Page 9 of Stupid Dirty

“Fuck,” he practically groans, but still doesn’t let me go. I don’t really care, though. This is the most physical contact I’ve had in months, and every time his fingertips brush my chest through my t-shirt, it makes me shiver. It’s not quite as good as a hug from a loving parent or something, but maybe picking fights with strangers is as close as I can get.

“Caden Michael Elizabeth Waters!”

A female voice carries through the room and now Cade does groan, dropping his head forward and looking resigned.

“That’s not my middle name, Wish. I don’t even have a middle name.”

He’s grumbling, and she probably doesn’t hear him, but it doesn’t seem like that’s the point.

The cute, punky-looking girl I saw him with earlier—girlfriend? wife?—stomps across the room, drawing our attention. I’m scared, and I’m not the one in trouble. Cade immediately looks like he’s about to get sent to the doghouse. I almost feel sorry for him, except he’s still pinning me against the wall with his warm body in a way that’s pulling my focus.

Being threatened is distracting.

“Let him go, asshole!”

She shoves him as she says it, and Cade unclenches his fingers from my t-shirt and takes a big step back, his hands in the air. The room suddenly feels too cold.

“Jesus, Cade. I thought you were past doing shit like this. How many times have you told me you were never gonna turn into your father?”

The look that she’s giving him is so honest and heartbroken. I feel like I’m intruding on something intensely private. I don’t know what to do, and it’s clear from the awkward silence that everyone else feels the same way.

Two guys getting physical in an argument? No one bats an eye.

This kind of naked emotional honesty? Everyone freezes.

Cade looks so hurt she might as well have slapped him. When she turns around and stomps back out of the room, he doesn’t bother to go after her. He just keeps standing there, hanging his head. I can see the tension running through him and I wish I could help, but comforting people isn’t where I excel.

Eventually, he looks back up at me. He’s still pissed, but the fire is gone and instead he looks tired. This time, when he speaks to me, he doesn’t touch me and he keeps his voice low, but there’s no concealing the amount of venom in his voice.

“You’re not riding with the other millionaires anymore, okay? We all have day jobs. I have a fucking family to provide for, andthey can’t eat if I break my arm because you felt like showing off and threw me off my bike. Ride clean, or next time I really will kick your pampered ass, whether Wish likes it or not.”

He storms out of the room in the same direction as his girlfriend, and the world spins worse than before.

After the incident with Cade, it’s like there’s a weight on my chest. It doesn’t help that before I could wander around, mostly ignored, but now everyone is watching me, whispering to each other. Clearly, Cade and I have just become the hottest new rivalry in town, and I don’t even remember my part in starting it.

I’m more pissed than ever at my dad for stranding me here. I’m pissed that he won’t let me drive myself to races. I’m pissed that he won’t let me have my own fucking truck. Most of all, I’m pissed that I’m twenty-two years old, yet somehow all my problems seem to boil down to letting my dad control every aspect of my life.

I owe him my life, sure, but at what point can I consider that debt paid? If we’re allocating value to people’s lives, mine isn’t exactly at the top of the list.

A few more drinks find their way into my system, but they’re not doing their job anymore and jack shit feels numb right now. If anything, all the emotions I wanted to ignore are getting louder and more insistent, which is the opposite of my comfort zone.

People are still staring, so at some point I wander outside and away from the crowd.

It’s a nice house. All dark wood, set back into the trees on a little parcel of land. I’d say whoever owns it must be pretty wealthy, but if there’s anything around here that’s cheap, it’s land. Even my house is on a chunk of land and we are currently broke as shit.

Well, $600 richer after today. Minus gas money and whatever my dad blows while he’s partying tonight.

Was it worth it? If my American Motor League suspension ends up being as permanent as I expect it to be, this could be the rest of my life. Driving all over the state and scraping by on whatever prizes I can get until I injury out; no endorsements, no future, just living from one $600 check to the next until the well dries up.

My dad’s had me training to ride since I was four years old. It’s not like I know how to do anything else.

These are the morose thoughts that claw at me as I wander through the trees, no destination in mind, propelled only by the overwhelming desire to be as far away from those people as possible. The trees are thick though, and it’s dark in that way it only gets in the countryside, so I only have to walk for ten minutes to feel like I’m finally alone. It’s just me, the silence and the few tendrils of moonlight that penetrate the cloud cover.

Normally, that would be enough to make the weight lift from my chest. But today it stays lodged where it is. The cup of cheap whiskey in my hand is going down like water, and I keep drinking, even though it’s not making me feel any different.

The ground underfoot changes from dirt to rock so abruptly I almost don’t notice it in time to see the quarry ahead of me.

Fuck, that’s a long way down.

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