Page 86 of Stupid Dirty

Dirt and gravel crunches underfoot as whoever it is comes to a stop a few feet behind me.

“I thought you got rid of all the guns in the house after your dad left the first time?”

Wish. Mom must have called in reinforcements.

Ping.There are only two cans left, but I still don’t feel any better so I’ll have to scrounge up some more. There’s a bottle of whiskey sitting next to me that’s been burning a hole in my awareness for nearly twenty-four hours, and if I run out of things to shoot, there’s nothing left to distract me from opening it.

“I did,” I say, refusing to turn around and look at her. “I’m not a moron. This is just a BB gun. It can barely knock these cans over, let alone hurt someone.” It’s designed to look like a rifle, and pushing the stock into my shoulder while I squeeze the trigger brings back some of the only happy memories I have of spending time with my dad as a kid. The thought of getting rid of it hurt more than I want to admit.

I don’t say any of that out loud, though.

There’s a long pause while Wish works out what angle she’s going to take, but I ignore her. I don’t have the energy to fight with her about this.

“Kris called me. She said something about you asking Silas to move in, and now Silas isn’t answering the phone and apparently you’ve been out here all night with a bottle of rotgut, popping cans and doing your finest impression of your father. She said you wouldn’t even talk to the girls, Cade. She’s really freaked out.”

Still not looking at her, I pick up the bottle sitting beside me and wave it in the air.

“I haven’t even cracked the seal. You can call off the hounds. I’m not hurting anyone.”

With a deep sigh, Wish sinks down to take a seat next to me. She folds her legs underneath her, sitting close enough that I canfeel her body heat, but not enough to touch me. Carefully, she picks up the bottle and moves it a little further away from me. As if that’s any kind of deterrent.

“What happened?” she asks.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”Ping.

“Tough. It’s either me, or I track Silas down and drag the answer out of him.”

The idea of her looking for him and seeing his empty house makes my stomach cramp. All the hurt that I’ve been walling up inside my brain surges back, and I finally twist to look at her.

“Good luck. He’s in fucking Canada. His dad decided they were moving, so they left. And I don’t like that the only things I can think of to do right now are shoot and drink, but I didn’t exactly have stellar role models in that department. I decided the fucking BB gun was the lesser of two evils, so I’m going to lie here and shoot cans until I don’t want the fucking whiskey anymore, and if anyone mentions how much I look like Dad while I do it one more time, I’m going to fucking lose it, I swear to God.” My breath is heaving by the time my rant comes to an end, and Wish is staring at me with wide eyes. It takes more effort than it ever has before to keep myself calm when I continue. “I’m fucking trying. Okay?”

Thinking about it, she eventually nods. Wish tears apart strands of grass while she stares into the distance, letting the silence settle over both of us as my anger ebbs.

Every time the wave of anger recedes, something like grief tries to push its way in, but I refuse to let it. I fight off both feelings with whatever numbness I can muster without chemical assistance, and turn my attention back to the last can.

Ping.

It stopped being satisfying a while ago.

Eventually, I’m the one that breaks the silence.

“I really thought we had a chance, Wish. I thought we were going to rise above all the shit we were born with and not turn into our parents.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “And look at us now. I’m here, doing the same shit as Dad, and he’s with Travis, doing the same shit as him. We were never going to be different. This is in our blood.”

“The full bottle of whiskey here says otherwise, Cade,” she says. “You’re right. You are trying. It took a lot of strength to not drink yourself into a coma last night when you had every opportunity.” Wish reaches out, running her fingers through my hair and pulling my attention to her eyes. “It probably doesn’t feel like it, but I bet Silas is trying, too. After a lifetime of watching your mom, you know how impossible it can be to get away from someone who convinces you that their abuse is what you deserve. Anyone can see how much he loves you, just like we can see how his dad fucks with his head. Don’t count him out just because he lost this one fight. Let him keep trying.”

“From Canada?” I arch an eyebrow at her. This situation feels so closed, it might as well be welded shut.

Wish shakes her head at me, looking exasperated. “You have a phone, dollface. I know your heart is broken, but if he’s the one still trapped in hell, isn’t it worth rising above all that to remind him he’s still loved?”

“Yeah, maybe.” I start tearing out chunks of grass as well, turning away from her so she won’t see whatever tortured expression I must be making at the thought. If I could rip Silas away from his old man, I would do it in a heartbeat. But he won’t let me.

Wish stays for a while longer, sitting in silence. It’s not normal for either of us, but this is the one time we’ve both run out of things to say. When she leaves, she kisses me on the head and takes the whiskey with her.

I’m grateful, because I was running out of reasons not to open it.

Pulling out my phone, I spend another half hour debating whether to send him a message, and then fuck-knows how long writing it. After I hitsend,I try to picture his face as he reads it.

If I can’t save him from Travis, at least I can leave him with a reminder that I want to. I can remind him that as far as I’m concerned, he deserves to be saved.

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