Page 10 of Wreckage of Us
“Good call,” she crosses her arms around herself, almost like she’s trying to protect her body from me. The cropped sweatshirt she has on lifts a little, showing the bare skin of her belly. My eyes just stay focused on that for the longest time.
“Before you go,” she starts, but then stops talking, almost like she’s debating with herself whether she should tell me what she started to or not. “Just… Thank you for the time we spent together.” She says the words, but I somehow feel like that’s not what she meant to say at all. “It’ll always stay with me.”
“Yeah,” I give her a sarcastic mock. “Me too. Probably for very different reasons.”
“Definitely,” she chokes out but keeps herself in check.
There’s a weird vibe in the air, almost like it’s trying to tell me that I am missing something.
“You should go,” she whispers, her arms tighter around her middle. “Good luck in Florida.”
“Thanks,” I wink at her. “At least there I got something to look forward to, right?”
“What’s that?” Her eyes fill with tears when she asks.
“Mostly naked chicks on demand, prepped and ready…” I lick my lips as I say it, making myself sick to my stomach at the same time.
“I wish you all the best, Dylan,” Becca whispers. “Now please go. Don’t make me beg you to.”
I have a smartass comeback at the ready, but I don’t have the heart to voice it. Instead, I turn around and yank the door open.
“Goodbye, Becca.”
I don’t wait for her to say anything more, I just slam the door behind me and walk to where my bike is parked. I pull my keys out, but the weight inside my chest gets heavier the more I think about getting on and riding into the sunset.
Movement from the window at the house next door makes me look that way. Hot Chick is glowering at me, and when she sees me looking, she gives me the finger. I start laughing. At least Becca’s got good neighbors who are looking out for her. Especially now that I know someone has been watching her for the last few weeks. Whether it is my father or not, we don’t know. However, someone is making noise on the dark web, making it look like it might be him.
As I’m standing here like a fool, pondering all my life’s decisions, the fanciest, and also quietest, sports car pulls into Becca’s driveway. It parks right next to my bike, then a man dressed to the nines steps out, designer sunglasses and perfect haircut in place.
Dr. Douche, aka The Baby Daddy.
“Hey, man,” he gives me the chin lift salute. “How’s it going?”
“As good as it’s going for you,” I grind out. I’m sure he catches on to my aggressive tone, but he chooses to not care. “Congratulations are in order, or so I hear.”
“Yeah?” The full set of teeth smile he gives me only makes me want to string him by his balls off the high tree Becca has in her back yard. That way their baby can use him as a pinata whenever they feel like playing outside. That’ll be my baby shower gift to them.
“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Dr. Douche moves his eyebrows up and down, making them pop above the frame of his stupid ass sunglasses.
“Sure is,” I say through my clenched teeth. I have no idea why I don’t just wring his neck at this point. What else do I have to lose? He already got Becca.
“She goes from zero to a hundred in four-point-two seconds. Isn’t that ridiculous?”
What the fuck is he talking about?
“Who does?” I finally force myself to ask.
“My baby here,” he leans against the car and pats it on the roof. “Just picked her up. My old one had,” he hesitates for a second, “an accident. Thought I’d show it to Becca, maybe take her out for a ride in it. If you’re okay with that,” he adds carefully when he notices the murderous look I must be wearing on my face.
“I don’t give a fuck what you do with Becca,” I spit out. “Kinda late for you to worry about that, isn’t it?”
“How do you mean?” The fucker has the nerve to look confused. This is hilarious. Not.
I ignore his question, instead eye his douchey car.
“Is that a two-seater?”
“Uh, yeah,” he looks back at his car, even more confused by my change in subject. “It is.”
