie or something and said, “What are you doing here? Do you need money?”

“No,” I said. “It’s?—”

“Good, because now you’re eighteen you’re not my responsibility.” He paused. “Youareeighteen, right?”

“Jesus,” Jacob murmured, and the sympathy in his voice had me close to my breaking point.

Well, fuck that. I hadn’t come all this way for nothing. I squared my shoulders.

“Yeah,” I said. “Eighteen now. And you always said I could live with you when I was older.” Even though my gut was churning I said it casually, like this was all some misunderstanding or maybe a joke. Like any minute now my dad wouldtell me to grab my bags and come inside, that he was just messing with me.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he looked me up and down again, then let out a long breath and said, “Jesus Christ, Matthew. How did you even find me?”

Like I was a stalker and not his son.

“I found your address in—” My voice rasped, but I forced the words out. “In some of Mom’s paperwork. For the child support stuff.”

My dad dragged a hand through his hair. He looked upset, like I was the one ruining everything. “You’re not supposed to have my address, Matthew.”

“But you said I could live with you.”

His face twisted. “That’s—that’s something people say. I didn’t think you’d take me seriously. You were a kid. What the hell else was I supposed to tell you?”

The truth?

I’d spent most of my life being this angry, angsty asshole, so where the hell was some of that fire when I needed it? I wanted to be mad at him. I wanted to be able to scream at him, or punch him, or put a fucking rock through the front window of his nice house. But I couldn’t get angry—not at him anyway.

I was angry at that stupid fucking kid, though.

That stupid fucking kid who’d believed his dad’s bullshit and now just wanted to drop to the ground and start bawling his eyes out. Instead, I said in a voice that barely sounded like mine, “But what am I supposed to do now?”

I could still hear the roar of the ocean in my head, louder than almost everything else. Loud enough to drown me, except I was still hanging on by a thread. Hanging on for his answer.

When my dad spoke at last, he didn’t look me in the eye. “You can’t stay here. You need to leave.” He pulled his wallet out of the pocket of his khakis. “You need gas money?”

I stared at the bills he waved in front of my face.

Then he waved them in front of Jacob’s.

“Let’s go,” Jacob said. He didn’t take the money. “Matty, let’s just go.”

The roar of blood in my skull was like the sound of the ocean from under the water. I was dimly aware of Jacob draping an arm around my shoulders and leading me down the driveway toward the car. He took my backpack from me and stashed it in the back along with my duffel while my dad watched, probably to make sure we left.

The door opened and a kid stepped outside. Maybe six or seven. Messy dark hair like mine. “Daddy? Who is that?”

And my dad turned his back on us and said, “Nobody. Nobody at all.”

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