Page 13 of Reckless At Raleigh High
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t even react to the fact that I’ve grabbed hold of him and I’m about to knock his front fucking teeth out. His eyes, dark as midnight in the gloom of the church, pierce through me in an unsettling way that seems all too familiar. There are lines on his face, bracketing his mouth, across his forehead and at the corners of his eyes, but his hair is still jet-black, not a grey hair in sight. He looks fit, too. Like he’s kept himself in shape. He always was a vain bastard.
“If you’re gonna hit me, get on and do it, A. We’ve got a lot to talk about, an’ I don’t see any point in wasting time posturing.”
“Posturing?” Laughter bubbles up the back of my throat. That’s what he thinks this is? Some sort of pissing contest between a hormonal teenager and his hard-done-by old man? He was about to call my mother crazy buthe’sthe one with the fucking screw loose. I let him go, shoving him roughly as I get to my feet. “You shouldn’t have come back here. You’re not wanted. You’re not fucking welcome.”
I walk away before I can do something stupid. I’ve dreamed of this moment so many times over the years—how I was going to take great pleasure in beating the ever-loving shit out of him for everything he did to us—but now that the opportunity has presented itself, I see it for the bad idea that it is. If I give myself permission to hit the sack of shit today, in this state of mind, I’m not going to be able to stop myself. I’ll fucking kill him, and where will that leave me? Rotting in a jail cell for the rest of my life, unable to hold Silver in my arms again? Yeah, fuck that. He isn’t fucking worth it.
I’m halfway to the church exit when it dawns on me that he’s following me. “Don’t you wanna know how I knew you were here?” he asks.
“No.”
“The bike out front. The Scout. It’s just like the old Indian I used to have. First motorcycle you ever rode on, Alessandro. Who else would have a bike like that around here? And who’d be dumb enough to actually ride it in this kind of weather?”
“What, you think it’s some kind of homage? Some kind of sign?” I slam through the doors, out into the sheet rain that’s started to fall while I was inside. “I barely remember you being at the house. Why the fuck would I remember what kind of bike you had?”
“You’re full of shit, kid. You remember just fine.” He grabs me by the shoulder, attempting to spin me round, but I knock his hand away. I’m genuinely surprised that he’d even try and touch me.
“Don’t. Don’t do that. Don’t call me kid. Son. A. None of it.”
He rubs at his bottom lip, grinning broad as you like. He’s soaked from head to toe already, the shoulders of his leather jacket turned dark with the rain, the front of his t-shirt plastered to his chest. “What you want me to call you, then? Fucking Sparkles?”
Hah. So funny. He’s actually fucking enjoying this. I lunge forward, getting up in his shit. I tower over him, four inches taller than he is. I’m bigger than him, too. Much,muchbigger. He’s forty-five years old, and he hasn’t been in a fight in a very long time. At least not a proper fight, with someone who truly hates his stinking guts. I could tear him limb from limb and I amthisfucking close to doing it.
Giacomo shakes his head, feigning disappointment. Can’t tell what he’s disappointed about, and I don’t really care. All I know is that I need to get away from the piece of shit before I lose all sense of reason and logic. “In case you forgot, they’re burying Ben today,” I grit out between my teeth. “Over at Greenwood. How about you do me and him both a favor and you stay the fuck away, yeah? There’s too little too late, old man. And then there’sthis.”
He doesn’t follow after me again. He stands in the church parking lot, hands in his pockets, his eyes following me as I storm over to my bike, jam my helmet on my head, start the engine, and I tear away through the rain.
It isn’t until I’m halfway to the cemetery that I process the fact that my father’s leather jacket bore a Dreadnaughts M.C. patch on its sleeve.
6
SILVER
I’m doubled over with worry, heartsick and miserable as the priest begins the service. It’s so wrong thatIam the only person here. Ben had lots of friends at school in Bellingham. A few of their parents reached out, asking if it would be okay if they brought their kids along to say goodbye, but Alex shut them down. He made the excuse that funerals were no place for eleven-year-old kids, and he was right, but many of Ben’s teachers had wanted to come, too. He’d flatly refused to have any of them at the church or at the cemetery. I’d had to fight tooth and nail to be able to come myself, and now…this? An empty church, and a dour, tufty-haired old coot mumbling distractedly over Ben’s coffin, doing his best…but not doing good enough? Ben deserves so much more than this.
I haven’t stopped crying since I sat down and the priest began to speak. My eyes feel clogged with grit, which is why I don’t notice the person sidling their way down the pew toward me until they’re almost on top of me. It’s Dad, of course. He smiles sadly as he sits down, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me into his side. “Didn’t feel right, sitting at home,” he whispers.
I’m so relieved to see him, I could cry. I’m already crying, though, so I give in and cry a little harder. How many times did I tell him not to come? At least five times this morning, and double that last night. He’s my father, though. He didn’t listen, because it’s his jobnotto listen sometimes. He knew I’d need him, so he came even though I explicitly told him not to.
The service is brief, and I float through it without having to think too much now that I have Dad by my side. The priest finds his stride eventually and says some really beautiful things about Ben, stories I never knew about him. How he liked to dance, of all things. That underneath his shy exterior, Ben loved to sing and play the piano for people once he got to know them a little better. He was good at math, and he was top of his class in English. He loved to write fantastical stories about pirates and wizards that made anyone who read them laugh.
When the priest announces the end of the service, he tells us in his quiet, soothing voice that Ben’s coffin will be taken directly to the cemetery, where another, short bible reading will be read over the gravesite. I listen, nodding my head like a demented puppet, holding my breath to avoid sobbing out loud in the church. The word ‘gravesite’ nearly causes me to collapse into a heap on the floor at the priest’s feet.
Every time my heart beats, it feels as though my sorrow is chipping away at me from the inside, a chisel and a hammer slowly whittling me down to nothing. It doesn’t matter how many funerals I’ve been to. I’ve never been to a child’s funeral before, and it’s just… it’s fucking harrowing. How any parent can lose a child and still draw breath is beyond me.
Dad takes me by the arm, guiding me down the aisle toward the grim, rain-drenched winter morning that awaits us outside. When we reach the exit, we both come to a stop at the top of the slick stone steps. Halfway down, Alex is sitting there, alone, his shirt plastered to his broad back, his dark hair soaked, ignoring the rain that’s furiously pelting his shivering body.
“Here.” Dad pops open the large, black umbrella he brought with him, passing me the handle. Immediately, the rain drums against the taut fabric, roaring like thunder. “I’m gonna go wait in the car,” he tells me. “If you need anything, give me a wave.”
Once again, I’m reminded that Cameron Parisi is one of the good ones. Countless times, he could have looked at recent events and decided Alex wasn’t a good influence. He could have looked to the future, seen where my association with Alex might possibly lead me, and he could have pulled the plug on my entire relationship with him right there and then. The boy sitting on the steps in the rain has been broken so many times before. Hekeepsongetting broken, over and over, despite the fact that all he wants is to live his life and be happy. He’s angry, and he’s hurt. Right now, he isn’t the very best version of himself. There’s every chance he’s about to derail himself in a spectacular way and take half of Raleigh down with him, but that isn’t what my father sees when he looks at him. He sees a guy who’s lost so much and doesn’t need to lose one more thing.
Alex’s head stays bowed when I sit down next to him on the steps. The seat of my dress is immediately drenched, but I don’t care. I hold the umbrella over the both of us, sheltering Alex from the rain, and a small, solemn smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. His eyes stay closed, but he knows I’m here. The loud rumble of the raindrops striking the umbrella is hard to miss.
“Thought about coming inside. Wanted to. Couldn’t seem to make myself,” he murmurs. “I heard all of it, though. The guy did a good job.” A bead of water drips from the end of a wet strand of hair that’s hanging down into his face. I want to catch it, like it’s a part of him that needs saving. I want to catch all of him, to keep him safe and somehow carry him through this, the way he’s carried me before. I don’t know if I’m strong enough, though. I also don’t know if he’ll even let me. Since he found out about Ben, he’s become harder and harder to reach every single day.
I lean my elbow on my thigh, resting my chin in my palm, turning to look out over the snow-capped mountain range in the distance. Such savage sentinels, looming over Raleigh. Sometimes they make me feel safe here. Protected. Sometimes, they make me feel trapped.
“When Max first learned to read, he brought his book into my room every night to read it to me. It was cute at first, but I started getting annoyed by it after a while. He tripped over all the words, and he always wanted to read the same damn thing. The Hungry Caterpillar. After two weeks, I could recite the entire thing from cover to cover by memory. I wanted to stick that book in Dad’s document shredder.”
